by L. A. Fiore
“Okay, if that's what you want…,” Mr. Wright said. “But you are pressing charges.”
I met his hard stare and replied, “Absolutely.”
Physically I was exhausted, and though I knew sleep wouldn't come, I wanted to be alone. Dr. Wright seemed to know what I was thinking. “If you need to talk about it, our door is open,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Poppy hugged me hard. “Do you want me to sleep in your room?”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Okay. If you change your mind...”
I started from the room, but Caden stopped me. Our gazes met and held—he still looked furious, and I knew I’d feel shaky for a while longer—at the same time we stepped into each other. I buried my face in his shoulder as he pulled me close. He brushed his lips over my forehead before he took a step back. I managed a weak smile to hide the fact that I couldn't think of any words to express my gratitude for what he did for me, but he seemed to understand.
When I reached my room, I closed the door and immediately started frantically pulling off my clothes as I headed to the bathroom. I cranked the water up as hot as I could tolerate as I scrubbed every inch of my body. I jumped out of the shower for my toothbrush and brushed like a madwoman to get his taste out of my mouth. My skin was red and raw and my gums were swollen from brushing so hard, but I felt better. I slid down the wall of the shower and rested my forehead on my upturned knees.
The only person I wanted with me was the one person I was terrified to tell about my ordeal. I had willingly gone into that room with Brad. Had I asked for it? Had I subconsciously brought this on myself? Bastian’s face hovered just there behind my eyes and his look of disgust sent a chill through me. Would he think less of me? Would he look at me differently? The idea of it, of losing him, sent tears blending in with the spray from the shower.
Later that night while I lay in bed, I remembered Brad's odd comment about fate and us being linked. What had he meant by that?
***
The following morning, I couldn't look in the mirror, because my lips were bruised: a very visual reminder of the horror from the night before. I showered again and brushed my teeth to the point of blood. Just thinking about last night made me sick, physically ill. Part of me believed it had just been a terrible nightmare, but one look in the mirror disproved that. How had I not seen what hid under Brad's affable exterior? Never would I have believed that he was capable of hurting me and that was what fueled my fear that perhaps I really had brought it on myself. I wanted Bastian, wanted him to wrap me in his arms and make it all go away.
My thoughts turned to Mica. Had she been on the receiving end of Brad's unwanted attention too? Was that why her personality had changed so radically? They were friends, Brad and Mica. What a betrayal, it would have been like Shawn attacking me. It made sense though, how she no longer sought attention but tried to hide from it. A snippet of the conversation with my uncle about my mom flashed into my head. Hadn't my uncle said my mother had done the same, that she had withdrawn from everyone? My God, was it possible? No, I was still in shock and not thinking clearly.
Before I called Bastian, I needed to tell someone who was much closer to home. I called my uncle and asked if we could meet. He was so excited to hear from me that I felt guilty for not keeping in touch more often. As much as I hated my aunt, my uncle had only ever been kind.
We agreed to meet at the local cafe in town, which served mostly coffee and sandwiches, but it was the sitting areas with plush sofas and comfortable chairs that encouraged patrons to linger and chat.
My uncle was already there. As soon as he saw me, he stood up to greet me but when he saw my face, his joy turned into anger. “What happened to you?”
“It's why I wanted to talk with you.”
He gestured to the chair, and while he took his seat he studied me for a moment. “I'm listening.”
After a deep breath, I shared my nightmare. He sat silently and listened and the only reaction I saw in him was the hardening of his jaw and the fury that turned his eyes darker.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“And you've pressed charges?”
“Yes.”
“I'd like to assist Mr. Wright, if that is okay with you.”
His offer surprised me, but I readily accepted it. “I'm surprised by Brad's behavior, pissed and furious as well, but surprised. Brad participated in quite a few of the fundraisers that I helped with for your school and he always seemed like a good kid. His father, on the other hand, has no respect for women. We all went to school together, and he was just one of those guys that wanted what he wanted and to hell with how anyone else felt about it. There was even rumor that he had crossed the line into abusive, but I never picked up on that trait in Brad.”
“Neither did I. We were friends, at least I thought we were.” The news about Brad's father was as disturbing as it was revealing: like father, like son.
My uncle started to reach across the table to offer comfort, but seemed to think better of it and I guessed because he wasn't sure if I wanted to be touched after my ordeal. I reached for him and he instantly closed his fingers around mine. “Thank you for telling me. I'm really sorry about how things ended with your aunt, but you are family, at least to me.”
Tears slipped from my eyes at his sincerity. “For me too.”
***
Later that day I had to go into the police station to make a formal statement. Afterwards, as I sat waiting for my uncle and the Wrights to finish up with the detective, someone sat down right next me. I wasn't surprised to see it was Mica.
“How are you doing?” The concern in her voice almost made me lose it right there.
“I'm okay. Thank you for what you did at the party.” I tried to say more, but my words got clogged in my throat. Understanding moved over her expression, “It happened to you too, didn't it?” I asked.
“Yeah. It's why I'm here. They are re-opening my case.”
“They closed it?!” I was appalled.
