When I burst through the downstairs door, Clint is right there. “No! We’ve got to wait for them to clear the area! The cops have to sweep it. Stay put.”
“Where’s Olivia?”
“Dad, just hang on.”
“NO! I want to find her NOW!”
Clint’s doing everything in his power to hold me back, and I almost manage to break free when I hear a voice yell, “CLEAR!”
I’m done with this. I break out of his grip and run faster than I ever thought I could, and I manage to get all the way to the edge of the seating area before a cop catches me. “Sir, this is a crime scene.”
“I’m well aware of that! LET ME GO!” I struggle against him and I feel hands all over me. Next thing I know, I’m looking up at the sky and a big, brawny guy has his knee in my chest.
“Hi, Dave!”
“Bruce? What the hell? Let me up!”
“Calm down. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”
“I can’t. Where’s Olivia?”
“Talking to the cops. She’s fine, really. Calm down.”
She’s fine. That’s all I care about. “I need to see her right now.”
“Okay. But don’t get all crazy, okay? They left me in charge of you and I don’t want to get hauled in because I didn’t do my job.” His knee lifts from my chest, and he reaches a hand down to help me up. When I’m upright, he points. “See? She’s right there and she’s fine.”
Sure enough, she’s standing ten feet from where the detective was shot. “I’m going down there.”
“No. Let them finish. She’s fine.”
“What happened?”
“The shooter’s dead. One of the cops got him. And your girl did exactly what she was supposed to. Dropped off that bench and rolled up against the wall. He couldn’t shoot her; he couldn’t see her.”
Thank god. She finally turns and sees me, and I hear her say something to one of the cops before she starts toward me at a dead run. Before I can say shotgun, she’s in my arms. I just hold her tight and try to release some of the tension knotting my muscles and fogging up my brain. “You okay?
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I was so scared.” Her face rests against my chest, and I don’t care if she’s getting makeup all over me. “Take me home, please?”
“They finished with you?” I don’t really care if they aren’t; she’s going home. But we’re not doing this again, so they might as well be.
“They said they are. The recording device Detective Roberts had on got the entire conversation. If he hadn’t shown up, we would’ve met, talked, and then gone our separate ways. But now the bad guy’s dead, and so is the good guy. And I don’t know what that means.”
“I don’t know what it means to them, but to me, it means your part in this is over. And we’re going to have a little talk at home.”
“Okay.” Her voice is tiny and soft, and I know she was scared. I’m proud of her, but I’m still so enraged that I don’t know how long it will be before I finally calm down.
With a nod from the cops, we all load into the van and head back. I speak to no one. Clint tries to ask me a question, but I just snap, “I’m not talking to anyone here. Leave me alone.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him and Steffen glance back and forth and a look passes between them. I don’t acknowledge that look.
We get out at home and I storm to the front door. I think she’s behind me, but I’m not sure. I wait until I hear the front door close and then I wheel on her. “What the HELL did you think you were doing, agreeing to this? I swear, Olivia, the next time I tell you no to something, I mean NO! Do you understand me?”
Head bowed, she whispers, “I’m going to take a shower and get all of this stuff off. We’ll talk then.”
As she walks past me, I grab both of her arms. “No. We’re going to talk now! I’ll have nothing like that going on ever again, do you hear me? Nothing like it. I tell you no, it means no.”
Under all that hideous garb, two luminous eyes look up at me. “Dave, I’m your girlfriend, not your sub.”
I feel a cold fury pass through my body, and I tremble at what it could mean. “What did you say to me?”
“I said, I’m your girlfriend, not your sub. I have a mind and a free will.”
“This is what I get for everything I’ve done for you?”
The instant the words pass through my lips, I know what I’ve done. I see her shutting down and pulling in on herself, see the same look I saw that first night when her eyes met mine out by the dumpster as it clouds back over their clearness. But I can’t stop myself. “Go shower. Stay in your room until I come for you.” My hands leave her arms and she leaves me standing there without a word. As she disappears into Clint’s old bedroom, I halfway expect her to slam the door, but she closes it very quietly and I don’t hear another sound.
I make it back to the living room, drop onto the sofa, and plant my face in my hands. Dear god, what almost happened today? She was very nearly killed, and I let that go on. I should’ve put my foot down and insisted that she forget about it.
I said, I’m your girlfriend, not your sub. I have a mind and a free will.
And that’s the moment I check myself. I’ve been treating her as another submissive all along, and now I know it. I don’t think I’ve ever once asked her what she wanted to do for the day; I’ve just planned what I wanted to plan and expected her to come along. I ordered her to buy a coat. I ordered her to eat her dinner.
I’ve dictated her life. Is it because she’s so young? Or is it because I see her as a submissive? My mind is a jumble, all craziness and mind-numbing fear, and I don’t know what to do. I love her, but I can’t keep her like a bird in a cage. It’s a terrible thing, what I’ve done to her. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s the daughter I took to raise.
She’s a submissive. I’m her Dom. And no one thought to tell her. They most certainly didn’t ask her permission.
