Dawn

by V. C. Andrews

  I closed my eyes to try to deny this was happening. Once I had dreamt of him holding me and loving me, but this was twisted and harsh. My poor confused body responded to his caresses—stirred in places it had not been stirred before, but my mind screamed No! I felt like someone sinking into warm, soothing quicksand. For a few seconds it felt good, but it promised only trouble.

  I continued to twist and squirm under his pincerlike fingers. The tip of his tongue drew a line from one breast to another and then he began to lower his body, kissing his way down my stomach until he reached the towel that was barely around my waist. I held it in the tip of my fingers. He bit the towel and tugged at it like a mad dog.

  "Philip, stop, please," I pleaded.

  With one strong pull, he drew the towel away from my body and dropped it at my feet. Then he gazed up at me, his eyes mad with desire. The glint in them was enough to set my heart racing even faster and pounding even harder than it already was.

  Unable to get around him because he trapped against the wall, I brought my hands to my face as soon as he released my arms to embrace my thighs and draw them to his face. I felt my legs crumble and slid down the wall to the floor, my face covered.

  "Dawn," said, his breathing heavy and hard. “It feels so good holding you. We don't have think about anything else."

  All I could do was cry as his hands moved over my body, exploring, caressing.

  "Doesn't this feel good? Aren't you happy?” he whispered. I took my hands off my face when he took his hands from me and started unbuttoning his jeans.

  It sent an electric bolt of fear up my spine. With all my strength, I tried pushing him away so I could drive him back enough for me to lunge for the door to make a quick exit. But he seized my wrist and turned them until I was on my back on the wooden floor.

  "Philip!" I cried. "Stop before it's too late."

  In one swift motion he slipped himself between my legs.

  "Dawn . . . don't be so frightened. I can’t help wanting to be with you. I thought I could try, but you’re too pretty. It doesn't have to mean anything,' he said gasping his words.

  I clenched, my hands into small fists and tried to pummel his head, but it was like a small bird slapping its wings against the snoot of a fox. He didn’t even acknowledge it; instead, he moved himself comfortably against me, his lips catching the soft flesh of my breast between them and nibbling his way over my bosom.

  Suddenly I felt his hardness press itself firmly against me until he forced in that swollen, rigid male sex part of him that had to be satisfied. It drove into my tight and resisting flesh, which tore and bled.

  I screamed, not caring anymore if we were discovered and if Jimmy were found. The shock of feeling him inside me drove away any concern for anything but my own violated being. My piercing screech was enough to cause his retreat.

  "All right," he pleaded. "Stop. I'll stop." He drew back and stood up, quickly pulling up his underwear and pants and buckling his belt. I turned over on my stomach and cried into my arms, my body shaking.

  "Wasn't it good for you?" he asked softly, kneeling beside me. I felt his palm on my lower back. "At least now you have an idea of what it will be like."

  "Go away. Leave me alone, Philip. Please!" I cried through my tears.

  "It's just the shock of it all," he said. "All girls have the same reaction." He stood up. "It's all right," he repeated, more to convince himself, it seemed, than to convince me.

  "Dawn," he whispered. "Don't hate me for wanting you."

  "Just leave me alone, Philip," I demanded in a much sterner tone. There was another long pause and then I heard him open the bathroom door and leave.

  I turned over to be sure he was gone. This time I made sure the door was locked. Then I gazed down at myself. There were red blotches over my breasts and stomach where he had nibbled and sucked on me. I shuddered. His violation of me, although short, left me feeling unclean. The only way I could stop myself from sobbing was to step into the shower and let the now hot water run over my body, practically scalding my flesh. I endured the heat, feeling it was cleansing me and washing away the memory of Phillip’s fingers and kisses. I scrubbed myself with such intensity, I brought new red blotches, making my skin scream with pain. All during my shower my tears mixed in with the water, seeming to fall as freely. What had once held the promise of romantic ecstasy and wonder had now turned sordid and depraved. I scrubbed and scrubbed.

