by C. R. Jane
After I let the guys go, there was nothing left for me in the world. Instead of rising above my circumstances and becoming someone they would have been proud of, I became nothing. Gentry made perfectly clear that anything I was now was because of him.
Echoes of my lost heart beat inside my mind as another song starts to play on the television. It’s the song that I know they wrote for me. It’s angry and filled with betrayal, the kind of pain you don’t come back from. The kind of pain you don’t forgive.
Too late I realize that Gentry just asked me something and that my silence will tell him that I’m not paying attention to him. The sharp strike of his palm against my face sends me flying to the ground. I press my hand to my cheek as if I can stop the pain that is coursing through me. I already know this one will bruise. I’ll have to wear an extra layer of makeup to cover it up when Gentry forces me to meet him at the country club tomorrow. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone at the club to know that our lives are anything less than perfect.
The song is still going and somehow the pain I hear in Tanner’s voice hurts me more than the pain blossoming across my cheek. Would it not hurt them as much if they knew everything I had told them to sever our connection permanently was a lie? Would they even care at this point that I had done it to set them free, to stop them from being dragged down into the hell I never seemed to be able to escape from? At night, when I lay in bed, listening to the sound of Gentry sleeping peacefully as if the world was perfect and monsters didn’t exist, I told myself that it would matter.
“Get up,” snaps Gentry, yanking me up from the floor. I’m really off my game tonight by lingering. Nothing makes Gentry madder than when I “wallow” as he calls it. As I stumble out of the room, my head spinning a bit from the force of the hit, a sick part of me thinks it was worth it, just so I could hear the end of their song.
Later that night, long after I should have fallen asleep, my mind plays back what little of the performance I saw earlier. I wonder if Jensen still gets severe stage fright before he performs. I wonder if Jesse still keeps his lucky guitar pick in his pocket during performances. I wonder who Tanner gets his good luck kiss from now.
It all hurts too much to contemplate for too long so I grab the Ambien I keep on my bedside table for when I can’t sleep, which is often, and I drift off into a dreamland filled with a silver eyed boy who speaks straight to my soul.
The next morning comes too early and I struggle to wake up when Gentry’s alarm goes off. Ambien always leaves me groggy and I haven’t decided what’s better, being exhausted from not sleeping, or taking half the day to wake up all the way.
Throwing a robe on, I blurrily walk to the kitchen to get Gentry’s protein shake ready for him to take with him to the gym.
I’m standing in front of the blender when Gentry comes up behind me and puts his arms around me, as if the night before never happened. I’m very still, not wanting to make any sudden movement just in case he takes it the wrong way.
“Meet me at the club for lunch,” he asks, running his nose up the side of my neck and eliciting shivers...the wrong kind of shivers. He’s using his charming voice, the one that always gets everyone to do what he wants. It stopped working on me a long time ago.
“Of course,” I tell him, turning in his arms and giving him a wide, fake smile. What else would my answer be when I know the consequences of going against Gentry’s wishes?
“Good,” he says with satisfaction, placing a quick, sharp kiss on my lips before stepping away.
I pour the blended protein shake into a cup and hand it to him. “11:45?” I ask. He nods and waves goodbye as he walks out of the house to head to the country club gym where he’ll spend the next several hours working out with his friends, flirting with the girls that work out there, and overall acting like the overwhelming douche that he is.
I don’t relax until the sound of the car fades into the distance. After eating a protein shake myself (Gentry doesn’t approve of me eating carbs), I start my chores for the day before I have to get ready to meet him at the country club.
My hands are red and raw from washing the dishes twice. Everything was always twice. Twice bought me time and ensured there wouldn’t be anything left behind. An errant fleck of food, a spot that hadn’t been rinsed – these were things he’d notice.
Hours later, I’ve vacuumed, swept, done the laundry, and cleaned all the bathrooms. Gentry could easily afford a maid, but he likes me to “keep busy” as he puts it, so I do everything in this house of horrors. I repeat the same things every day even though the house is in perfect condition. I would clean every second if it meant that he was out of the house permanently though.
