Feathers: A Novel

by Kylie Stewart

The past few days, in the quiet of being alone in my room, I’d nurtured a rage I’d forgotten existed. Perhaps this would be the best place to give that bubbling emotion permission to speak.

  “What do you want to know?” My voice stayed even, almost without inflection. “Do you want one more story of an abused little girl? How her mother was a druggie and allowed her daughter to be sold for money?”

  I canted forward a bit, tilting my head as I watched Mrs. Dawson’s mouth part slightly.

  “Do you want to know that the same man who sold her also touched her and looked at her in ways he shouldn’t? Or how about how she was chained to the basement floor and forced to piss and crap in a corner?”

  The more I spoke about them, the more real they became. I saw that dark, sick look in their eyes. They manifested in the forefront of my mind, threatening and haunting. If I didn’t squeeze my eyes shut to rid myself of them, they’d find me. I’d be taken again.

  Teeth gritting, I used the language I’d heard the men say around me. “Want to hear how they planned to sell my virginity? How when I started bleeding, they kicked me around until I couldn’t breathe?” Mrs. Dawson wrote notes on her pad while continuing to keep eye contact. “Or how once I finished bleeding, they forced me to watch adult movies and then practice on them.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, remembering how my jaw ached and my stomach roiled at what they’d forced me to do. How they’d made me practice on them. Horrible things that made me writhe on the inside.

  Mrs. Dawson’s eyes narrowed, and she held out a hand to stop me. “Did they rape you?”

  I blanched at such a forward question.

  A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t have to be asked this question.

  “No,” I conceded. “They only made me put them in my mouth and use my hand.” I wiped away stray tears. “They wanted to make big money for my virginity.”

  She nodded, clearly understanding. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Charlotte.”

  I shrugged. “It’s done.”

  “You’re angry, aren’t you?” she pressed.

  My gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Of course, I’m angry!” I gripped the armrests, digging my fingernails into the leather. “My mother didn’t care about me and let her boyfriend sell me! She never once tried to get me.”

  Rage flowed, quaking through my body.

  I clutched to the freedom found in red-hot, righteous anger.

  “Men touched me, and maybe they let me keep my virginity, but fuck them!” A sob broke through my chest. “Fuck them. I hope they die for what they did to me.”

  The floor seemed to rise up to meet me as I stood. “I’m so angry!”

  An animalistic roar burst from behind my gnashing teeth and over my lips.

  Mrs. Dawson rose with me, keeping a distance, but her blue eyes screamed along with me. “You’re right. Those men deserve their own kind of hell for what they’ve done to you and other girls like you. It’s all right to feel angry, Charlotte. You have to get it out, so it doesn’t consume you.”

  “It hurts so much.” My voice cracked sharply. “I feel so dirty. I feel like I can’t get clean. It’s like a million bugs are crawling around inside my head, and I can feel them under my skin.” Once again, I tried to scratch at my flesh, but Mrs. Dawson grabbed my wrists. “No one is ever going to want me. I’m dirty.”

  “Calm down, Charlotte. You can slow down.” She tried in vain to soothe me, but I fought her. “It’s going to be fine from now on.”

  “No!” I screamed. “It’ll never be okay. I’ll always feel dirty, trapped, caged!”

  Somehow, I managed to wriggle out of her grasp and bolted for the door. I didn’t want to stay in this room anymore. It was getting hard to breathe. I hyperventilated, causing me to collapse. Strong arms caught me before I could hit the floor, and I shivered from an attack.

  “Easy, hey, easy.” A deep baritone caused my panic to flare into an ugly climax of colors and darkness. “You’re safe here, Little Lottie. Just shhh.”

  “She’s having a panic attack.” Mrs. Dawson sat next to me, stroking my short hair. “She had just begun to tell me everything, not afraid to challenge me or shock me.”

  A low chuckle rumbled in Hawk’s chest, reverberating through my body. “She’s not afraid, that’s the thing. She’s resilient, unlike the others, and would rather challenge than back down.”

