North Woods University

by Beck, J. L.

“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper as I swipe a strand of hair from my sweaty forehead.

  Even in the dim lighting of the basement, I can see his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Did you just apologize for having a nightmare?”

  “I’m… I should have gone to bed,” I say, ignoring his comment.

  My legs are weak, my knees knocking together when I try to push up off the couch and pass him. I only take one unsure step before Clark takes me into his arms, his strong, firm arms pulling me into his warm chest.

  My body stiffens for about two seconds before I actually relax into his touch. Just like that time at the party, his embrace calms me, soothes the pain and somehow makes everything all better.

  “Whoever they are, whoever did this to you… I’m not them. I’ll never lay a hand on you.” His words slice through my skin, and into my rapidly beating heart. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I hope someday you trust me enough to tell me because I want to know. I want to help you, heal you.”

  I want to help you, heal you.

  Those words are like a beacon of light pulling me from the darkness, but I’m no fool. A man like Clark doesn’t want damaged goods like me. When he finds out the truth, he’ll run, he won’t save me, or heal me.

  “Nothing happened.” I force the words past my dry lips and pull from his embrace even though it pains me to do so. I can’t get comfortable with him. I can’t fall into his touch. I don’t need him, not when everyone I’ve ever needed has turned their backs on me.

  He can’t save me.

  He can’t heal me.

  I’m broken beyond repair.

  * * *

  When I wake up the next morning, I’m feeling a little better than I did when I went to bed. I didn’t have another nightmare, which is rare but leaves me rested and at ease. I tell myself that, that’s all it is. I feel better because I got a good night’s sleep, but in the back of my mind I know it’s more than that.

  I know it has something to do with the guy sleeping in the room next door to me. The only person who seems to be able to see through me, see through the brick wall I’ve built around myself. The only person who isn’t scared of the dark secrets hiding deep inside of me.

  Crawling from the plush queen-size bed, I walk into the adjoined bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face. Then I get dressed, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and sweatshirt before tiptoeing out of my room and into the hallway. Peeking inside his room, through the cracked door, I find he’s not there. A heavy brick of disappointment ricochets around in my gut, but before it can settle, a noise coming from downstairs reaches my ears.

  The rattling of pots, pans, and glass echoes up the stairs. I follow the sounds knowing instantly that they’re coming from the kitchen. Entering the room, I spot Clark with a frying pan in his hand trying to flip something that looks like a pancake.

  Oh God… this isn’t good.

  Unfortunately, he throws the half-done batter up in the air and fails to catch all the pieces with the pan. Smoke rises from the stovetop as the partial pancake lands on the burner.

  “Shit,” Clark curses.

  “Do you need some help?” I question, slowly walking over to him.

  “Maybe so.” He grins before turning off the stove and throwing the pan in the sink.

  “Do you like toaster strudels, because apparently I’m worse at cooking than I thought.”

  “Toaster strudels are the best.” I grinned back at him, his smile infectious.

  Ten minutes later we sit at the kitchen table across from each other digging into our steaming hot icing covered pastries. Clark’s fork is hovering inches away from his lips when the ding-dong sound of the doorbell chimes through the empty house.

  “What the fuck?” Clark snarls softly while shoving up from his chair. Annoyance written in his angelic features. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back. I have to see who the hell that is.” He disappears into the hallway and time seems to tick by slowly well he’s gone. I pick at my food, suddenly losing my appetite.

  My cell phone decides then to chime in my pocket, and I fish it out, the screen lighting up with an incoming text from my father. It’s a normal, ‘obey, and listen or else’ text, the usual from my oh so loving father. Rolling my eyes, I exit out of the message and tap in the Facebook app. I scroll for a short while, skimming over pictures of people I barely know.

  I only have a few friends on there, really I don’t know why I’m on there at all, none of those people are my real friends anyway. I don’t have any real friends.

  Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I sit there a little while longer before I get up. I shouldn’t care whoever it is that has Clark distracted, and I don’t or at least I tell myself that I don’t as I head for the stairs, the sound of a feminine voice pierced my ears.

  “Come on, Clark, it’s been too long, you can’t turn me away,” the girl says with a seductiveness that I could never achieve.

  He is ditching you for another girl.

  The confession stings, but is one I can handle. It’s really none of my business, or at least it shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care who he screws, or sees, or any of that. I’m not his gatekeeper and I’m not about to cramp his style either. He can do whatever, and whoever he wants...

  Shaking my head, I try to get rid of all these unwanted thoughts and feelings. I walk up the stairs hoping I can slip past both of them without incident. I’m not ready to meet any of Clark’s friends.

  I make it halfway up the stairs before I hear the clicking of high heel shoes against the hardwood floors at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Who the hell is this? Are you fucking someone else? You better not have given me crabs or some shit like that.”

  “Shut up, Sarah, and get out. We aren’t fucking, we aren’t doing anything,” Clark growls and I’m surprised by the anger in his voice. Without turning around to face them, I continue walking up the stairs slowly, hoping, praying, that this Sarah chick will just leave me alone.

  “Hey, you! Don’t ignore me, turn around and talk to me!” Her voice is pure venom and meant to harm. I wish I was stronger and could just keep going up the stairs without giving in to her demand, but like the weakling I am, I listen to her and turned around to face them.

  Sarah is glaring up at me, her hand propped up on her hip, and her nose wrinkled like she smells something bad. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, not one bit, and my stomach starts to churn as I wait for the onslaught of mental abuse to take place.

  “Let’s get one thing clear, skank, you are nothing but a one-time fuck to Clark. He’ll always come back to me…”

  “Sarah!” Clark yells at her, his face a mask of fury as he grabs her arm and starts pulling her toward the door. Sarah shrieks, but has no choice but to follow.

  “What? It’s not like I’m lying...she’s nothing but a quick lay. You are only nice to her until you get her panties off, everyone who knows you will agree.” Her words are coated with desperation. Little does she know I’m nothing to Clark, nor will I ever be.

  Clark opens the front door with one hand and shoves her out with the other before slamming the door in her face. I can hear the lock clicking into place, and then he turns back around and looks up at me, his expression a mixture of anger and guilt.

  He moves toward me and the need to get away, to escape overwhelms me. I spin around and run up the stairs taking two steps at the time. My chest heaves, my heart pounding against my ribs trying to escape my chest like a trapped bird inside a wired cage. I hear him following me, which only adds to panic rising up inside me.

  I make it to my room just in time, pulling the door shut behind me and turning the lock before Clark catches up to me. On wobbly legs, I walk backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.

  “Em, please open up. Don’t listen to her, she was just being a bitch, it’s what she’s good at.” His muffled voice comes through the door and I cover my ears with my hands for good measure. I don’t want to hear
his soothing voice right now. I don’t want to hear anyone right now. I decided then that I was wrong about him, somehow he fooled me into believing that he was different, that he was one of the good guys. I should’ve known better, then again, I’ve never been a good judge of character.

  51

  Clark

  I haven’t been this fucking mad in a long time. Never in a million years did I think I would be spending the day trying to coax a girl out of her bedroom, a room that’s inside my house to make matters worse, but here I am. I do everything I can to get her to come out to at least eat something, but she won’t budge.

  Fucking Sarah, that witch and her stupid mouth really freaked her out. I could kick myself in the fucking ass for even opening the door, or fucking her in the first place.

  For once in my life, I hate myself for being such a manwhore.

  Emerson was just warming up to me, even giving me some small, timid smiles over breakfast. Well, I guess that’s shot to hell.