I straighten the pearls around my neck and think for the thousandth time that if I ever escape this hell hole, I’m going to burn every pearl I come across. I’m dressed in a fitted pastel pink dress that comes complete with a belt ordained with daisies. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in such an outfit but far be it for me to wear jeans to a country club. I slip into a pair of matching pastel wedges and then run out to the car. I’m running late and I can only hope that he’s distracted and doesn’t realize the time.
As I drive, I can’t help but daydream. Dream about what it would have been like if I had joined the guys in L.A. Bellmont is a sleepy town that’s been the same for generations. I haven’t been anywhere outside of the town since I got married except to Myrtle Beach for my honeymoon.
The town is steeped in history, a history that it’s very proud of. The main street is still perfectly maintained from the early 1900s, and I’ve always loved the whitewashed look of the buildings and the wooden shingles on every roof. The town attracts a vast array of tourists who come here to be close to the beach. They can get a taste of the coastal southern flavor of places like Charleston and Charlotte, but they don’t have to pay as high of a price tag.
It’s a beautiful prison to me, and if I ever manage to escape from it, I never want to see it again.
I turn down a street and start down the long drive that leads to Bellmont’s most exclusive country club. The entire length of the road is sheltered by large oak trees and it never ceases to make me feel like an extra in Gone With the Wind whenever I come here. The feeling is only reinforced when I pull up to the large, freshly painted white plantation house that’s been converted into the club.
My blood pressure spikes as I near the valet stand. Just knowing that I’m about to see Gentry and all of his friends is enough to send my pulse racing. I smile nervously at the teenage boy who is manning the stand and hand him my keys. He gives me a big smile and a wink. It reminds me of something that Jesse used to do to older women to make them swoon, and my heart clenches. Is there ever going to be a day when something doesn’t remind me of one of them?
I ignore the valet boy’s smile and walk inside, heading to the bar where I can usually find Gentry around lunch time. I pause as I walk inside the lounge. Wendy Perkinson is leaning against Gentry, pressing her breasts against him, much too close for propriety’s sake. I know I should probably care at least a little bit, but the idea of Gentry turning his attentions away from me and on to Wendy permanently is more than I can even wish for. I’m sure he’s fucked her, the way she’s practically salivating over him as he talks to his friend blares it loudly, but unfortunately that’s all she will ever get from him. Gentry’s obsession with me has thus far proved to be a lasting thing. But since I finally started refusing to sleep with him after the beatings became a regular thing, he goes elsewhere for his so-called needs when he doesn’t feel like trying to force me. At least a few times a week I’m assaulted by the stench of another woman’s perfume on my husband’s clothes. It’s become just another unspoken thing in my marriage.
Martin, Gentry’s best friend, is the first to see me and his eyes widen when he does. He coughs nervously, the poor thing thinking I actually care about the situation I’ve walked into. Gentry looks at him and then looks at the entrance where h
e sees me standing there. His eyes don’t widen in anything remotely resembling remorse or shame...we’re too far past that at this point. He does extricate himself from Wendy’s grip however to start walking towards me, his gaze devouring me as he does so. One thing I’ve never doubted in my relationship with Gentry is how beautiful he thinks I am.
“You’re gorgeous,” he tells me, kissing me on the cheek and putting a little too much pressure on my arm as he guides me to the bar. Wendy has moved farther down the bar, setting her sights on another married member of the club. It’s funny to me that in high school I had wanted to stab her viciously when she set her sights on Jesse, but when she actually sleeps with my husband I could care less.
“My parents are waiting in the dining hall. You’re ten minutes late,” says Gentry, again squeezing my arm to emphasize his displeasure with me. I sigh, pasting the fake smile on my face that I know he expects. “There was traffic,” I say simply, and I let him lead me to the dining hall where the second worst thing about Gentry is waiting for us.
