by Liv Morris
I vaguely remember hearing the GPS instructions as I drove downtown to this building, but damn if I even recall walking through the front doors.
After more mindless and unfocused minutes roll by, there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey. Everyone’s leaving.” I look up and see the guy who let me borrow the paper and pen. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I answer back. “Thanks.”
“I’m Jason Lee from Hopkins.” The dude reaches out his hand and we shake.
“Sinclair Elliott. Columbia.”
“You seemed kind of zoned out during the talk. Here’s my phone number if you have any questions. The professor left some materials by the door.”
“Thanks.” Running my hands through my hair, I glance at the door and see the table with a few folders left on it. The professor stands nearby, talking to a young woman.
“See you later,” Jason says as he walks away from me. I make my way to the table and grab the stacked folders without even looking at them. I can’t concentrate on anything besides what I saw this morning.
The clock on the conference room wall says six o’clock. It feels like it should be no later than three. Even through the breaks, I just sat in my chair and drew on my paper. My mind had shutdown.
I’m usually the one other students turn to for notes and lecture outlines. I never miss a beat. Today, I didn’t even hit a beat.
***
I check my phone and notice an email from James with the address to his downtown apartment and a reminder that I’m moving there tomorrow after brunch.
Leaving Harlow alone with James in that house unsettles me. Though, I’m not sure what I can do about it. Would she even want my help? After seeing her today on that table and witnessing how James treated her last night, I don’t think I’m going to be able to standby and be silent. Maybe that’s why I feel so antsy and nervous. It’s like some cosmic force is pulling me toward Harlow. I want to unlock the gilded cage she’s trapped inside and set her free. I also want to be there for her when she walks out of it.
Does she like being under the control of a man who dictates every aspect of her life? She wants to fulfill her lifelong hope to write poetry, so I know there are desires conflicting with what James’ dictates. She’s young with so much promise, but she’s giving him her entire life to control.
I exit the building and walk to the Porsche. I parked outside the building since parking downtown on the weekend is free. This car’s one sweet ride, but something about James offering it to me seems amiss. He was so insistent I drive this car, and it makes me wonder why. I guess I’m generally suspicious of him. The uncle I thought I knew is a creepy piece of shit.
I wonder how he has done so well in life. Maybe he’s one of those people like my father, his own brother, who fools others into thinking they walk on water when they’re really the type who should be swimming with the sharks below the surface.
My grandmother can’t be to blame for how her sons turned out. She practically raised me and I know the difference between right and wrong—more like treating people with dignity versus a possession for someone to control.
Blaming my tyrant of a grandfather is another matter. He made his millions in New York’s financial world by climbing over or squishing those who stood in his way. Unlike my father and uncle, he put up no charades to hide his true character. Even after his death, rumors still abound about his ruthless, cutthroat behavior.
Psychoanalyzing my family won’t change the situation here in Rochester, though. My uncle plans to marry a woman he can control or imprison. The very thought makes my whole body tense at the injustice of Harlow succumbing to his will.
I open the car door and slide onto the soft leather seat. When I turn on the car, the stereo system comes to life and fills the quiet air. I hear my stomach growling over the music, and a pang of hunger hits me.
During our short lunch break, my head was still spinning from seeing Harlow and food was the furthest thing from my mind. I back out of the parking spot and drive toward James’ house while looking around for a place to pick up a bite. There’s nothing but various fast food chains and a drive-thru burger doesn’t appeal to me.
Driving farther, I spot a small pizza place in a shopping center a few miles from The Clinic and pull into the lot. Not wanting to look like an ass and bring home food just for myself, I decide to ring James’ house to see if they’d like anything while I’m out.
My palms perspire while I wait for the line to connect in anticipation that Harlow will answer. It will be the first contact between us since I tore my eyes away from her this morning. To say I’m anxious is putting it mildly.
“Hello,” Harlow whispers into the phone after a couple rings. Her weak voice worries me.
“Harlow. It’s Sin.” She sighs on the other end. “Have you eaten anything for dinner? I’m picking up a pizza.”
Maybe this conversation will help break the ice between us. Hopefully things will be less awkward when I see her face to face. I’ve been dreading that all day while at the same time dying to see how she is doing.
She takes forever to answer me. “Nothing yet. James is going to be back late, late, late as usual.” Her response doesn’t sound like the toe-the-line Harlow I have come to know with James. I hope a crack is forming in his control over her. It might be wishful thinking, but I want to have hope that she’ll break away from him before it is too late.
“Okay. What’s your favorite choice of pizza?”
“Whatever you want is fine.” Her answer sounds like the kind James would expect—the kind that says she’ll bend to his will and then let him bend her over the table to fuck her. My fingers grip the phone tighter. It’s like she’s fucking brainwashed.
“When you were a kid, what did you like? Cheese? Pepperoni?” I ask, trying a different approach.
“My mother and I would order Hawaiian. The ham and pineapple kind.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I like that kind, too. I’ll see you in a few.”
“Thanks, but really, I’m okay with something else.” Sweet thing has no idea she doesn’t need to please me by doing what she thinks I want. I want her to be who she is.