  Fuck, I need a drink. I don’t think Emerson is going to open this door anytime soon. Not caring that it’s only two o’clock, I walk downstairs into the basement and open the liquor cabinet. An ache forms in my gut, it feels wrong to be drinking right now, but… shoving the thoughts away I pour the tumbler half full of whiskey and bring the glass filled with amber liquid to my lips. Just a sip. One sip. I only mean to take a sip but one sip isn’t enough to sedate me, and once the alcohol flicks against my tongue, and burns its way down my throat I decide to down the whole glass.

  It’s impulsive, bad… and the words remind me of what my father really thinks of me.

  The whiskey settles like a dumbbell in my stomach, familiar warmth expanding throughout my gut and without a doubt, I know this won’t be my last one. Seeing Emerson like this, broken and hurt, it hits too close to home. Memories of my mother flood my mind, images I often drown out with whiskey and a warm body.

  I couldn’t help my mom, but maybe I can help her.

  Maybe I can save Emerson.

  Pouring another glass of whiskey, I let my thoughts drown underneath the amber liquid. I drink and drink, the hours ticking by with nothing more than the whiskey bottle and me.

  By six o’clock I’m three sheets to the wind and Emerson still hasn’t come out of her room. Not even once. She needs to fucking eat. I make a turkey and ham sandwich to the best of my abilities and put it on a plate with some fruit and a cup of yogurt. No five-star meal, but as I proved this morning, I’m a shitty cook.

  With the food in hand, I knock on her door softly. Trying to sound as sober as possible, I say, “I brought you some food. Please just open the door and take the food. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Her steps are so soft I barely hear them through the door. The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. For the first time all day, it feels like I can breathe. Emerson pulls the door open slowly, stopping when there is enough space for me to stick just the plate through. She lifts her hand and takes it, but before she can pull away and shut the door in my face, I make a rash decision. Grabbing hold of the wooden door frame, I push the door open all the way.

  Emerson lets go of the plate and jumps backward, her beautiful blue eyes turn wild, glittering with fear and even from a few feet away, I can see her hands are trembling.

  She thinks I’m going to hurt her…

  “Please don’t look at me like that…” I slur.

  “Please leave… just… leave me alone,” she pleads and my heart breaks at her words. That’s what my mom used to tell me. She asked me to leave her alone and I listened to her. Maybe if I hadn’t listened to her and listened to my gut instead, she would still be here, alive.

  “I won’t leave you,” I tell her, shaking my head, determination coating my words. “But please don’t look at me like I’m going to hurt you. Please, don’t be scared of me.”

  “You’re drunk,” she points out and that wild look in her eyes overtakes her features now. She continues taking small steps backward, retreating farther into the room, farther away from me. I want her close, in my arms, safe, secure. It’s the strangest, but truest emotion I’ve ever felt before.

  “Yes… I had something to drink, but that doesn’t change the fact that I would never hurt you. I can control myself,” I sigh and set the plate down on top of the dresser

  “You’re scaring me,” she admits, her voice small and shaky. I don’t know who hurt her, but in that moment I vowed to myself to find out. I will find out who did this to her and then I will make them pay. It’s obvious she was powerless, weak, but she’s not anymore. She has me now, and I’ll protect her, defend her until my last breath. I know this without even thinking.

  Holding my hands up with my palms showing, I try to calm her like I would a scared animal. “You don’t have to be scared of me. Not ever,” I assured her. “I just want… I want you to feel safe. You don’t have to be scared here. I promise I’ll keep you safe. No one will hurt you, least of all me.”

  There’s a pregnant pause, and I should turn around, walk back down to the basement and find another bottle to drown myself in. I don’t know why I’m trying, maybe I’m a sadist. I’m certain she’s not going to respond at all, she’s too scared, afraid of me, but then she shocks the hell out of me and very quietly says, “Okay.”

  A smile tugs on my lips at her words and even though she doesn’t smile back, I notice her shoulders relax, and the tightness of her features recede. My gaze sweeps over the freckles that adorn the bridge of her nose...my mother used to call them angel kisses. I blink away the feeling residing inside of me. Someday I’m going to make this girl smile, laugh...I’m going to see her eyes light up with joy, with happiness.