Gentry’s mother, Lucinda, considers herself southern royalty. Her parents owned the largest plantation in South Carolina and spoiled their only daughter with everything that her heart desired. This of course made her perhaps the most self-obsessed woman I had ever met, and that was putting it lightly. Gentry’s father, Conrad, stands as we approach, dressed up in the suit and tie that he wears everywhere regardless of the occasion. Like his son, Gentry’s father was a handsome man. Although his hair was slightly greying at the temples, his face remained impressively unlined, perhaps due to the same miracle worker that made his wife look forever thirty-five.
“Darling, you look wonderful as always,” he tells me, brushing a kiss against my cheek and making we want to douse myself in boiling water. Conrad had no qualms about propositioning his son’s wife. I couldn’t remember an interaction I’d had with him that hadn’t ended with him asking me to sneak away to the nearest dark corner with him. I purposely choose to sit on the other side of Gentry, next to his mother, although that option isn’t much better. She looks me over, pursing her lips when she gets to my hair. According to her, a proper southern lady keeps her hair pulled back. But I’ve never been a proper lady, and the guys always loved my hair. Keeping it down is my silent tribute to them and the person I used to be since everything else about me is almost unrecognizable.
Lucinda is a beautiful woman. She’s always impeccably dressed, and her mahogany hair is always impeccably coiffed. She’s also as shallow as a teacup. She begins to chatter, telling me all about the town gossip; who’s sleeping with who, who just got fake boobs, whose husband just filed for bankruptcy. It all passes in one ear and out the other until I hear her say something that sounds unmistakably like “Sounds of Us.”
I look up at her, catching her off guard with my sudden interest. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” I ask. Her eyes are gleaming with excitement as she clasps her hands delicately in front of herself. She waits to speak until the waiter has refilled her glass with water. She slowly takes a sip, drawing out the wait now that she actually has my attention.
“I was talking about the Sounds of Us concert next week. They are performing two shows. Everyone’s going crazy over the fact that the boys will be coming home for the first time since they made it big. It’s been what...four years?” she says.
“Five,” I correct her automatically, before cursing myself when she smirks at me.
“So, you aren’t immune to the boys’ charms either...” she says with a grin.
“What was that, Mother?” asks Gentry, his interest of course rising at the mention of anything to do with me and other men.
“I was just telling Ariana about the concert coming to town,” she says. I hold my breath waiting to hear if she will mention the name. Gentry’s so clueless about anything that doesn’t involve him that he probably hasn’t heard yet that they’re coming to town.
“Ariana doesn’t like concerts,” he says automatically. It’s his go-to excuse for making sure I never attend any social functions that don’t involve him. Ariana doesn’t like sushi. Ariana doesn’t like movies. The list of times he’s said such a thing go on and on. I feel a slight pang in my chest. Ariana. Gentry and his family insist on calling me by my full name, and I miss the days where I had relationships that were free and easy enough to use my nickname of Ari.
“Of course she doesn’t, dear,” says Lucinda, patting my hand. The state of my marriage provides much amusement to Lucinda and Conrad. Both approve of the Gentry’s “heavy hand” towards me and although they haven’t witnessed the abuse first hand, they’re well aware of Gentry’s penchant for using me as a punching bag. Gentry’s parents are simply charming.
I pick at my salad and listen to Lucinda prattle on, my interest gone now that she’s off the subject of the concert. Gentry and his dad are whispering back and forth, and I can feel Gentry shooting furtive glances at me. I know I should be concerned or at least interested about what their talking about, but my mind has taken off, thinking about the fact that in just a few days’ time, the guys will be in the same vicinity as me for the first time in five years. If only….
“Ariana,” says Gentry, pulling me from my day dream. I immediately pull on the smile I have programmed to flash whenever I’m in public with Gentry.
“Yes?”
“I think you’ve had enough to eat,” he tells me as if he’s talking about the weather and not the fact that he’s just embarrassed me in front of everyone at the table.
