“You’re the most intriguing woman.”
“Am I?”
“You react differently than other women.” He’s still smiling, but there are creases of worry at the corner of his eyes.
“’Cause I don’t throw myself at your feet?” Like Connie, and probably every other woman he’s ever met.
“An interesting image.”
I want him to always look at me this way, lust mixed with a large amount of tenderness. If only I could be the simple young woman he believes me to be. It’s a pity I hate liquor. A stiff drink would be more beneficial than the Coke I’m sipping.
“You want me to be honest with you, right?”
“I think we’ve already established that, haven’t we?”
“I want to be with you.” I twist the napkin between my fingers. “I’m not sure I can, and I need to tell you why.”
“Yes, finally.” He reaches inside his suit coat for his wallet. “Let me settle the bill, and we can talk about this in private. I have a cottage at The Red Fox Inn.”
We’re alone in the outside garden. Knowing Roy, he’s reserved all the tables. “No.” I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m braver here.”
“Alright.” He moves his chair directly in front of mine, resting his elbows on his thighs and placing his hands on my knees. “Go on.”
His warm and calloused hands comfort me and send fissions of balm throughout my body, emboldening me to tell the story I’ve kept locked inside.
“I killed someone.”
His only reaction is a slight lift of his eyebrow. I guess killing someone doesn’t register high on his scale of incredible things. He was a soldier and, from the looks of it, still is. Or, maybe, my heart leaps with hope, he truly meant what he said and nothing I’ve done can alter his perception of me.
“I killed Charlie Stanwyck.”
“Don’t tell him about me,” Charlie snarls.
Roy growls. “You didn’t kill him.”
“I did…I mean my actions caused it.”
“Charlie died behind the wheel while driving drunk.”
How does he know this? “You know the Stanwycks?”
“Mr. Stanwyck is one of my initial investors.”
Well, isn’t it a small, twisted world? “He told you about it?” This conversation is not going how I expected.
“That’s for another time. Go on with your story.”
I don’t know where to start. “Charlie was in my high school ‘cause he’d been kicked out of boarding school for something.”
“Fighting.” Roy must see my confused expression. “He was expelled because he beat a student, put him in the hospital.”
I didn’t know that. “I should have said no when he asked me to the dance. I didn’t like him. I wanted to feel special, for once. I wasn’t popular in school and…” Saying it out loud makes me sound shallow.
“I see.”
He doesn’t. How could he? He’s imposing, handsome and charismatic. While I’ve always been a shy, skinny girl with the stigma of being left on a doorstep as an infant. “I don’t know why Charlie asked me. He ignored me the whole time. I sat at a back table while the popular kids laughed at me. I would have called my aunts, but they were overjoyed I was going out. So I waited until he came over to take me home. But he didn’t, he took me to this make-out spot. There’s a place up on the mountain by Stoke Castle.” I keep my eyes on my lap.
“Did he rape you?”
I glance up and shake my head. Roy tilts his head back, the veins in his neck are strained, and his hands clench into fists. Anger rolls off him in waves, and I wait until his eyes meet mine.
“He got…aggressive.” I wrap my arms around my chest. “Because I didn’t want to…you know.”
“Have sex with him.”
I nod. “He said terrible things, vile. He enjoyed making me suffer. He…” I inhale a deep breath. “He had a knife.”
“What?”
“He wanted to see my blood. And kept asking why I was so special and saying it was our duty to fuck.” I pull my right leg forward and run my hand down my leg to my shin. “Here, the scar is faint, but he got me here. That’s when I went a little nuts. I knew I had to get out of there.”
Roy’s calloused palm slides down my leg, tracing the pale scar. “That fucking bastard.” He heaves in a lungful of air. “I should have…” He shakes his head. “Please, go on.”
“I fought. I couldn’t stop him. He kept cursing me, telling me he was the only man for me. Without him, I’d be frigid. I needed him as much as he needed me. That he’d already told his father.” I take a few cleansing breaths. “He reeked of alcohol and sweat and got on top of me. His hands.” I close my eyes and fold in upon myself.
“Seeing you in pain… You don’t have to tell me more.”
“I do. I need to get this out.” I take a sip of Coke. My mind goes back to that night. “I remember his hands fumbling under my skirt. How he tore at my underwear. He wasn’t…capable.”
“Didn’t have an erection?”
I nod. “He was livid. Blamed me. I thought I was going to die. The bottle was on the floorboard. I grabbed it and bashed him over the head. He screamed, and I’ll never forget the way he looked at me, like he was confused and lost, and then rage swept through him. ‘I’m going to fix you.’ That’s what he yelled at me, right before I hit him again and he fell over. I scrambled out and ran.”
Roy holds my hand. “None of it is true.”
It stuck, though. Fixed in my brain so perfectly I can recall every detail of how Charlie cursed me and taunted me and threatened to strip off my clothes and leave me by the side of the road like an unwanted pet.
“I should have found my phone and called the police. I don’t know why I didn’t. I just ran through the woods, and then everything goes dark.” Roy glides his hand up my arm, bringing me back to the present.
I blink back tears. “I don’t know what happened or how I got home.”