  Of course my fucking phone decides to start ringing right then, which causes Emerson to jump and return to her high alert mode.

  I curse under my breath and make a mental note to keep my phone on silent around her. Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I look down at the screen and curse some more when I see my dad’s name flashing across the screen.

  He’s the last person I want to talk to right now, but if I don’t answer, then he’ll assume the worst, not that he’s going to say ‘good job, son,’ or anything else remotely nice.

  “I have to answer this,” I tell Emerson, hitting the green answer key before I can decide against it. Averting my eyes to the floor, I bring the phone to my ear.

  “Tell me you haven’t fucked up too badly yet?”

  “Nope,” I grit out. “Everything is peachy here.”

  “Good. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Have you taken her anywhere? Her father is expecting her to make some new friends.”

  My eyes dart to Emerson. She doesn’t want to be friends with my friends. They’ll eat her up alive, hurt her, and no way in fucking hell am I letting anyone hurt her again.

  “Not yet. I was letting her settle in.” My words slur a bit and I know I’m giving myself away, but what do I care. He already sees me as a disappointment, a disgrace to the Jefferson name.

  “Have you been drinking?” My father’s voice turns murderous and before I can answer him, he’s speaking again. “I asked you to do one thing and you couldn’t even do that. Jesus fucking Christ, Clark.”

  I roll my eyes knowing a lecture is coming, and I’d rather not deal with that right now. It’ll only make me want to drink more, and I need to sober up if I’m going to help Emerson.

  “I’ve got to go…” I growl, letting annoyance shine through my voice before I hang up.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” I tell her as I stuff my phone back in my pocket. “Will you eat something, please? You don’t have to come down if you don’t want to.”

  She doesn’t even look at me, her eyes trained on a random spot on the floor, like she is trying to avoid my gaze at all cost.

  “I’ll eat in my room while reading over the class schedule and then I was planning on going to bed early,” she says as she points to some papers on the bed that I just now notice.

&nbs
p; “Okay… I’ll be next door if you need anything.” I try to hide my disappointment, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job. I’m just angry. Angry with Sarah, with my father, with myself, but most of all, with whoever hurt Emerson. I don’t want to push her for answers, but I want them, need then.

  I leave her room and stomp back downstairs to get the bottle of whiskey. When I get back upstairs, Emerson’s door is closed again, no doubt locked as well. Rolling my shoulders, I try and let go of some of the tension rippling through my body.

  I flip on the hallway light before walking into my bedroom and sinking down on the bed, leaving my own door open. I haven’t slept with the door open and the light on since I was a small child, but I want to make sure I hear Emerson if she gets up.

  Sinking deep into the memory foam mattress, I open the bottle of liquor in my hand. Then I bring the bottle to my lips and drink straight from the source. After awhile, I start to doze off, the whiskey doing its job to numb the unsettling pain. My eyes drift closed, memories of my mother flickering through my mind until the darkness finally wins out.

  * * *

  A scream pierces the air of the night, and I pry my eyes open. My head is foggy, clouded with sleep and alcohol. It’s a dream, nothing but a dream.

  Another terrified scream meets my ears, and I push up into a sitting position. Emerson. I’ve never been awake and clear-headed so fucking fast in my life. Something’s wrong, something is terribly wrong. Her high pitch scream is all I can hear inside my head and in less than a second, I’m off the bed and exiting the room. I stop right in front of her door, inky dread filling my gut. Wasting no time, I reach for the doorknob, turning it, but it doesn’t open.

  Of course it’s fucking locked.

  The realization only makes me panic more. I can’t get to her… I can’t save her, not with this door between us.

  “Emerson, open up!” I slam my palm to the wood, but instead of waking her up, her screams intensify, growing louder. I can hear the pain, feel the fear in her scream. My jaw and gut clench at the same time. I can’t bear this. I can’t listen to her scream without doing something.