I became strangely aware of being watched, but before I could investigate, I realized, with horror, that Steve was leading me toward the master bedroom. Instead of dragging me by the arm, he was now escorting me—with his hand on the small of my back. I turned slowly, painfully slowly, to see my entire crew staring at me, watching me being escorted by Steve to the master bedroom. Gavin and Nicky, stood out especially, their wide-eyed looks of concern unmistakable.
Lyle was making a face, shaking his head, and mouthing what looked like, “Don’t do it,” very slowly. Simon was nowhere to be seen.
For some strange reason my thoughts turned to Hemingway. Every truly wicked thing comes from innocence. Hopefully this sentiment doesn’t apply to me, a girl—a one-dimensional character.
Steve led me into the bedroom, closed, and then locked, the door.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m just thinking of your privacy,” he said, answering my look of concern.
I made a face reflecting my disbelief, which Steve ignored, grinning.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked smoothly.
“I guess,” was all I could reply.
Steve smiled and poured a glass of amber liquid for both of us. I downed mine in one gulp, to numb the pain that was threatening to devour my soul.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Steve smirked, before handing me another drink.
I decided to drink this one more slowly. I looked around the gigantic suite, truly afraid and dreading hearing whatever he would say, when a horrific realization struck me: For the love of God—he really does have a gilded mirror over his bed.
“I can see that you’re ready to get down to it,” he said, following my gaze toward the mirror and leaning eagerly toward me.
“Umm,” I replied, turning my face away from his, “Maybe you could tell me whatever it is you wanted to talk to me about?”
He laughed sarcastically. “Right. Well, I thought maybe we could talk a little... later?” He raised an eyebrow and sat down on the bed.
Wow. I am an idiot. I was so worried about... other things, it just didn’t occur to me he could actually be this much of a sleaze. I guess I thought all of the talk around other guys was more bravado than anything else. Obviously, I’d been gravely wrong. I also hadn’t been in this sort of situation in a long, long time.
“You’re different from other girls, Evangeline... I noticed that when I met you. You’re special. Anyone could tell you that.”
I winced, with my back to him, at this shameless attempt to seduce me.
“Well,” I replied, trying my best to sound casual, “being ‘special’ isn’t always a good thing. Sometimes it really, really sucks.” Particularly right now. “Just one of those little things they never tell you in school. Anyway, you said you had a secret to share with me?” I was rapidly losing faith in my ability to redirect him.
He grinned devilishly. “You really need me to spell it out for you? Alright. What I know about you is that you’re a man-eater, a hellcat, Evangeline. That’s what everyone is saying about you, that you’re very adventurous, but you have to dispose of your men when you’re through with them. I’ve heard the stories. You’re into all kinds of freaky shit, but since most guys can’t handle it, you chew ‘em up and spit ‘em out. You don’t waste time with childish attachments. It’s obvious at the office—no attachments there.” He raised his eyebrows.
“You sure do keep a low profile, though, I’ll give you that. It took me almost five years to figure you out. For the longest time I thought you were just another stuck-up bitch. Still, there was something... different about you, and I was curious.” He began making his way toward me. “Girls like you are very rare. Very rewarding. I would definitely like to be chewed up and spit out by you. I can handle it. I like a... challenge.” He smiled and brushed the hair off my shoulder, tracing his finger along my collarbone.
I was still stuck on the dispose of men bit. I stared down at my lap.
My left hand twitched.
“No. There’s no misunderstanding this time.” Steve replied, tightening his grip and turning me toward him, “You knew exactly what you were coming for tonight,” he leaned forward to kiss me.
My hands were trembling slightly, but I managed to hold it together and brush him aside. “Look, I’m here because I overheard you and the guys talking about New Mexico. That’s the only reason I even came to your party. So please unlock the door so I can go back to my friends.”
“Friends?” He laughed cruelly, “What friends? Your ‘friends’ don’t even like you. I’ve seen how Simon looks at you. I don’t know what you did to him, but the dude can’t stand you—everyone knows that. He’s only hanging around with you as a favor to that a-hole Gavin; you do know that, right? And Nicky, she’s got her own husband and kids. She doesn’t have time for you. And weren’t you guys friends when you were kids, anyway? Yeah, so she doesn’t even count. Who’s your other friend, Lyle, the biggest geek on the planet? Please. Believe me, either they don’t technically qualify as human beings or they’re not going to miss you for a little while.”
The sickening part of his whole speech was that he was right. Deep down, I have always known it—I just don’t belong. Being a misfit is one thing, and I’ve learned to live with it, but I kept brushing it off as a trick of my imagination, the possibility that Simon really dislikes me. If Steve sees it, too, though, it must be true. While I was lost in thought, he took advantage of my silence and put his arm around me, apparently bored with talk.
I turned my head and sort of made my arm go limp in an amateurish attempt to slink from his grasp. After a bit of covert struggling, I managed to disentangle myself. However, Steve had a look of determination on his face that said much more force was needed to dissuade him.