Gently, he wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“I remember being on the side of the road, and there was a man and a car, and then I was running toward my house. Why can’t I remember?”
“You were in shock.”
“I couldn’t have run the whole way. It’s too far. Why hasn’t anyone come forward?”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t kill Charlie.” He pulls me into his lap and whispers. “You did the right thing.”
“He said I was cursed.” I sob into his chest.
“Let it out.” He rubs my back, soothing me. “Charlie was troubled. He got what was coming to him.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Look at me.” Roy lifts my chin and waits until our eyes meet. “What happened to Charlie was not your fault.”
“I lied to the police. When they came to the house asking questions about why we’d left the party early and how he ended up near Stoke. I told them I wasn’t well, and he’d taken me home. I said I didn’t know why he was there, but I don’t think they believed me.”
“I’m sure they were only going through the motions.” He takes my hand in his. “Charlie’s father covered up a few incidents with the local police. It was only a matter of time before he did something irrevocable.” He pulls me closer to his chest. “And you never told your aunts?”
“They knew I wasn’t telling the complete truth, but I kept to my story. You know how wealthy Mr. Stanwyck is. I was afraid no one would believe me. It would come back on my aunts. They depend on the business.”
He doesn’t fight my logic and nods his head. Of all his actions, this is the most reassuring. He understands my need to protect them, at all costs.
“The important thing is you didn’t kill Charlie. And you made it back home. And it’s over now. And it won’t ever happen to you again.”
“But it did.”
His arms tighten around me. “Jason.” Still holding me in his arms, he slips out his wallet and leaves money on the table. “Let’s get you
out of here.” And effortlessly, stands with me in his arms. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
“Your shoulder,” I protest.
“Baby.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve carried groceries heavier than you.”
Unbelievably, I smile and wrap my arms around his neck as he strides through the garden gate and back to the Rover. Telling my secret has lifted the burden. When he’s belted me into my seat and climbed behind the wheel, he turns toward me.
“Thank you for trusting me. Trusting that nothing you can say will shock me or make me think less of you?”
I hope that’s true as I screw up my last bit of courage. “There’s more.”
“I get it. Charlie said terrible things to you. Assaulted you. It’s not a surprise you were traumatized.”
I shake my head. “I…um…it’s only…” I take a deep breath. “The frigid—”
“There’s nothing frigid about you. You’ve had boys pawing at you.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?” He reaches across to place his hand on my thigh and waits for me to continue.
“Boys. Or, you know, anything.”
His eyes narrow.
“I believed what he said…that I’m frigid. And it’s been true. I mean, I’ve never felt anything.” I take a moment. “Toward anyone, and I haven’t dated, or…you know…and, well…”
His thumb, which was moving back and forth on my thigh, stops. His whole being freezes for many seconds until he lifts his hand from my leg. His eyes search. “Are you telling me…” He rakes his hands through his hair. His expression is tortured. “No, no, this can’t be. You’ve had sex. Fucking done something.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a virgin. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chapter Seven
The blood drains from his face, and his green eyes harden. It’s like he’s slammed a door in my face. “Roy, please.”
He throws the Rover into drive and white-knuckles the steering wheel. “I’m taking you home.”
Stunned and wounded, I make myself small and quiet as a mouse.
The drive home is excruciating, with Roy grim-faced while I hold back tears and stare out the window.
He takes the turn onto my driveway too fast and fishtails on the gravel. “Shit!” He bangs his fist on the dashboard. “I should have known. I knew you were too fucking young.”
“Please, don’t be mad at me.” I hate myself for begging.
He doesn’t respond as he exits the vehicle and stalks onto the porch.
Like an abused puppy, I follow him to my door.
He averts his eyes and keeps his distance from me like I’m infectious.
I open the door, ready to step inside.
“Dammit, you left it unlocked.” He glowers at me and takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “Wait while I check it out.”
It doesn’t take long before he’s back on the porch with his hard eyes and his clenched jaw. “Lock up and keep your ass inside.”
“No!” He backs up when I try to touch his arm. “Don’t leave. Not now.” He says nothing and my anger rises. “I see now. What a stupid little girl I was, thinking you were different. I’m something to fuck and nothing else. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me.”
He steps into my space and looms over me, his face a mask of pain. “If this was about fucking I’d have bent you over that table.”
“Maybe you should have.”
He steps back, reining in his emotions. “This is my fault. I didn’t think. I should have sensed it or something. This…this changes everything.” He goes back to the door, holding it open. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he says while staring anywhere but at me. “I need to think.”
He turns to face me. His eyes are softer and his tone almost apologetic. “I’m honored you entrusted me with your secret. Give me a couple hours. Do you understand?”
Charlie laughs. “You thought my curse wouldn’t hold?”
“No!” I bunch my hands into fists and hold my arms stiff against my sides. My vehemence causes him to lean back. “I don’t understand.” I take a step into his personal space. “What’s there to think about?” I poke his chest. “I’m a virgin. I’m not ashamed.”
“But I am. I had no idea how much damage was done to you.” He grabs the porch railing. “I swear to you I’ll be back tonight.” He walks off the porch, stops with his back to me. “Lock your door,” he orders and gets into his car.