“Yeah, because it was my word against his. I was even encouraged strongly by Brad's lawyer to not defame his client or I'd be brought up on charges. My own lawyer told me that had he raped me, I would have had a stronger case.” A noticeable shudder worked through her. “I never saw it, never saw the monster just below the surface.”
“Neither did I.”
“He was a part of my clique, we hung out all the time. When he attacked me, I didn't understand because his actions were so contrary to the boy I thought I knew.”
“I don't know him like you do, but that sounds exactly like what happened to me.”
“I saw him talking to you at the party. I kept an eye on you, but I turned away for a few minutes and when I looked again, you were gone. I was looking for you when I heard the screaming. I'm sorry.”
“Please don't, Mica. If it wasn't for you...” I didn't finish the thought, because it was too horrific to ponder. “Was that why you came into the art room that day?”
“Yeah, I saw Brad coming out and I worried since I'd noticed he was paying more attention to you, especially after Bastian left.”
All those times I caught her watching me, to think she was watching out for me. I had definitely been wrong about her. As wrong as I had been about who Brad was showing an interest in.
“I guess the upside in all of this is with you stepping forward and me, maybe others will too,” she said with determination.
“You think there are others?” I hated the thought of that.
“Yeah, I do. He's done it before and you can be damn sure he'll do it again.”
***
That night, I called Bastian.
“Lark, I was just talking about you to my boss.”
He sounded so happy that I hated what I was about to do, but he needed to know. “Bastian, I need to tell you something.”
His voice hardened. “Did my parents do something?”
“No. God, I don't even
know how to say this.”
“Just say it, Lark.”
“Poppy, Caden and I went to a party last night and Brad was there. He tried to rape me.”
Dead silence met my ears. I had no doubt that Bastian was struggling to equate such a violent act with the kid we all thought we knew.
“Did he hurt you, Larkspur?” His voice sounded flat, almost distant, which had my fear of his rejection escalating. I was also momentarily stunned into silence with him calling me Larkspur, so it took me a minute to answer. Clearly a minute too long. Bastian roared, “Did he hurt you?!”
“No, Caden pulled him off of me, beat the shit out of him, and I pressed charges.”
“I'm leaving now. I'll be at the Wrights' in four hours.” He clicked off before I could respond, leaving me standing there staring at my phone. Excitement at seeing him warred with my fear of his potential rejection.
I made my way into the house and down the hall to the kitchen before dropping onto one of the kitchen stools. Dr. Wright and Poppy were already making dinner.
“I'll snip the beans.”
Poppy grinned in response and brought over the bowl. “Thank you. I really hate snipping the beans.”
“Bastian's on his way.”
Dr. Wright turned to me and I saw understanding in her gaze. “Are you okay?”
“I am, but it's going to be late when he gets here. Would you mind if I made up a bed in one of the guest rooms?”
She joined Poppy and me. “Considering he's coming to see you…and don't get any ideas, Poppy…but under the circumstances, I'm okay with him staying in your room.” She leaned over and touched her palm to my cheek. “Are you really okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
I did but I wanted it to be with Bastian. She seemed to understand what I didn't say and said, “If you find you need a professional to talk to, I will help you find someone you feel comfortable talking to. Okay?”
“Yes,” I held her gaze, “I love you, Dr. Wright.”
“Oh, Lark, I love you. I'm sorry Bastian had to be told such news over the phone.”
I played with the beans for a moment, “All he wanted to know was if Brad had hurt me. He was so angry, he was almost calm.”
“It's hard enough on both of you to be going through this stuff with his parents, but he adores you and for him not to be here when you need him…yeah, I understand his anger.”
Dr. Wright ran her hand down Poppy's hair. “You are a very wise young woman.”
Watching Poppy with her mom brought on a wave of envy because their relationship was beautiful. Dr. Wright turned her gaze to mine.
“The whole situation makes me so angry. How dare the Rosses manipulate and threaten people.”
I understood Dr. Wright's anger. “You should have seen them the night of his birthday dinner. His father couldn't even bother to look at him and his mother's stare was more appropriate for someone checking the cleanliness of a house after the cleaning crew had been through. Do you know they never once wished him a happy birthday? They spent the entire time demeaning him in front of me. And the really sad thing was that none of it came as any surprise to Bastian. Their outrageous behavior was the norm.”
I noticed tears in Dr. Wright’s eyes. “And yet he and his brother are both exceptional young men despite the abuse of their parents,” she said. “And it is abuse—not physical but mental, and just as destructive, as you are well aware from your aunt's treatment. Well, if Bastian wasn't off doing something he enjoyed, something that was good for his long-term goals, Mr. Wright and I would have fought harder to keep him here. Even so, the Rosses won't be getting away with manipulating Bastian or threatening people.”
Fought harder? I wondered what she meant, but the conversation shifted, so I let it pass.