My insides, already simmering, began to boil. I’m nearly 35—I should no longer have to be defending myself from this type of guy. It’s bad enough at the office, having to use evasive maneuvering to avoid awkward encounters, or to feign politeness in order to look like I’m being a good sport. No more.
All pretense and politeness gone, I stopped struggling and turned to Steve.
“Look, I didn’t really want to put it this bluntly, but since you don’t seem to be getting the point with subtlety, I don’t seem to have a choice: This is NOT going to happen,” I was angry, particularly at the feeling of betrayal I felt in my heart. I considered Simon among my few true friends, one of the only people in the otherwise heartbreakingly empty world whom I actually trusted. Yet another slap in the face to me, in what seemed to be an endless barrage of such behavior.
A rage in me seemed to intensify with each word I spoke. For some reason I didn’t care to think about, it felt good. So I continued, focusing all of it onto Steve. “There is no fucking way. Honestly, I’d rather die. I was trying to be tactful before, so I hope that makes it clear enough for you. If not, then let me add that you are just about the most sickeningly obnoxious person I’ve ever met. I have done everything possible to avoid interacting with you at work for that very reason, and I will literally vomit if you touch me again. Now unlock the goddamn door before I start screaming—or vomiting—your choice.”
I didn’t even see his backhand coming. I was knocked backward but remained on my feet, the room spinning and blurry. While I was dazed, he pushed me down onto the floor. Hard.
So much for honesty and standing up for myself.
“Just who the fuck do you think you are, girl? You’re a researcher, a glorified librarian. A geek, a loser. Just because you try so hard to be different doesn’t mean you’re any better than any other piece of ass out there,” he grinned wickedly. “I knocked you down so easily—you’re not nearly the hard-core loner you seem to think you are.”
I scrambled as quickly as I could to get away, but he was faster. He grabbed my ankle and pulled me back toward him.
I kicked him off, using the back of a loveseat to pull myself up. The room was impossibly large
and filled with furniture; I was just trying to get my bearings and figure a way out when Steve dove, slamming his body into me and sending both of us onto the stone floor.
To my horror, Steve was on top of me, groping and grabbing and biting at my neck and shoulders. I screamed, but it was too muffled to be heard as he was basically all over me. He was literally trying to tear my shirt off. I heard my clothing tearing as he wrestled to pin me down. I struggled wildly but for all I was worth my struggling seemed to do no good. He responded by twisting my arm behind my back, twisting it so hard that I screamed in pain. I knew I had to do something fast, or something unspeakably ugly was about to happen. I silently cursed myself for not working out more, taking some kind of martial arts class, anything. Lacking those skills, I decided what I needed do to was to kick him, as hard as I could, and make a run for it, if only I could get a leg free.
Steve was struggling with his pants, and therefore momentarily distracted and leaving a small gap between us, likely the only opportunity I was going to get. I thrust my right arm in one sudden movement with all of my strength, wrenching it free. Steve, seeing the free arm, reached out and grabbed for it, but he was too late. I was already using the arm, thrusting it downward as forcefully as I possibly could, until my fist landed on his groin with a brutal-sounding smack.
Steve’s turn to scream in pain. His entire body slackened and shifted to one side in an obvious effort to relieve any pressure from his injured area, which provided me the perfect opportunity to swing one leg out from under him.
My opportunity had come. And so I kicked. Steve flew back harder than I would have imagined possible. Absurdly, unnaturally harder. To my astonishment, he seemed to actually suspend in mid air for several seconds before crashing into a table by the wall.
After scrambling to my feet, I stood there shaking in shock and disbelief. The shock only lasted momentarily, however, before I ran the length of the enormous room toward the French doors that opened to the patio. I crashed into the doors and flung them open. I tried to run out, but my foot seemed to catch on something; I tripped out the door and fell onto the patio.
In Steve’s absence, the party had migrated to the backyard. Everyone was outside. With all my commotion, every conversation ceased; people turned to stare. For several painful moments, the only audible sound was the crashing of the waves.
Eventually I heard some of Steve’s friends sniggering. Several people laughed nervously in response. I brushed at my clothing before willing myself off the ground and catching sight of Gavin, Simon, Nicky, Lyle. Each had a look of extreme disgust I had never seen before.
As I stood up slowly, I saw myself reflected in an enormous mirror on the patio wall.
My hair was completely disheveled. I had lipstick smeared across my face. My shirt was torn, and I had gigantic red marks all over my neck. It occurred to me it must’ve looked to them like I was trying to sneak out the back door, unaware that everyone was now at the back of the house. I was also trembling uncontrollably, though I’m not sure anyone else could see that. Everyone seemed to freeze in place, staring.
