Accuse

by Nikki Sex

  Damn! Simply the thought of him is incendiary.

  Tonight was the first time he ever went down on a woman? Holy hell, the guy’s a fucking natural. I’m honored to be his first.

  Surprisingly, I realize what I’m most looking forward to is raw, sexy kissing. Kissing is so personal and utterly primal.

  Grant hasn’t really kissed me yet.

  As I turn off the light and climb into bed, I find myself thinking about my first love. Jamie was loyal and loving. He would have done anything for me.

  Unfortunately, I still can’t think of Jamie without remembering his cold, dead body lying next to me, the suspicious and condemning expressions on the faces of the police who questioned me, and the unpleasant month or two I was forced to spend in a psychiatric hospital.

  Now, I feel safe and protected with Grant. He cares about me and it’s a wonderful feeling.

  I stroke Mitten, who purrs loudly, soothing my raw nerves. I’m happy, I’m tired—yet I’m also wired.

  Perhaps being around Briley is affecting me. Today and tonight, I’ve touched upon a few emotionally-charged memories of my own. Whatever the reason, I fall into a troubled sleep, and I have a nightmare.

  Once more, I'm forced to re-live one of the worst times in my painful past.

  No! No! Not again! It’s only a dream! I tell my sleeping self. I’m not a child anymore! But I’m caught. I can’t stop this.

  Chapter 25.

  “To achieve your dreams, sometimes you must first face your nightmares.”