I don’t know how long I’m frozen in place, but, finally, I slog inside, sit in the kitchen, and cry. I’ve told him my darkest secrets, and he’s left me.
When my well of tears is dry, I drag myself upstairs and change into my running clothes. I don’t care that it’s dark, or that there’s the smell of rain in the air. I have to run, to exhaust myself so I can’t think about what happened. If I don’t, I’ll succumb to the temptation of the razor. Better to break a leg in the dark.
I run full-out up the long trail, ignoring the tree branches scratching my legs and uneven terrain threatening to pitch me off-balance and the last mosquitos of summer dining on my flesh. When I pass my aunts’ home, the lights are on in the living room and I know they’re watching one of their shows. I stop, resting my hands on bent knees while I gulp for air.
I could walk in, and they would shower me with love and comfort. They’d tell me I’m better off without his sorry ass, and before the night is over I’d be laughing with them.
But I leave them in peace and run on in the darkness while the rain lashes my body and the thunder accelerates my pace until my legs are rubbery and my lungs scream for air. A dead log underfoot pitches me off-balance. I hit the forest floor hard. With the air knocked from my lungs, I roll on my side in a bed of decomposing leaves. I’m cold and wet and miserable and wallowing in my emotional pain. Only the quickening time between thunder and lightning compels me to heft my body up and continue on my way home. When my little house comes into view, it’s lit up against the dark like a tiny island in a turbulent sea.
Dripping wet, I stand in the foyer under the harsh light. My arms and legs are scratched like I’ve been attacked by a demonic cat. I kick off my shoes and toss them onto the porch. I’m thankful for the pain that numbs my emotions and keeps them from ripping me apart. I won’t be a victim anymore. I’m tired of living afraid of attracting too much attention. It doesn’t matter how tiny I try and make myself, the bad always finds me.
“I won’t live like this anymore!”
“Don’t get cocky. You thought Roy was your knight, didn’t you? I gotta admit I was a bit worried, but you and I are cut from the same cloth.”
“Shut up, Charlie!”
I slam the front door closed, grab the liquor bottle Roy drank from when he was being stitched up, and stumble upstairs into the bathroom. Turning the tap to the hottest setting, I peel off my clothes, tossing them into the trash, and wait for the large tub to fill. I spy Reggie’s straight razor sitting on the rim.
“Yessss,” Charlie encourages.
My hand shakes with the overwhelming need to touch it and run my fingers over the pearl handle and open the shiny blade. I know how the light will catch and wink back at me with its mutual desire to draw out my blood. No, no. I twist the top off the bottle and take a long drink. It burns my throat, stripping layers off as it drops into my stomach.
Needing to do something, I yank open the cabinet and grab a bottle of bubble bath, pouring all of it into the bath water. With the liquor bottle in hand, I sink into the water, ignoring the stings as the too-hot water hits my scratches.
I scowl at the razor. “You don’t control me.” And take another drink, and another, until a delicious detachment envelops my body. Even with all the alcohol in my system, I want to hold my implement of pain. To distance myself, I lean my head back against the tile.
I must have dozed off because, too soon, the water is ice cold and the bubbles have long evaporated. When I reach for th
e plug, my hand bumps into the bottle bobbing around in the water like there’s a lure at the other end. It takes two tries to grab it, and there’s a bit of pride when I see how much I’ve drunk.
Standing is a wobbly, sloshy affair as I stumble and squint at the too-bright lights while walking into the bedroom, not bothering to dry off, uncaring of the wet footprints I leave behind. The storm pelts the tin roof with rain and there’s still the occasional thunderclap, though it’s farther away. I throw on a t-shirt, grab the liquor, and hold tight to the banister as I stagger down the stairs.
So this is what being drunk is like. All my anxieties sanded away until there is a smooth path to what I want most. Right now, I want orange juice. I think it would be mighty tasty mixed with the booze. The fridge light assaults my eyes with its surgery-room level of brightness; I don’t see the orange juice, but I do see a Coke.
“Atta work.”
It takes three tries to twist the cap off. I realize the liquor is on the kitchen table. “How did you get there?” I grab and cradle it to my chest.
There’s a loud thumping noise, and the house seems to vibrate. Is it thunder?
“Daisy,” Roy calls. “Let me in.”
“Fuck off!” I smile at the strength of my voice. That’a teach him to walk out on me.
“You didn’t lock the fucking door.”
“Are you going to huff and puff and blow my house down?”
“What? Are you okay?”
“Perfect.” I stumble and right myself with the help of a kitchen chair. “Now go away.” My words are thick against my tongue. “You’ve got thinking to do,” I taunt.
“No!” The door opens and slams against the wall. Roy stands in my foyer like a bull ready to charge.
I shrink back.
His head whips around as he notes my movement but the rest of his body remains fixed. “I told you I was coming back.”
I sway on my feet.
“Daisy,” his voice cracks. He slams my door. “Deadbolts installed tomorrow.”
I have visions of him roaming around my home with a drill in his hand like a gun.
Secrets In Our Scars Page 9