“Please stop begging, baby, it’s not ladylike,” Steve called suddenly from the French doors. He was now wearing only his boxer shorts and speaking much louder than necessary. “I mean, only a total loser wouldn’t be able to take a hint.” He shook his head and made a patronizingly disapproving face. “And, besides, I already told you, one ride per customer, and you already had your turn. You remember the rules, don’t you, girl?” He raised his eyebrows and tossed my purse at me before closing the doors.
Crying at a moment like this is a really pathetic thing to do. Everyone knows that. So I refused to do it. I sniffed deeply, just once, to steel myself, and grabbed my purse. Walking slowly past the onlookers determinedly, I focused straight ahead to avoid eye contact. No one spoke. I slung my purse over my shoulder as I walked past, in defiance of their judgment. I wouldn’t give them the show they were hoping for. I’m not sure of the best way to maintain dignity in such a situation, but I did my best. No extreme humiliation clichés here. I’d just keep going with my life, as though this entire horrifically humiliating incident had never even happened.
5.
Seven or eight days later...
I don’t know how long I stayed on the couch, how many days had passed by the time I started getting messages on the answering machine, or when I had last taken a shower, for that matter. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a week or a month, the way the time drug on. So much for dignity maintenance. I know I was torturing myself, but the thought of him thinking I’d been with Steve, even for a moment, wherever he was, was literally killing me.
By the time I had summoned the energy to look at the machine, I had 26 messages waiting. I didn’t really care to hear what they had to say, however. What’s the worst that could happen now? I was probably leaving, so what difference did it make now if I lost my job? I vaguely remembered hearing a message about missing a deadline at work, but I had no idea how many days had actually passed since then. I had almost certainly been fired by now. None of this behavior was like me, but I found I didn’t really care.
I deleted all of them without even listening.
I was still sort of drowsing, soaking in my melancholy haze, when I heard a strange noise, something like a low chiming sound. There it went again. I heard it several more times before recognition kicked in: the doorbell. I hadn’t planned on answering it until the arm connected to the person ringing it started pounding. Then came shouting and yelling something about calling the police. That seemed to wake me up a bit. As I neared the door, I thought I recognized the voice, but it seemed oddly out of place, like it was a voice I had heard in a dream and was now hearing in real life.
I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door just in time to see Simon readying himself to pound on the door again. He froze midway and seemed to just stand there for a moment, staring at me. After several long moments, I realized he was actually saying something. An unearthly silence seemed to have settled on me, and I found I had to focus with all my energy to hear what he was saying.
“... alright? Well, are you? Answer me, Evangeline.” Simon looked almost hysterical.
“Alright...” My voice sounded strange, like I hadn’t spoken a word in seven or eight days.
“What the hell is going on? You don’t show up for work, you don’t answer anyone’s calls—what the hell’s the matter with you?”
The sharp tone in his voice seemed to awaken something in me. “Simon,” I said before pausing to clear my throat. “You’ve actually been kind of a dick lately, and all of a sudden you just show up at my house? Maybe you should first tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”
He was stunned for a moment before answering, this time in a softer tone, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just... everyone at work has been really, really worried. After what happened at the party... and then you didn’t answer anyone’s calls...” He looked away, “Just worried, that’s all.”
As he was talking, I noticed that the front of my robe was covered in some sort of crumbs (I probably should have thought to get dressed before answering the door). I tried brushing them off, but there seemed to be too many of them. The more I brushed at the silk, the more the crumbs just multiplied into smaller and smaller pieces. Soon there were just too many of them, and so I gave up with a small sigh. Like so many other things in my life at that moment, it seemed hopeless.
Simon was looking at me strangely. “Please, I need to know what happened. Everyone at work has been talking... I mean...”
Of course they have. Why is it that some people seem to like nothing better than enjoying another person’s misery and then recounting it to one another over and over again? Might this explain some of the messages on my machine?
“Talking about me...” I finally said aloud, more to myself than to Simon, really. It’s an ugly feeling, being the source of malicious gossip, but of course, I’ve
faced worse than this before.
Suddenly, realization slapped me in the face. “You’re here to find out if I slept with Steve? Is that what you mean?”
Simon said nothing.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it, after what happened at the party? I’ve actually been hot for Steve for a long, long time. Avoiding him all these years was just a lark. I’ve really just been waiting for the right time to hook up with him to, you know, fit him into my… hook-up schedule?” I’d given wit a shot, even though I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, and now I was just sounding like an idiot. Of course I was being more sarcastic than necessary, too, but I felt it was deserved on this occasion.
I turned away to keep from ranting any further, and maybe in an effort to prevent embarrassing myself any further, and just like that, just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, of course, they did. Ugh. I’d caught sight of my wild, now crazy-looking hair in the window. I hadn’t looked in the mirror very closely for the past few days, looking disheveled is possibly a natural consequence of that. I shook my head and automatically began pulling my hair back with the ponytail holder I often keep on my wrist.
Beloved Evangeline (A Dark Paranormal Urban Fantasy Trilogy for Grown-ups - Book 1) Page 6