  — André Chevalier

  ~~~

  Renata Koreman

  In my dream, I jerk awake, terrified.

  This is how I feel when I open my eyes every morning. It’s how I spend every day. Everything scares me.

  Rain thumps loudly, echoing on our metal roof. Today is my birthday. I’m twelve. It doesn’t feel any different than being eleven did.

  I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and the day before. I sit up, pull the thin window curtain back and look outside.

  I frown. Crap. Some of the things I washed are hanging out in the rain. I don’t have anything else to wear.

  I turn my head, listening carefully.

  Nothing.

  Outside in the street, I can hear cars and trucks roaring by and a dog is barking in the distance. These are not scary sounds. These sounds are OK.

  I hop off my bed and I hurt. My body shakes as I remember the reason why. I rub my back. Bruises. I’m sore from the last beating my father gave me. He caught my wrist and held me in place.

  I hate that. I hate being unable to get away.

  I wasn’t fast enough.

  I should have hidden myself the second he came home, but he was smiling. That’s not normal for my daddy. Sometimes he brings me candy or a little present. Sometimes my father is nice, but not that often.

  Then Daddy found out Mommy didn’t have any beer in the fridge and it made him angry. I can still hear what he always says to me, “You stupid little bitch! Shut up! Stop crying!”

  The sound of his voice in my head cuts right through me. I’m very quiet now. I don’t cry anymore. I never make a sound.

  He hits me harder when I cry.

  I hope Mommy goes out and gets him some beer today. Does she have any money? Maybe she won’t get out of bed. Mommy takes special pills the doctor gave her. I hope she gets better soon.

  Daddy hits her, too.

  If I run and hide fast enough, he won’t hit me—he’ll hit her instead.

  I feel really bad about that, but I’m not very brave.

  I’d rather he hit her.

  I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t want to see anything. I don’t want to feel anything.

  My eyes move to the place where I usually hide, inside a cardboard box I keep in the closet. It’s safe there. My Daddy never finds me in there. I love the darkness inside my box. I love the quiet. Sounds are muffled while I'm in my box. I block everything out. I pretend I'm safe. Everything’s OK when I'm in there.

  “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about!” he yells.

  I flinch as I remember. I've heard him say that a million times. He means what he says. It's best not to make a sound—no tears, no noise at all. I try to become invisible. I try to disappear. I wish Mommy would do that too. I hate it when he hurts her.

  I keep listening again until I’m sure we’re alone. Daddy’s gone to work. Mommy will be in bed.

  Shush! I have to be quiet. I tiptoe over to see my baby brother. He’s on the floor in the bassinet the Salvation Army people gave us. He’s still asleep. I smile when I see Timmy sucking his thumb. His baby skin is so soft. His hair is soft, too. Soft and yellow, just like my hair.

  He looks like the picture of baby Jesus the nice Salvation Army lady gave me. I keep that picture in my school bag. It reminds me of my little brother.

  I love Timmy more than anyone or anything in the whole world.

  I want to grow up and have lots and lots of babies. I’m going to marry the school librarian, Mr. Brand. He doesn’t yell. I never say anything to him, but he doesn’t mind if I don’t talk.

  I won’t marry anyone like my father.

  Mr. Brand smiles at me a lot. He speaks really slow and low. He knows my name. He says, ‘Thank you, Renata’ if I help him put away the library books. He also says, ‘You’re a good girl, Renata.’ When he says this, I feel all tingly and happy inside. Mr. Brand is really, really nice. I love Mr. Brand.

  “I… I l-l-love y-y-you t-t-too,” I say to my little brother, even though he’s asleep and can’t hear me. My whisper is a stutter. I always stutter when I speak—but it isn’t safe to talk. It’s better to say nothing.

  “Shut up! Shut up! You have a st-st-st-stutter stupid!”

  I close my eyes to make it go away when I hear Daddy’s voice in my head.

  I’m scared at home. I’m scared at school. I’m always scared.

  They tease me in class and at the playground. If I’m very quiet and hide, no one bothers me. I don’t have any friends, but that’s OK. Mr. Brand likes me. He smiles when I help him.

  That’s what the other kids call me. I’m stupid and I stink and I forget how to talk when anyone looks at me. I’m afraid of people, but I know my little brother loves me and Mr. Brand says I’m a good girl.

  The best thing about school is my father is never there. Also, I can go to the library.

  I like to read. I read all the time. Right now I’m reading, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.” I wish I knew magic. Sometimes I imagine I’m Harry Potter, even though that’s silly, because I’m a girl.

  When I marry Mr. Brand, Timmy and I will go away and live with him. I’ll have babies of my own and we’ll live happily ever after, just like in fairy tales.

  I go to Mommy’s room. It’s dark, but I can tell she’s still in bed.

  “Mommy?” I say. I open her bedroom curtains to let in some light.

  “Go away,” she says.

  I go into the kitchen. There’s only enough powdered milk left for the baby. I make a bottle for Timmy. I know exactly how to do it. I shake up the powder and water until it’s just right.