  Finally exhausted from the effort to wash away what had just happened, I stepped out of the shower and dried myself. I returned to my bedroom and feeling more tired than I could ever remember, lay down. I couldn’t cry anymore. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, awakening when I heard a gentle rapping at my door.

  He’s returned, I thought, my heart racing again. I decided to remain still and see if he would believe I was already gone. The knocking got louder, and then I heard, “Dawn?”

  It was my father. Had Phillip upset about my rebuffing him gone to him and told him about Jimmy? I got up slowly, my arms and legs as sore as would be had I been working out in a farm field all day. I put on my robe and opened the door.

  “Hi,” he said. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m . . .” I wanted to tell him all of it, wanted to shout it out as a way of getting rid of the memory. I wanted to scream about all my violations, this sexual one being the most recent. I wanted to demand retribution, demand love and concern, demand to be treated like human being at least, if not a member of the family. But I could only look down and shake my head.

  "I'm very tired," I said.

  "Oh. I’ll see about getting you a day off."

  "Thank you."

  "I have something for you," my father said and reached into his breast pocket to pull out an envelope. "What's that?"

  "The receipt of delivery from the prison. Ormand Longchamp has your letter," he said. "I did what I promised."

  I took the receipt slowly from his hand and gazed upon the official signature. Daddy had received my letter and most likely had already set his eyes upon my words. At least now I could look forward hopefully to receiving his reply.

  "But you mustn't be upset if he doesn't write back," my father advised. "I'm sure by now he's ashamed and would have a hard time facing you. Most likely, he doesn't know what to say."

  I nodded, staring down at the official receipt.

  "It's still hard for me to understand," I said, squeezing back my tears. I looked up at him sharply. "How could he have stolen me right out from under my nurse's nose?"

  "Oh, he was very clever about it. He waited until she had left the nursery to go visit Mrs. Boston in her room. It wasn't that she neglected you. You had fallen asleep, and she had taken a break. She and Mrs. Boston were good friends. He must have been hiding in the corridors, watching and waiting for his opportunity. When it came he went in and took you and snuck out the back way."

  I looked up sharply.

  "Nurse Dalton had gone to Mrs. Boston's room?"

  He nodded. But why didn’t Mrs. Boston tell me this when I asked her how Daddy could have taken me right out from under Nurse Dalton’s eyes? I wondered. That was such an important detail; how could she forget it?

  “We didn’t know you had been taken until Mrs. Dalton returned and discovered you gone,” my father continued. “At first she thought we had taken you into our room. She came to our door, frantic.

  “ 'What do you mean?' I said. 'We don’t have her.’ We didn’t think Grandmother Cutler would have taken you into her suite, but Mrs. Dalton and I ran out to see, and then realization hit me. And I went running through the hotel. But it was far too late.

  “One of the staff members had seen Ormand Longchamp in the family section of the hotel. We put two and two together and came to the realization about what he had done. By the time we contacted the police, he and his wife were gone from Cutler’s Cove and of course, we had no idea what direction they had headed.

  “I jumped into my car and went tearing a
bout, hoping to be lucky and come upon him, but it was futile.” He shook his head.

  “If he should write to you, whatever he tells you in a letter” my father said, his face turning as sour and angry as I imagined it could. “It can’t justify the terrible thing he did. Nothing can.

  “I’m sorry his wife died and he’s had such a hard life, but perhaps they were being punished for the horrible crime they committed.”

  I turned away because the tears had begun to sneak out the corners of my eyes and zigzag down my cheeks.

  “I know it’s been especially difficult for you, honey.” He said, putting his hand softly on my shoulder, “but you’re a Cutler; you’ll survive and become all you were meant to become.

  “Well,” he continued, “I’ve got to get back to the job. You should try to eat something,” he said, and I remembered Jimmy. I had to get food to him. “Tell you what,” my father said. “I’ll stop by the kitchen and have someone fix you a plate and send it on down. Okay?”

  I could bring that food to Jimmy, I thought.