I shakily set my fork down, my cheeks flushing from his comment. I was eating a salad and I’m already slimmer than I should be. But Gentry loves to control everything about me, food being just one of many things. I see Lucinda patting her lips delicately as she finishes eating her salmon. My stomach growls at the fact that I’ve had just a few bites to eat. I have a few dollars stashed away in my car, I’ll have to stop somewhere and grab something to eat on the way home. That is if Gentry doesn’t leave at the same time as me and follow me.
When I’ve gotten my emotions under control, I finally lift my eyes and glance at my husband. He’s back in deep conversation with Conrad, their voices still too soft for me to pick anything up. Looking at him, I can’t help but get the urge to stab him with my silverware and then run screaming from the room. The bastard would probably find a way to haunt me from the grave even if he didn’t survive. Still, I find my hand clenching involuntarily as if grasping for a phantom knife.
After that one terrible night when it became clear that I couldn’t go to L.A. to meet up with the guys, I was lost. I got a job as a waitress and was living in one of those pay by week extended stay motels since there was no way I could stay in my trailer with them anymore. I met Gentry Mayfield while waitressing one night. He was handsome and charming, and persevered in asking me out even when I refused the first half a dozen times. My heart was broken, how could I even think of trying to give my broken self to someone else? I finally got tired of saying no and went on a date with him. He made me smile, something that I didn’t think was possible, and every date after that seemed to be more perfect than I deserved. I didn’t fall in love with Gentry, my heart belonged to three other men, but I did develop admiration and fondness for Gentry in a way that I hadn’t thought possible. After pictures started to surface on the first page of the gossip sites of the guys with hordes of beautiful women, and the fact that my life seemed to be going nowhere, marrying Gentry seemed to be the second chance that I didn’t deserve. Except the funny thing about how it all turned out is that my life with Gentry turned out worse than I probably deserved, even after everything that had happened.
Three months after we were married, I burnt dinner. Gentry had come home in a bad mood because of something that had happened at work. Apparently, me burning dinner was the last straw for him that day and he struck me across the face, sending me flying to the ground. Afterwards, he begged and pleaded with me for forgiveness, saying it would never happen again. But I w
asn’t stupid, I knew how this story played out. I stayed for a week so that I could get ahold of as much money as I could and then I drove off while he was at work. I was stopped at the state lines by a trooper who evidently was friends with Gentry’s family. I was dragged kicking and screaming back home where Gentry was waiting, furious and ready to make me pay. Every semblance of the man that I had thought I was marrying was gone.
I had $5,000 to my name when I met him. I’d gotten it from selling the trailer that I inherited when my parents died in a car crash after one of their drunken nights out on the town. Gentry had convinced me that I should put it in our “joint account” right after we got married and stupidly, I had agreed to do it. I never got access to that account. Gentry stole my money, he stole my self-esteem. No, he didn’t steal it, he chipped away at it and just when I thought I’d crumble, he kissed me and cried over me and told me he’d die without me.
I tried to get away several more times, by bus, on foot, I even went to the police to try and report him. But the Mayfield’s had everyone in this state in their pocket, and nothing I said or did worked. I eventually stopped trying. It had taken me a year of not running away to get my car back and to be able to do things other than stay home, locked in our bedroom, while Gentry was at work.
Gentry stood up from the table, bringing me back to the present. A random song lyric floated through my mind about how the devil wears a pretty face, it certainly fit Gentry Mayfield.
“I’m heading to the office for the rest of the day. What are your plans?” he asks, as if I had a choice in what my plans were.
“Just finishing things around the house and going to the store to get a few ingredients for dinner,” I tell him, waving a falsely cheerful goodbye to Gentry’s parents as he walks me out of the dining area towards the valet stand. We stop by the exit and he pulls me towards him, stroking the side of my face that I’ve painted with makeup to hide the bruise he gave me the night before. My eyes flutter from the rush of pain but Gentry somehow mistakes it as the good kind of reaction to his touch. He leans in for a kiss.