  I pull a carton of corn flakes out of the cupboard and pour some into a bowl. Because I’m so cold, I put hot water on them. I sit on the only wooden chair that isn’t broken and start to eat.

  Corn flakes aren’t too bad without milk.

  A girl at my school, Cindy Basset, always throws away most of her lunch, so I’ll eat that later. I’m quiet and I’m sneaky. She doesn’t know I watch her. When she throws her lunch in the trash can, I take it out and I eat her food.

  Cindy throws tons of stuff away—half a sandwich, an apple and cookies. Everything’s all carefully packed up.

  Cindy Basset is so lucky.

  Timmy begins to wake up. He makes a sniffing noise that sounds so cute. When I hear him waking, I feel lucky too.

  I take the bottle in to him. When he sees me, he smiles. I g
et that tingly feeling again. I’m so happy!

  Timmy needs me. Timmy loves me.

  I love him so much it hurts, but in a good way.

  I pick him up, sit on my bed with him on my lap and I feed him his bottle. This is the best part of my day. I love to hold my little brother. I love being with him. On weekends, I get to be with Timmy all day long.

  When he finishes his bottle, I pick him up, walk around and pat his back until he burps. He smiles at me and his chubby hands pull my hair. He is so soft and warm and he smells so good. He has a special baby smell only babies ever have.

  I change his diaper, but I can’t stay with him. I have to go to school or else the social worker lady will be mad at my Mom. I take Timmy in to her because she has to wake up.

  Mommy has pulled the curtains closed, so it’s dark again. Darkness is safe, but something about this darkness scares me.

  Something bad is coming. I know it. I feel it. It’s coming!

  I’m OK. I’m OK. I’m OK. I’m OK… I chant inside my mind.

  Mommy wants to go back to sleep, but she can’t. I pull the curtains open again to let the light in.

  “Mommy, Timmy is here. I have to go to school.”

  Mommy makes a kind of unhappy moaning sound, but she sits up on the bed and takes him into her arms. When she does, she smiles down at him. She loves Timmy too.

  Bang!

  The front door slams open. Mommy’s eyes go wide. We both freeze at the sound.

  We can’t move.

  My heart jumps up into my throat where it pounds, pounds, pounds! I need to get Timmy and run. Run and hide. Quick, hide!

  Why can’t I move?

  “Fucking bitch!” he yells.

  Arms out, big and scary, Daddy comes into the room. He smells like beer and he’s so very angry!

  Daddy is like Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter books, but he doesn’t hurt people with his wand. Daddy uses his fists instead. He screams so loudly the sound hurts my ears. I start to shake. His words slice into my ears like a knife stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.

  “I just lost my fucking job! I was late because of you!”

  He grabs Mommy and drags her up to her feet. His hand is raised, he’s going to punch her in the face, but Mommy has Timmy!

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again!” Mommy cries out.

  Daddy’s fingers ball into a tight fist. I know this look. He’s going to hit her but she’s holding my baby brother!

  I can move now.

  I can run away.

  But I won’t run. I’m so scared, but I don’t care what happens to me. I have to save Timmy! I’m such a mouse. I’m such a coward—but not when it comes to my baby brother. I do something then that I’ve never done before.

  “No!” I scream, and run toward him.

  Smack!

  Daddy backhands me with his closed fist. I hear a loud crunch. My head feels like it’s exploding. I know the sound Daddy broke my ribs and once he broke my arm, but I think he broke something in my face this time.

  I slam into the wall. The whole world tunnels down. It goes yellowy, then greyish and black.

  My ears are ringing, ringing, ringing.

  The baby is crying, crying, crying.

  Mommy is screaming, screaming, screaming.

  I try to get to Timmy. I have to save him, but I can’t seem to move. I see two of everything. Two of Daddy hitting, two of Mommy being hit.

  I see two hands grab two Timmys. Two babies fly out of Mommy’s arms as my father takes my baby brother and throws him across the room. He is a blur as he comes toward me.

  My little brother’s tiny baby cry is long and loud. It sounds like a police siren.

  THUD!

  Timmy slams against the wall a little way from me.

  He isn’t crying now.

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  Daddy keeps hitting Mommy. Mommy is quiet now too. Is he going to kill her this time? The thought seems to come from somewhere far away.

  Is Voldemort here? This pain is worse than any pain I’ve ever felt. This must be the Cruciatus Curse—the dark wizard’s Torture Curse. Harry Potter screams when he is cursed, but I can’t make a single sound.

  I suddenly realize I can inch forward if I try really hard.

  I slowly drag myself toward Timmy. He is quiet now.

  His head is wrong.

  His eyes are closed.

  He looks like he’s asleep.

  Please baby Jesus. Please let him just be asleep, I pray. I put my arms around him and cuddle into him. Just like Timmy, I close my eyes. There is so much pain in my face and head. So much pain in my heart.

  The fear of losing my little brother hurts most of all.

  This is too much. I can’t take it.

  The pain goes away suddenly.

  Like my baby brother, I sleep too.

  I feel nothing at all.