“It’s cool. I want to make you happy.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. See you in a few.” My heart breaks over the concept of wanting to make her happy seeming foreign to her.
I order the pizza and add a few breadsticks into the mix. My stomach continues to roll in empty protest and I plan on eating them on the way back to James’ place. I laugh to myself, imagining how happy he’d be seeing me eating greasy breadsticks in his fancy car. Hey, he gave me the keys to his six-figure set of wheels without any caveats, so eating junk food on the German leather works for me.
I inhale the breadsticks by the time I arrive at James’ compound. I can’t think of a better word to describe the monstrosity spread out on his acreage. His house sticks out like a hooker on 5th Avenue. All the homes around him are modest and sparse. Nothing elaborate like a six-foot fence with a gate fit for the Buckingham Palace.
I pull into the garage, shut off the engine, and grab the pizza off the leather seat next to me. The breadsticks I ate churn in my gut as I start to walk back down the same hallway I escaped this morning. I have to face the woman who laid on the table for my uncle’s pleasure. One thing is for sure, I’m not eating dinner on it—or any meal, for that matter.
I pass through the hallway and stride by the tainted table. I can’t even look at the damn thing. The kitchen is dark, so I search for a light switch. It takes me a minute to find the one for the light over the island. I place the pizza down on the granite top and wonder where Harlow is hiding. Maybe she’s as nervous to face me as I am her.
I remember James telling me about a media room not too far off the kitchen area, so I go in search for Harlow. The faint sound of the TV reaches my ears and I follow it to a dark room only lit by the screen. There’s a big couch in front of me and Harlow sits mo
stly hidden on it. Her hair appears almost white, in the low light’s glow from the TV.
I take a deep breath and debate whether I should approach her or call out her name. Either one might startle her.
I decide to get her attention first. “Hey, Harlow,” I say, deliberately keeping my voice low. She pops off the couch, and in one quick motion, stands up, facing me. Girl’s quick on her feet.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” No shit, Sherlock. I ease around the couch and see an open wine bottle on the table sitting next to an almost empty wine glass. Drinking alone. Never a good sign.
“Seems like I’m good at coming in without being noticed.” Her eyebrows rise even higher than they did when I called her name two seconds ago. The blush on her face appears a scarlet red. I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about this morning unless she brought it up, but here I am, all foot-in-mouth. What a fuck up!
“Sorry about that.” I plead with my eyes for her forgiveness. “We don’t have to talk about … this morning.”
She walks forward, drawing closer to me, and trips on her own two feet. I grab her arm to help keep her upright and she looks up at me with sad, red-rimmed eyes.
She’s been crying. Hard.
Hell, my heart aches at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. Drinking and miserable. I can’t bear to witness her like this. It takes all my effort not to draw her into my arms and comfort her at this instant.
“Are you okay?” I help her back down onto the couch and sit next to her while reluctantly removing my hand from her arm. Her skin feels so soft under my fingers, it’s hard to let go. At this point, I’m only a concerned acquaintance in her life. Someone she just met. Though, I can’t think of another woman I’ve wanted to guard from hurts or protect from harm.
She sniffles and buries her head in her hands. Her long, blond hair hangs down and hides her face from view. I shouldn’t touch her again, but my hands have a mind of their own. I take the hair, place it behind her ear, and let my fingers glide over her skin a little too long.
She stills at my touch and peers at me through cloudy eyes.
“Jeez. I’ve had better days. Less humiliating days,” she says softly, and adds a hollow laugh. “How can you even look at me?”
“What are you talking about?” All I want to do is look at you.
“This morning. I’m disgusting.” She buries her head and her soft hair hides her from me again. This time, I get down on my knees in front of her with my hands resting next to her legs so we’re eye to eye.
“Harlow,” I say in a slow cadence, and watch her face tilt up toward me. The sadness I see from her internal struggle hits me like a punch in the gut. “You’re James’ fiancée. What you do with him is your business. It’s between two consenting adults.”
Her chin begins to tremble and she turns away from me. Her behavior makes me question how much she wanted to be tied up this morning.
“Look at me and tell me it was consensual.” I ball my hands in fists and push them into the couch as I wait for her to answer me, but she can’t seem to form a word in reply. The longer I wait, the more I see red.
“It’s complicated,” she whispers while peeking at me through the strands of her hair, but I can barely make out her words over the stupid TV.
I find the remote lying on the coffee table and hit the power button. The room grows silent and heavy. I’m going to press this point to find out the truth until she gives me a straight answer, no matter how awkward the topic.
“Consent isn’t complicated. It’s either yes or no. Which is it, Harlow?” She turns her eyes down again, which isn’t a good sign. A simple yes from her lips would end this conversation. Instead, it’s just beginning.
She begins to cry, and her delicate shoulders start to shake. Each sound and movement rips me apart inside. Next thing I know, I’m hauling her into my arms before I give myself a moment to think. I want to shield every inch of her from harm, cover her up, and help dry her tears.