  “Yes, Thank you.”

  “If you still don’t feel too well later, let me know, and I’ll have the hotel doctor look in on you.” He said and left.

  I gazed in the mirror to see how bad I looked. I couldn’t let Jimmy know what had happened between Phillip and me. If he found out, he would become enraged and go after him, only getting himself into terrible trouble. I had to make myself look good for him so he wouldn’t sense that anything terrible had happened to me. There were still some blotches on my neck and right around my collarbone.

  I went to the closet and found a pretty blue skirt and white blouse that had a wide collar and would hide most of the blotches. Then I brushed out my hair and tied a ribbon around it. I put on a little lipstick too. I wished I had some rouge to make my pale cheeks look healthier, I thought.

  I heard a knock on my door and opened it to accept my try of food from one of the kitchen staff. I thanked him and closed the door, waiting to hear his footsteps disappear. Then I opened the door slowly and peered out. When I was certain all was clear, I hurried down the corridor and out the exit, carrying the warm tray of food to Jimmy.

  "I'm stuffed," Jimmy announced and then looked up from his plate. "One thing you have here is great food, huh?" He sighed. "But I feel like a cooped-up chicken in here, Dawn. I can't stay much longer."

  "I know," I said sadly and looked down. "Jimmy . . . Why can't I go with you?"

  "Huh?"

  "Oh, Jimmy, I don't care about the food or the beautiful grounds. I don't care how important my family is in this community or how wonderful people think the hotel is. I'd rather go with you and be poor and live with people I can love.

  "Daddy's and Momma's relatives won't know anything if we don't tell them. We'll tell them about Momma dying, but we'll make up another reason for Daddy's being in prison."

  "Oh, I don't know, Dawn . . ."

  "Please, Jimmy. I can't stay here."

  "Oh, things are bound to get better for you, a whole lot better than they would be in Georgia. Besides, I told you, if you ran off with me, they'd surely send someone after us, and we'd only be caught."

  I nodded and looked into his soft, sympathetic eyes.

  "Doesn't all this seem like one long, terrible nightmare sometimes, Jimmy? Don't you just hope you will wake up and it will all have been a horrible dream? Maybe if we wish hard enough."

  I closed my eyes.

  "I wish I could lock out all the bad things that had happened to us and put us in a magical place where we could live out our deepest, most secret dreams, a place where nothing ugly or sordid could touch us."

  “So do I, Dawn,” he whispered. I felt him lean toward me and then I felt his breath on my lips before I felt his lips. When we kissed, my body softened, and I thought how right it would have been for Jimmy to be the one to have taken me from girlhood innocence into a woman’s world. I had always felt safe with him, no matter where we went or what we did, because I sensed how much he cared for me and how important it was to him that I be happy and secure. Tragedy and hardship had tied us together as brother and sister and now it seemed only right, even our destiny, that romantic love bind us together.

  But Phillip’s attack had stolen away the enchantment that comes when a girl willingly casts off her veil of innocence and enters maturity hand in hand with someone who loves her. I felt stained, polluted, spoiled. Jimmy felt me tense up.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, thinking it was his kiss that had done it.

  “It’s all right, Jimmy,” I said.

  “No, it’s not all right. I’m sure you can’t stop seeing me beside you on one of our pull-out couches. I can’t stop seeing you as my sister. I want to love you; I do love you, but it’s going to take time―otherwise we won’t feel clean and right about it,” he explained.

  He tried to look away, but slowly he was drawn back to me, his eyes so full of torment. It made my heart pound to see how much he loved and wanted me and yet his deep sense of morality kept hi chained back. My impulses, my unleashed sexuality thrashed about like a spoiled child, demanding satisfaction, but the wiser part of me agreed with Jimmy and loved him more for showing his wisdom. He was right―if we rushed into things, we would suffer regret. Our confused consciences could turn us away from each other afterward, and our love would never grow to be pure and good.