  ~~~

  “Wake up, Renata!” a male voice yells. “Wake up! You’re dreaming!”

  I regain a sense of awareness on hearing the panicked, anxious sound. I become aware of a hand clamped firmly on my shoulder, shaking me.

  When I open my eyes, I know where I am, but I still feel the loss of my baby brother. Oh God! It’s as though I’ve lost Timmy all over again!

  My grief is inconsolable.

  Grant looks down at me, concern etched on his face. With sudden comprehension, I discover it's his hand on my shoulder. He woke me from the nightmare of my past.

  I’m hysterical. I sob so hard I can’t breathe. Hot tears fill my eyes and stream down my face. I can barely see Grant. When he gathers me into his arms, I grab hold of him so tightly my fingers and hands hurt.

  “It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s OK, Renata,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, beautiful, I’ve got you.”

  Grant’s voice is deep and calm, rumbling soothingly against my chest. His big, solid body firmly presses against mine, embracing me within the safety of his arms. He’s a living promise of comfort and sanctuary. His warm hands glide over my back, gently patting and stroking.

  It takes so long to get my tears and my breathing under control. Grant is kind and patient. He pats, and soothes and calms me until I regain myself.

  Wait… Grant is touching me!

  The man who is disturbed by touch, is holding me. I don’t know how he’s able to do it but he is. There’s no tension in his arms. His body is pliable and relaxed—his attention is on me.

  As I come back from my terrible visit to my past, I have to wonder. Just who is the therapist here? Like a skilled counselor, Grant doesn’t interrupt me with awkward, unwanted questions, nor does he lose his level-headed equanimity.

  He’s so good to me. Maybe, I should be paying him.

  Chapter 26.

  “Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, Tomorrow I'll miss you.”

  ― Paul McCartney

  ~~~

  Renata Koreman

  Briley wakes me at six in the morning. I can’t believe he let me sleep through the night, especially since it’s his first night in a new place. What a great baby!

  When I open my eyes, I see the weather has turned dark and rainy, not just a little rainy… it’s pouring outside. I check, no new emails and my iPad forecasts showers and storms all day long.

  I should've known that was a bad omen, but I was too happy at the time to think of it.

  I had no idea I only had an hour of peace left before all hell broke loose.

  Despite the lousy start to my day caused by my horrendous nightmare, I slept surprisingly well, although I probably only got about five hours total.

  I chat and play with Briley while I change his diaper. He’s so easy to care for, and the generous smiles he bestows on me melts my heart.

  I wander downstairs to the kitchen and take my anti-depressant, first thing, with a small glass of milk. Assuming I'd be awakened by a hungry baby sometime during the night, I'd prepared his bottle before I went to bed. Now, I just have to add warm water,
shake it up and feed him.

  Grant has an old-fashioned percolator type of coffeepot. With the baby in my arms, I switch that on while mixing Briley’s baby formula.

  Mitten meows politely, so I open the front door and let him out.

  Dressed in a bathrobe, I talk cheerfully to Briley the entire time I take care of these tasks. I shower him with compliments, tell him what I'm doing and explain the reasons why. He’s a responsive little thing, smiling and excited to have my attention.

  When his bottle is ready, I sit on the couch in the downstairs family room, overlooking Grant’s garden. I hold Briley on my lap while I give him his bottle. He’s soft, warm and cuddly.

  There is nothing quite like the pleasure of holding and feeding a baby. I feel as if every mothering hormone I have is standing up, stretching out their arms and singing loudly from the joy of it.

  All is right in my world and it’s more than just 'right.'

  There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now. Of course, this is all enhanced by the ultimate pleasure of living in the same house as Grant.

  Speak of the devil… my breath catches as I hear the sound of feet lightly jogging down the stairs.

  Grant’s coming! My stomach does somersaults at the thought of seeing him. Talk about a stimulus-response reaction. My breasts tingle and my inner core pools with heated anticipation. He’s almost here!

  I attempt to paste a calm, nonchalant look on my face and try not to think about how tragically pathetic I am for this overreaction. Yes, I’m in the throes of a wild and crazy crush. Yes, it seem like true love. No, I can’t see myself getting over it anytime soon. And no, I couldn’t be happier.

  As though I’ve conjured him up from a sexy, wet dream, the man himself enters the room dressed in a snug tank top, running shorts and running shoes. He’s smoking hot. But he's not just any hot guy.

  It isn’t only Grant’s body that attracts me—it’s him, all of him. We’re drawn to each other by chemistry and maybe more. Whatever it is, it's intense. We both know it, we both feel it.

  “Mornin’,” he nods with a slow, easy smile.