She curls herself against my chest and I cradle her like a child. I want to absorb the pain she’s feeling, carry it for her. My need to help her is more than an everyday compassion for someone hurting. I’ll be damned, but I’m falling for this blond beauty and want to do anything I can to see her smile like she did last night.
I may have my arms wrapped around her, but she has me wrapped around her little finger. In twenty-four hours, this beautiful, distraught woman has planted herself within my soul. She might be living with my uncle, close to marrying him, but she sits in my lap broken from his control on her life and choices.
I press my nose into her silken waves and take a deep breath. My eyes close and the sweet, flowery scent calms the beast at war inside me—the one that wants to protect every golden strand of hair on her head and punish my uncle, the bastard who stole the joy of this beautiful woman in my arms.
She stays cuddled and secure in my arms until her last tear is shed. After a couple quiet minutes, I return to our conversation in hopes she opens up to me.
“Do you feel ready to answer my question?” I whisper into Harlow’s hair and tighten my hold on her. “I need to know.”
“I’ll try,” she mutters against my chest, so close to my heart. She makes no attempt to move off my lap, and I’m more than fine with that. I hope my embrace can give her the strength she needs to continue. She keeps her head buried in my chest, hiding her face from me. I would love to see her baby blue eyes since I can read more than words in them, but maybe it’s better for her to tell the truth in this secret-like place.
“Do your best.” I press my lips to her head in a silent kiss with hopes of passing on some reassurance.
“I don’t want you to think bad of me.” She shudders in my arms, as if the thought of confessing the truth frightens her.
“Never, Harlow.” He had you tied up to the table, not the other way around.
“I haven’t seen my best friend Emma in weeks.”
Finally, she glances up at me and I see the effect of all the turmoil. Red-eyes filled with unshed tears and a downcast frown that reveals the weight of her world.
“Why?” I ask.
“James. He doesn’t care for her lifestyle.” She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “He claims she has loose morals.”
“That’s golden coming from him.” She grimaces at my comment and I change course.
Attacking James, though I want to discredit him in every way possible, will not help this woman muster up the courage to speak. My focus needs to center on her.
“So, what does that have to do with this morning?”
“It sounds so crazy, but I let him, you know …” She pushes off my lap and sits down beside me on the couch with our legs almost touching. I ache to have her back in my arms, to feel her soft curves folding into me again, but I sense she needs the distance between us.
She gazes down at her hands and twists them together as we sit there in silence. Gone are her eyes from my view and the loss saddens me, but I wait without pushing for more.
“We’ve never done that before, though he’s wanted me to.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “He agreed to let me see Emma if I gave in to him. I feel so ashamed.”
“Let me get this straight. This was the first time you let him do this, and only so you could see your friend.”
“Yes. Yes, to all of it.”
Harlow begins to cry again and I settle my hand on her back. With a light touch, I pat between her shoulders, hoping to soothe away her tears while I attempt to push down the anger rising up in me. I’m battling coming off as a jealous boyfriend versus a concerned friend. My goal should be keeping a level head no matter how hard I want to rage. One thing is certain: my uncle is one messed up motherfucker. The final ounce of respect I had for him just disappeared in my barely concealed anger.
“He should be ashamed, not you. What he did to you is twisted in the worst possible way. There’s no excuse for it. Maybe he didn’t hold a gun to your head, but do you feel you
had a true choice on your own?”
“I guess not. It was the price I thought I had to pay to see her.”
“Why should you have to pay a price? She’s your friend. You wanted to see her. That should be the end of the story.”
Nothing adds up for me. I don’t understand why she allows James to treat her like a prisoner, locked in the house with him holding the keys, giving into his every desire without a thought of her own. Doesn’t she realize she’s free to pick up and leave at any time?
He has brainwashed her into believing he should control her every action. That he knows what’s best for her. She’s given up her will and handed it to him. The invisible walls imprisoning her might as well be made of steel.
“I feel so lost.”
“You’re not lost. Well, not anymore.”
She raises her head and turns to me with shimmering eyes that contain a small glimmer of hope in them. Her golden hair halos her face, and she resembles a helpless angel whose wings have been clipped. She’s been grounded and needs to find her way so she can fly again. Maybe I’ve been sent to remind her of her worth, because I’m afraid she’s forgotten.
How do I help her believe in herself? I stare into the blue sea of her eyes and know there are missing pieces to the puzzle concerning her and my uncle. I feel like we’ve known each other longer than just a day, and maybe she feels this way too. It’s hard to believe that’s all it’s been since I laid eyes on her in the airport and felt that instant “something” between us. I can’t really label it with a word. Attraction doesn’t fit, because it’s not merely a physical thing. She feels familiar to me.
“Hey.” Wanting to connect with her in some physical way, I take her hand in mine. Another bold move, though not as bold as wrapping her in my arms, but I don’t give a flying fuck. She needs to know I am here for her. “We can talk and hang out tonight. Just the two of us. It’s past seven and you have to be starving.” She nods while rubbing a finger under her eye to wipe away an invisible tear. “I am, too. I’ll bring the pizza in here.”