Everything crashes down around me. I’ve made a huge, huge mistake by stepping into this relationship. I should’ve followed my instincts and pushed her away when I had a chance. Now my heart will be broken, and so will hers. I’m such an idiot, so bigoted and chauvinistic. She needed to be nurtured and given a place to grow, not sequestered and told how to live her life, and I just walked in and took over. I’ve got to fix this and there’s only one way to do it.
I have to let her go.
The sofa isn’t all that comfortable, but it’s okay, and I stretch out to wait until the wildness inside my chest gets quiet. My phone rings and I glance at the screen: Clint. I’m not talking to him right now. I’m not talking to anyone. I’m done. He tries again, and I ignore him again.
A couple of hours go by before I finally get up and drag down the hallway. I give a tiny rap on the door and I hear her voice say, “Come in.”
In nothing but a towel, she’s on the bed, curled up in a fetal position. The face I’m accustomed to is back, no grimy, dark makeup on it, just that porcelain skin I’ve had the privilege of touching, her hair all wet and stringy. When I sit down on the edge of the bed, she scoots away. I tell myself it’s to make room for me, but I’m not sure that’s true. “Olivia, honey, we need to talk.”
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. I’m sorry.”
“Baby,” I start and reach for her, but she jerks away when I touch her, and I realize what I’ve done. There’s no fixing this. It’s permanently broken, and I’m the one who destroyed it. It didn’t have a chance from the start. “Olivia, let’s talk, okay?”
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“Stop it. Stop saying you’re sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve done something horribly, terribly wrong. I’ve been telling you what to do and when to do it. I’ve ordered you around like a puppy. Yeah, like a submissive. I might as well stop kidding myself. That’s what I need, and that’s not you. And it’s not fair to ask you to become something you’re not.”
Her shoulders quake with sob
s. “I’m sorry, Dave. Please. Don’t say things like that. You’re just upset.”
“Yeah. I’m upset with myself. I don’t know what I was thinking taking on this relationship. It’s not fair to you, and it was wrong of me.”
Her sobs quiet and she just lies there. Is she waiting for me to tell her I was just kidding? Or does she understand that this isn’t going to work and she’s just accepting it? I can’t tell. When I rise and reach for the door, I look back at her there on the bed.
Every fiber in my being wants to hold her. She was scared and alone. She sat two feet from a man and watched him be killed. She watched her friends be beaten and raped and left to die; she took beatings and abuse at the hands of those monsters too. She needs to be held, to be comforted, to be told she’s in the right place and everything will be okay. But I know nothing will ever be okay again.
Someone’s beating on my front door. Or is that my head pounding? I got a bottle of scotch and a glass and locked myself in the bedroom last night. Then I realize: All of her clothes are in here. She’s had nothing to wear all night. And there it is again: The pounding. Someone is beating on the door.
I unlock the door and look around, but the other bedroom door is closed, so I stumble up the hall and yank the door open. “What do you want?”
Clint is livid. “What the hell’s going on? I’ve been trying to call you since last night and you haven’t answered. I’ve been worried sick.”
My hand reaches for my cell phone and I hold it up. “Not on. I don’t want to talk to you. Can’t you get that message?”
He wrinkles his nose at me. “You’re drunk.”
“Not anymore. But I was last night.”
“Where’s Olivia?”
“I think she’s in your old room. That’s the last place I saw her.” When he brushes past me, I tell him, “She probably doesn’t have anything on.”
“I’ve seen naked women before. I’m more worried about her than thinking about what she might or might not be wearing.” He raps on the door once. “Olivia?” When she doesn’t answer, he opens the door gingerly, but I step up behind him and just slam it open.
She’s on the floor behind the bed, towel still wrapped around her, cowering against the closet door. Her eyes have that same wild look I remember from the night before, the ones I saw out back that first night, and she’s shaking like a leaf. In a heartbeat Clint’s on the floor beside her, smoothing her hair, but she pushes with her feet to scoot her butt across the floor and winds up in the corner by the closet door, trying her best to get away from him. “Olivia? It’s Clint. It’s okay, honey. Come here.” She shakes her head, her hair swinging back and forth in ropes because it was never brushed after it was washed. “Baby, it’s okay. Come here and let me hold you, honey. It’s all right.” She just shakes her head again and hides her face in the corner.
Clint stands, strides out in the hallway, and closes the door gently behind him. Next thing I know, he’s got me by the shirt collar, dragging me up the hallway, and I yell, “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I’m shocked when he slings me onto the sofa and towers over me.
“What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Yes you did. What did you do?”
“I told her the truth. I told her I’d been treating her like a sub and I shouldn’t have. I told her I’d made a mistake accepting our relationship. I told her to go to her room and not come out.”
“Your room is her room.”
“Not anymore. I told her I wouldn’t accept her disobedience.” His eyes go wide. “She needed to be held last night and I wouldn’t hold her. This has to end. It’s not fair to her and it’s not going to work.”