  After a few moments, my body began to listen to me again. My muscles stopped quivering, my joints unlocked, and the spots dancing before my eyes cleared. I stared up into Hawk’s face. His brows pinched in concern, and his lips pressed into a thin line of concentration to hold me still. But his gaze spoke to me.

  Stop fighting me.

  Calm down.

  You won’t win against me.

  Dark brown hair fell into his eyes, come undone from its gelled state in my thrashing. For the first time, I took the time to actually look at him.

  His strong jaw and sharp cheekbones seemed to try to cut his lightly tanned flesh. A straight nose fit perfectly in the center of his face, nostrils flaring as he fought to control me. Full lips parted, seeming to understand what I was doing, and his expressive eyes gentled.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, embarrassed that he saw me in such a crazy outburst.

  He offered a small smile. “Are you better now?”

  When I nodded, he helped me to my feet, making sure I was secure before he released me. The loss of warmth from his arms and the security against his chest left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Crossing my arms over my chest, I guiltily met Mrs. Dawson’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dawson.”

  She shook her head and wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t be, Charlotte. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Still, I flushed red from shame.

  Hawk saw how broken I am.

  How messed up I am.

  He thinks I’m crazy.

  Would I ever be okay again?

  “Thank you, Hawk.” Mrs. Dawson nodded to the man standing behind us. I peeked over my shoulder shyly and met his stare.

  “Anytime.” He spoke to her but didn’t move his eyes from me. And then he turned on a heel and disappeared out the door. I hadn’t seen Hawk at any time other than at dinner where I was fated to sit right next to him.

  “Well, I think that’s enough for today.” Mrs. Dawson chuckled. “How are you now?”

  “I’m fine,” I admitted. “Actually, I feel better.”

  She beamed. “Good.”

  Excusing myself, our hour well over, I stumbled blindly back to my room. Inwardly cursing myself for allowing my body to betray me, I took a wrong turn. Going left instead of right brought me to the part of the house reserved for Mrs. Ames and Hawk.

  I skidded to a halt in a brightly lit room, windows opening the space to the outside. In the center stood a black grand piano, just tempting me to touch it. All the tension in my body went slack at seeing such a gorgeous instrument.

  In my old life, I’d been a great student. I knew in order to get away from my mother and her lifestyle—to help her—I needed to get scholarships and go to college. But I’d been most proficient in music. My chorus instructor took me on for free after she discovered my natural talent for the instrument.

  Just staring at the ivory and black keys made my fingers itch to play.

  Cautiously, I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone would see me. Of course the sound would carry throughout the house, but I wanted to just play a little bit. Whenever something about Mom and her habit would upset me at school, I’d play the piano to calm myself down. My teacher called it music therapy.

  Maybe it could help me now?

  Stalking over to the bench seat, I tentatively sat down and ran my fingertips over the smooth keys.

  Instantly, my hands positioned themselves out of muscle memory and gently pressed down. The sound of a C chord flooded the room, and a shiver rolled down my spine. I moved up and down a few scales to quickly warm my hands back
up. A small smile spread across my lips. Maybe Mrs. Dawson would talk to Mrs. Ames and allow me to play.

  Playing around with different progressions and notes, I lost myself to the beautiful sound of the piano. I closed my eyes and let my fingers walk up and down, jumping and dancing to create an original piece reflecting my soul. When the last note lingered in the air, clapping sounded from the hall, and I spun in my seat. Panic rose in my throat.

  Hawk leaned against the wall, watching me with quiet contemplation.

  Was he mad?

  Would he kick me out?

  Pushing off where he leaned on the wall, he sauntered over to me. The long, fluid strides weren’t missed. The way he carried himself with cold grace and assuredness permeated the air around him. When he shuffled to a halt in front of me, I gulped, bracing for the unknown. Instead, he pressed a finger to a key higher on the scale gently.

  His eyes spoke silently to me.

  I’m sorry.

  You play very well.

  Don’t stop on my account.

  Then he walked around behind me and out the other side of the room like nothing happened.