After dinner I helped with the clean up before I went up to my room to work on my homework. Maybe it was because I was feeling so melancholy, but I took a moment to really look at my little part of the Wright's home and felt a wave of warmth sweep through me. Dr. Wright insisted that I make the room my own, so I did. Painting it teal because it reminded me of Bastian's eyes and being surrounded by that reminder of him, when I wasn't able to be near him, was very comforting. The day we painted had been a lot of fun: painting, laughing and sitting cross-legged on the floor eating pizza in a room covered in drop cloths. Dr. Wright had taken Poppy and me shopping for furniture. The distressed white iron bed, with its scroll and floral details, was very feminine, but coupled with the contemporary hot pink cube side tables and the black and white bedding I picked out, made it look more eclectic rather than girlie. The walls were covered in my sketches. I had lived for almost ten years at my aunt's and yet I felt more comfortable in this room and I had only claimed it for a few months.
I settled on my bed to do homework. I hadn't meant to fall asleep, didn't think I could with how my nerves were making me feel like I was all twisted up.
I woke to the gentle stroke of a finger down my cheek and opened my eyes to see Bastian sitting next to me on the bed. Unlike how he sounded on the phone earlier, he looked at me with love, but I saw the rage just below the surface as he stared at my bruised lips.
“Bastian.”
“I'm sorry about my behavior earlier. Despite the fact that I plan on ripping that motherfucker into pieces, I shouldn't have taken it out on you.” My eyes stung from unshed tears. Bastian saw them too. “Don't cry beautiful.”
“Are you mad at me?”
He reacted like I had punched him. “Mad at you? Why the hell would I be mad at you? You're the victim.”
“I willingly went into that room with him. Maybe I'm more like my mom than I thought.”
Bastian grabbed me into a tight, urgent hug. I didn't hesitate to wrap myself around him as I buried my face in his chest.
“You are the victim, Lark. Stop trying to make yourself the guilty party. You are nothing like your mom.”
“I don't disgust you?”
“That fucking animal hurt you, attacked you, made you a victim and I wasn't there.” He lifted my chin to bring my gaze to him. “If anyone disgusts me, it's me, not you.”
“Please don't think that.”
“I won't if you won't.”
I wiped at my eyes as I tried for a smile. “Deal. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that it was Brad. I didn't see that kind of darkness in him.”
He pulled me closer but I felt the tension in him. “I didn't either.” And I was sure that was part of what fueled his anger. He had been deceived by Brad too. “I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry he put his hands on you. Jesus, Lark, the thought of him hurting you makes me insane with rage, especially knowing how scared you must have been. I want to fucking kill him.”
My hold tightened on him. “He isn't worth it. What did you tell the folks in Massachusetts?”
“The truth. They know who you are and what you mean to me.”
I brushed my lips over his. “I think you like me.”
A small grin touched his lips at the memory. “There's no think about it.”
“So it's everything you hoped, the restoration work?”
“You're trying to change the subject.”
“I am. I've spent the past 24-hours worried sick that you would feel differently about me. It was that, more than the attack, that had me unable to function.”
“Well, that's just fucking stupid.”
It felt so good to laugh. “Agreed, so now I just want to forget,” I said. “You are here and I've missed you like hell. I want to talk about you.”
His hold on me tightened, some of the tension draining from him. He exhaled and said, “Yes, I love the work. I want, well, I have so many ideas.”
I really stared at him at that moment, because it looked as if he was blushing. “Ideas about what?” I asked.
He threaded his fingers through my hair, “In a few years I see you and me, an old house on the Hudson in need of restoration, an easel by the water, kids running around the yard, ma
ybe a tire swing.”
“Really?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No, it sounds perfect.”
“That's my dream, a loving family of my own, a home, but I've only come to realize I want that because of you, only want that with you.”
“That's what I want too.”
When he kissed me, it held a promise.
A mischievous light glinted in his eyes when his mouth lifted from mine, “We should probably get some sleep, since we have school tomorrow.”
“We have school? You mean me.”
“Yeah.”
And then I noticed his bag.
“You can stay here with me tonight.”
“I know.” He said with a naughty look.
He was acting very strange, but I was too tired to think about it. I changed into my pajamas and brushed my teeth. Bastian was already there waiting to pull the covers up over us as I climbed into bed. He wrapped me in his arms.
“It's been too long,” he whispered. As I snuggled even closer to him, a contented sigh escaped my lips, which elicited a chuckle.
“Sweet dreams, Lark.”
In the morning I woke to the feel of an arm draped over my waist, a leg tangled with my own and at first I thought I was still asleep, but the warmth of his body pressed so close to mine was no dream.
My fingers ran over the muscles of his forearm, trailing along the veins in his hand, before his fingers grasped mine. He kissed the skin at the nape of my neck.
“Morning beautiful.”
I missed this—waking up with him, talking until we fell asleep, knowing that when he was away from me, it was at most only a few miles.
“When are you going back, Bastian?”
“I want to talk to my brother and Mr. Wright, want to make sure Brad can't hurt you again. I need to see Caden—to thank him in person for protecting you from that bastard.”
He didn't answer my question, but then since I didn't want to hear the answer, I let it pass. I turned to him and was immediately distracted at the sight of his bare chest. My fingers ran over his dragon, tracing the head, the snout, the eyes.
“Why this?” I asked.
“What makes you think there's a meaning behind it? Maybe I just think it's cool.” He said very softly.