  "Of course you're right, Jimmy," I said, "but I always loved you as much as a sister could love her brother, and now I promise to learn to love you the way a woman should love a man, no matter how long it takes me and how long I have to wait."

  "Do you mean that, Dawn?"

  "I do, Jimmy."

  He smiled and kissed me softly again, but even that short, gentle peck on the cheek sent an electric thrill through my body.

  "I should leave tonight," he said.

  "Please don't, Jimmy. I'll stay with you all night," I said. "And we'll talk until you can't keep your eyelids open."

  He laughed.

  "All right, but I should leave early in the morning," he said. "The truckers get started early, and they're the best chance I got to get rides."

  "I'll get you breakfast when I go to eat with the rest of the staff. That's early. And we'll have a little more time together.

  "But do you promise that when you get to Georgia, you'll write and tell me where you are?" I asked. Just the thought of his leaving and being so far .way from me now made me feel sick inside.

  "Sure. And as soon as I earn enough money on my own, I'll come back to see you."

  "Promise?"

  “Yes.”

  We lay together on the bunk, me snuggled in his arm, and talked about our dreams. Jimmy had never had his mind set on being anything before, but now he talked about joining the air force when he was old enough and maybe becoming a pilot.

  "But what if there was a war, Jimmy? I'd feel terrible and worry all the time. Why don't you think about being something else, like a lawyer or a doctor or—"

  "Come on, Dawn. Where am I going to get enough money to go to a college?"

  "Maybe I’ll get enough money to send you to college."

  He was quiet and then he turned to me with his dark eyes so sad and heavy.

  "You won't want me to be your boyfriend if I’m not somebody big and important. Is that it, Dawn?"

  "Oh, no, Jimmy. Never."

  "You won't be able to help it," he predicted.

  "That's not true, Jimmy," I protested.

  "Maybe it's not true now, but after you've been living here a while, you'll get to feel that way. It happens. These rich, old southern families plan then daughters' lives—what they will be, who they will marry—"

  "It won't happen to me," I insisted.

  "We'll see," he said, convinced he was right. He could be so stubborn sometimes.

  "James Gary Longchamp, don't tell me what I will and will not be like. I am my own person and nobody—not a tyrant grandmother or anybody else—is going
to mold me into someone else. She can call me Eugenia until she gets red in the face."

  "All right," he said, laughing. He kissed me on cheek. "Whatever you say. I don't think she's going to be a match for your temper anyhow. I wonder who you get that from? Your mother got a temper?"

  "Hardly. She whines instead of yells. And she gets everything she wants anyway. She doesn't have to be mad at anyone."

  "What about your father?"

  "I don't think he's capable of getting angry. Nothing seems to bother him. He's as smooth as fresh butter."

  "So then you inherited your grandmother's temperament. Maybe you're more like her than you think."

  "I don't want to be. She's not what I imagined my grandmother would be like. She's . . ."

  We heard the sets of footsteps on the cement stairway before the door was thrust open. A moment later the hideaway was illuminated, and we looked up at two policemen. I grabbed Jimmy's hand.

  "See," Clara Sue said from behind them, "I told you I wasn't lying."

  "Let's go, kid," one of the policemen said to Jimmy. He stood up slowly.

  "I ain't going back there," he said defiantly. The policeman moved forward. Jimmy stepped to the side. When the policeman reached out to grab him, Jimmy ducked and scooted to the side.

  "Jimmy!" I cried.

  The other policeman moved swiftly and seized him around the waist, lifting him off the ground. Jimmy flared out, but the second policeman joined the first, and they restrained him quickly.

  "Let him go!" I screamed.

  "You can come along quietly, or we'll put handcuffs on you, kid," the policeman holding him from behind said. "What's it going to be?"

  "All right, all right," Jimmy said, his face red with embarrassment and anger. "Let go."

  The policeman loosened his grip, and Jimmy stood by, his head lowered in defeat.

  "Move on out," the other policeman commanded. I turned to Clara Sue, who stood in the doorway. "How could you do this?" I screamed. "You mean, selfish . . ."