  My lungs burned, and I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  Hawk’s aloofness and strange habit of cropping up at random times should unnerve me, but it didn’t. Instead, it calmed me, knowing that someone could be watching out for me at all times.

  Hopping off the bench, I gave the piano one last glance. I’d still ask permission before I played anymore.

  Hawk.

  A bird of prey and encompassed in a man of immeasurable fortitude.

  It fit.

  Chapter Five

  Charlotte

  Three weeks later …

  Thanksgiving came and went in a flurry of excitement by the other girls in the house. School let out for the holiday break, meaning Lily and Melody now joined me, Cassandra, and Heather in our daily activities. Christmastime for me never meant much. I might get a new outfit if Mom remembered and didn’t spend all our money on drugs, but we didn’t have the family gathering seen on TV. Instead, I usually just sat in my tiny room trying to drown out the arguments between my mom and her dealers.

  When Hawk stomped inside with a freshly chopped pine tree, all the girls squealed with excitement, but I didn’t understand why. Kelly and Mrs. Ames had brought out boxes and boxes of decorations all morning. Half the house had already been decked out by the time I trudged down the stairs to investigate the music and laughter.

  Cassandra saw me and rushed over to take my hand. “Come on, Lottie! We’re going to decorate the Christmas tree!”

  Begrudgingly, I allowed Cassie to drag me over to where Kelly and Hawk were fighting to put the tree on the base.

  Mrs. Ames held Heather’s hand, her large almond-shaped eyes staring up in amazement at the prospect of Christmas. The youngest of us, Heather was South Korean by birth, but her adoptive parents abused and neglected her. Mainly, her adoptive father, who by brief explanation by Lily, sounded like he got what he deserved by rotting in jail.

  One would never know just by looking at her that Cassandra got the worst out of all of us. She’d been sold just like me, but by her mother as payment for drugs. I knew what I’d endured, and I didn’t want to even broach the topic with her. She’d adjusted well and opened up to Mrs. Dawson more and more every day.

  Melody, though she smiled, kept quiet for the most part, only coming alive when we played with the dollhouse with Heather. No one really knew what happened or much about her other than Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Dawson, but I didn’t need to. Her depthless black eyes told a sad story.

  “Here!” Cassie handed me a gingerbread man ornament. “You can start.”

  “Oh.” Sudden shyness took over, and I ducked my head. “Maybe you should.”

  Lily stopped pulling string lights out of another box. “Have you never decorated a Christmas tree before, Lottie?”

  Everyone stared at me, sadness and compassion in their gazes.

  I hated pity.

  Just because I’d never had a real Christmas didn’t mean anything.

  Hawk’s gaze flickered over my face briefly, but he was the first one to go back to his task of righting the tree. The others followed suit. Still, the flicker of pity I saw there made me ball my hands into fists.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I ignored Lily’s question and studied the ornament in my hand. I didn’t even know what gingerbread tasted like. I puffed my cheeks, sitting down on one of the plushy leather sofas in the family room to watch everyone bustle around the tree. After a while, I got lost in the smiley expression on the ornament’s face.

  When I felt the seat next to me dip, my body tensed. Hawk was sitting too close to me. If I moved, our thighs would touch.

  “Do you want to put that on the tree?” he asked gently.

  Carefully, I looked back and forth between him and the gingerbread man. “I don’t think so.”

  That didn’t deter him. “Have you ever had a Christmas tree before?”

  I shook my head, instinctively reaching to tuck my hair behind my ear only to be reminded that my pixie cut hadn’t grown much in the past three weeks.

  “Have you ever celebrated Christmas before?” He lowered his chin to catch my gaze. “Did your family get together then?”

  “No, we never did.”

  His brows quirked upward, seeming impressed that I actually answered him with a full sentence.

  “If you could have anything for Christmas, what would it be?”

  His question rocked me.

  A fourteen-year-old girl, who’d been bought and sullied, who spent month after month chained like a dog, only wanted one thing.

  “Freedom,” I answered simply, not meeting his daunting stare.

  Hawk chuckled. “You have that now. Is there anything else?”

  What did he want me to say?