Clint just stands and stares at me. After what seems like an eternity, he says, “I’ve looked up to you, loved you, and respected you almost my entire life. And right now, I can honestly say I despise the man I’m looking at. Honesty. Integrity. Respect. Dignity. Dependability. Trust. Over and over and over, as a man, as a Dom, as a friend and a father. You’ve driven into me the idea that those were the things real men were made of. And look at you. You take this girl from the gutter, give her a home and shelter, tell her you love her, use her body, and then just push her away when she does something you don’t like.”
“I told her not to do it.”
“That’s not your call! She’s a grown woman.”
“I know. My mistake. I’ve been thinking of her as a little kid. And I can’t take on a kid to raise. So this has to end.”
Clint’s still staring at me. A sick feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. This is my son, the boy I raised from the age of seven. He’s just told me that I’m everything I’ve ever preached against, and he’s right. It’s all because I couldn’t deny my heart and my body what I knew was wrong, and I’m ashamed and angry and tired. He turns away from me and pulls out his phone. “Baby? Yeah, I need you to take the kids to Steffen and Sheila’s and come over here to Dave’s. Yeah. No, it’s bad. Yeah. Thanks, baby. See you in a few.” Phone back in his pocket, he wheels and points at me. “You. Get some clothes on and get out of here. I don’t want you back here for at least four hours. If I have to clean up your mess, I shouldn’t have to trip over you to do it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you too. I don’t care if it’s your goddamn house, get out. Don’t come back until,” he looks at his watch, “three o’clock. I mean it. I don’t care where you go or what you do. Just go.”
Well, isn’t that nice? I drag on some jeans and a tee shirt, put on socks and some Nikes, and head out the door. I don’t turn around to look at him or wave or anything. I just leave. My car seems to have a mind of its own, and I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m there.
I park and get out, then walk the rest of the way. When I can see the water, something inside me starts to crack. I stumble along the path until I reach the cabin and by the time I hit the door, I’m wheezing with sobs. The bed is there, its quilt straightened and neat, and I remember that day not so long ago when I made love with Olivia right here in this bed. I pull one of the pillows into my arms, clutch it to my chest, and cry.
It’s ruined. And it’s going to stay ruined. She needs a chance to grow and spread her wings, and she’s never going to get that with me.
I wake to the sound of chirping and singing. One glance at my watch and I realize it’s morning – I’ve been here all night. Besides being thirsty as hell and needing to pee, my eyes are caked shut and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
Hell with the outhouse – I just let ’er rip off the porch, then find some bottled water inside. I cup my hands and splash it on my face, then drink the rest of it. Finished with it, I go out to the water’s edge, fill the bottle full of rocks and dirt, screw the cap on, and throw it as far out into the water as I can. I watch the ripples hit the bank, colliding and disappearing, and I think about how that’s my life now. Washed up. Petered out. Over.
The radio gets turned up as loud as I can get it, and I sing along mindlessly as I drive back home so I don’t have to think. Home. Not much of one. I wonder what’ll greet me there.
I don’t have to wait long to find out. Dropping my keys in the bowl by the door, I see a note propped up on the kitchen table.
Dave,
I had Trish take Olivia to our house last night. After she left, I moved all of her things back into my old room. We’ll try to talk to her tonight, maybe get her some help, but I don’t know if she’ll come back there or not. It took us an hour to get her into the car.
Spectacular. They’re all ganging up on me. Then I realize that, considering the circumstances, Olivia needs them a lot more than I do. I haven’t been home ten minutes when my phone rings. Clint – who else? “She was gone all night and you haven’t even called to check on her. What the fuck?”
“Maybe that’s because I was gone all night.”
“Sounds about right.”
&nbs
p; “Hey, before you go getting all cocky on me, I was at the cabin. I needed the peace and quiet.” I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Well?”
“Well what?”
I sigh. “Is she coming back here?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how long she’ll be at the hospital.”
Fear grips my chest. “Hospital? I thought she was all right. I thought she wasn’t hurt.”
“She wasn’t – physically. She’s at the psych ward. They’re treating her for PTSD.”
“From the shooting?”
He hesitates, then says, “Among other things.”
Now I don’t know what to say. What else is there? The relationship that never should’ve been is over. She’s getting help from someone who can really help her, not some over-the-hill Dominant who wants to bully her into submission. It’s all for the best, this disaster that’s not over yet. My voice is shaky when I manage to stutter out, “I’m . . . I’m glad she’s getting some help.”
“Yeah? Can I give you a little advice? You need to get some too. I think you’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”
“Alzheimer’s.”
“Fuck that shit. Blame it on whatever you like, but we both know the truth.” And the phone goes dead.
I take a shower, get dressed, and fumble around the house for awhile. Dinner is microwave popcorn and some French onion dip I find in the fridge. I drag a kernel through the dip, chew for a second, and then swallow. It’s not very good, but it’s here. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to go anywhere. And then I get an idea.
I grab my tablet and start researching. Olivia needs a new home, and I’ve got to find the right one.
Chapter Nine
Sunshine is creeping in the bedroom window, and I turn to pick up the phone. It’s a number I’ve never seen before, and I hit DECLINE and lay it back down, then bury my face in the pillow. It chimes for a voicemail; I’ll listen later.
Incredible Us Page 16