  That I wanted a real family who celebrated birthdays and holidays together without drugs. Perhaps to go back to school and learn and play the piano again. Tucking my knees up to my chest, I watched Heather pull out something that resembled an angel. Admiring her wings spread wide, I ached in envy.

  “Feathers,” I whispered, following the angel tucked under Heather’s arm with rapt attention.

  “Feathers?”

  I nodded. “So I can fly away.”

  Hawk shifted next to me, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You want to fly away?”

  “Mmhmm.” I tilted my chin to see the confused expression on his face.

  Not many people would understand my reason, and I didn’t expect them to. All I knew was that feathers put together could make wings to fly away. I’d burned mine back in that basement.

  “Okay, feathers it is,” he replied, pressing his palms to his knees and standing. “Do you want to hang that ornament on the tree?”

  For a moment, my mind moved in slow motion.

  Here’s a man who seems really nice. And he’s really handsome, not like the men who tortured me.

  A flush crawled up my neck and into my cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. My mind went down that path. I found a man handsome. And it was Hawk.

  I mean he was—is—I just …

  “Lottie, come decorate with us!” Cassandra called out to me again, drawing my attention away from Hawk.

  “Sure.” Looking at Hawk, I shrugged, before tearing my eyes off him and going over to the girls fussing over the tree.

  Heather shoved the angel into my arms the moment I came over, and I carefully stroked her soft feathers. The little girl smiled at me, and for the first time in a long time, I actually managed to smile back.

  The nightmares came without warning.

  A field of flowers faded to the basement I’d once called home. The men came back for me and ripped me away from Mrs. Ames’s home. Their faces twisted in cruel snarls, taunting me for trying to get away.

  Blood-red eyes glowered at me from a dark room where they tied me to a bed and threatened to c
arry out the vile acts shown to me in the adult movies. No matter how loudly I screamed, or how hard I fought, their heavy bodies pressed against mine. Their breath smelled rancid. They forced sloppy kisses along my jaw and neck. All hope escaped me, and I gathered all my strength for one last protest.

  I screamed.

  I came to, screaming and scrambling to grab anything I could.

  Lily made it to my room first, followed by Kelly, then Mrs. Ames.

  “Oh, Lottie, did you have a bad dream?” Mrs. Ames sat on the edge of my canopy bed and cupped my cheek. “You’re safe now, dear.”

  “T-they tried to hurt me a-again.” Words somehow managed to choke through the terror that’d frozen my body. None of my limbs moved even when I willed them to. All I could do was stare ahead at the opposite wall. “They t-tied me up.”

  “Okay, now, that’s not going to happen.” Mrs. Ames shooed Lily back to bed, and Kelly sat on the opposite side of the bed. She rubbed my back while Mrs. Ames rocked me.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t had nightmares before now, Lottie,” she stated, pulling back briefly to look me in the eyes. “We’ll have to let Mrs. Dawson know about this. She’ll know what to do.”

  I simply nodded.

  Mrs. Dawson and I were making progress. She’d taught me how to focus my anger and rage into constructive things like journaling or playing the piano. I spent so many hours rifling through music books hidden away in the bench seat and teaching myself how to read the notes so I could play.

  “Now you just lie back and rest.” Mrs. Ames tucked me back under my covers. “No one is going to get you. Besides, tomorrow is Christmas, and nothing bad happens on Christmas in my house.”

  Her confident grin gave me hope, but last time, Christmas came and went without me even knowing. Kelly followed Mrs. Ames out of my room, flicking the light switch by my door. Small twinkling lights of soft gold lit up around my canopy. She winked in understanding and shut the door behind her. Having the lights on eased my fears, and I settled back down into my pillows.

  It’s only a nightmare now. They can’t get me or hurt me. I repeated this over and over again as my mantra until I fell asleep.

  The next day, everyone seemed to wake at the crack of dawn. Cassandra and Heather came and jumped on my bed, waking me with a start. The five of us trooped downstairs to see the Christmas tree sparkling and presents stuffed underneath. They all gathered around the base while I sat on a rocking chair off to the side.