The Pretty Ones

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The Pretty Ones Page 13

by Jamie Lee Fry


  “I’m pretty sure you told me you targeted me, and you raped me last night. You’re right about one thing, though—you need some serious help, but I can’t help you.”

  “I’m sorry, I get out of hand sometimes, but I don’t mean it. Jenny, babe, let me in,” he groans as he pounds his fist against the door.

  I hear him slide the weight of his body down and the door moves with each breath he takes.

  I need to be as far away from him as possible. I know I’m safe in my locked bathroom, but being that close to him repulses me. I slide my body toward the bathtub and prop myself up against it. I stare at the door, ready to address him.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, you sick fuck? Get out of my house, or I will call the cops.” I spew my words back at him. I reach for my phone to do just that, but I don’t have my phone. It must still be in the living room where I left it last night. Stupid woman. Stupid girl. Why are you so dumb?

  Tears flow down my face.

  “I need to explain myself to you, Jenny. Please come out here.” His voice is shaking now.

  “Explain? Explain how you almost killed me! Explain how you are one sick son of a bitch!” I yell back at him. The volume of my words scores my throat, making it burn with every word I scream.

  “Please, Jenny, I love you. I would never hurt you. I got carried away,” he says between sobs.

  “You don’t hurt people you love,” I say sadly.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeats the words as if it will make a difference.

  He’s never said “I love you” before, and I know he is using it as a weapon to make me feel something for him. To make me vulnerable again. I know better, and I can’t let my guard down. The only thing I could ever feel for him from now on is anger and fear.

  “I’m so sorry, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got carried away,” he says again, repeating his words like they are rehearsed.

  I take a long, deep breath to prepare myself for my next question. I feel the therapist in me coming out.

  “Liam,” I say cautiously. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he says, but doesn’t sound sure at all.

  I know he doesn’t believe what he’s just said.

  “Liam, I can’t help you. I think you get off by hurting women, and you enjoy dominating them. You need professional help, and I’m not that professional. You hurt me. Don’t you get that? You intentionally planned to hurt me.”

  I can’t help but think about the other women he’s attacked in the past, and the women he could injure in the future. I want to call the cops and tell them about everything and stop him from doing this to others, but then I remember what he said last night about losing my license and what my family would think about me. I can’t risk losing everything over one mistake. One fucked-up mistake.

  “Liam, if you love me, you will leave right now. I can’t look at you. I need time to think.” If I didn’t say the last part, I knew he wouldn’t leave. He needs to feel there is hope. I need him gone, and I’m going to say anything to make sure he vacates my home.

  I hear him back away from the door. I wait a few moments, and I hear the front door slam shut.

  I lean over and vomit into the tub.

  CHAPTER 33

  Jenny

  March 2008

  I still can’t believe what happened to me last night. It seems so surreal. I replay every interaction I have ever had with Liam since he walked into my office. I knew what I was doing and that it was wrong. I knew he was younger than me. I saw every red flag to stop myself before it got started, but I couldn’t help myself, and now I’m paying for my actions.

  I have to run to clear my mind. Running is my release. I run to heal every emotion and right now I have about fifty different emotions flooding my veins. I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t get out of my house.

  I throw on my running clothes, toss my hair into a high ponytail, and slip into my purple Nikes.

  I get in my car and have every intention of driving to the river trail. I can’t control the panic in my body as I drive, and I feel the need to pull the car over. I’m still a mile away from the trail, but I have to get out now. I have to run. I feel trapped like last night and I need to breathe air now. I swerve and pull up by the side of the road. I get out, and as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I can breathe again. I feel my feet diving toward the ground, harder and faster than my normal stride. Each jaunt is harder than the last. Pain stings its way up my leg, but I don’t care. I see his face each time I blink, and I want to stop and cry, but I press on. I’m stronger than this. I fucked up, but I won’t let this stop me. I can’t let this break me.

  Once I make it to the river trail, I stop to catch my breath. There are a lot of people out today. The sun is shining, and it’s the perfect spring day to get outside. But I feel anxious when I see all the people. I feel like they know what I did. I feel their eyes watching me. I need to run again. I take off in a full sprint and make the entire river trail loop in a personal record time. I’ve never run so fast before.

  I’m exhausted now and regretting my dire need to leave my car earlier. I don’t have any more energy to run. I sulk all the way back to my car. I feel the pain of last night setting back in. My wrists burn as the sweat runs over my injuries. My tummy grumbles—I couldn’t bear to cook anything in a kitchen where he spent his morning waiting for me. I left his breakfast of bacon and eggs sitting on the countertop. I might have to toss the entire plate in the trash when I get home. The thought of him in my kitchen makes me ill. My mile walk back to my car is feeling more like three miles.

  As I approach my car, I notice another one of those little white envelopes tucked under my wiper blade. Are you kidding me? I run over to my car and rip it from the windshield.

  To Jenny, the whore.

  This time I don’t wait until I’m home. I open my car door, slide inside, and rip it open, desperate to see what is inside.

  I still don’t recognize the handwriting. My hands tremble and the paper shakes in my fingertips.

  To Jenny, the whore,

  You slut. I know what you did. You’re still doing it. I’ve seen you.

  I pound my fist into the dashboard.

  I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

  Is Liam messing with me? It has to be him. He is the only one who would be so cruel. Is he following me? I immediately feel like I’m being watched. I put my car into drive and race home as quickly as possible.

  Everything I ever knew about life, about people, about everything is crumbling into the tiniest pieces.

  CHAPTER 34

  Jenny

  April 2008

  The last two weeks have been a struggle for me. I told my patients that I have the flu, and can’t shake it—a lie, of course. I had to keep my bruises hidden until they healed. I need time to regroup and put the pieces of my psyche back together. Those tiny little pieces that Liam shattered me into. The shards of those pieces that the mysterious white envelopes left me in. They wounded me and left me fragmented. I’m not sure if I will ever be whole again. I thought I was stronger than this, but I’m struggling. I wish I could talk to my sister, but I’m dying inside from the guilt I have from my lies and secrets. I want to tell my family, but I fear they will judge me. I can’t risk losing everything I built here. My home, my practice, and the trust I have from everyone around me. I’m sick to my stomach.

  And then there is Charlie. I feel like absolute rubbish about leaving her hanging. Something is clearly eating at her, enough to cause her panic attack. I’ve been so self-absorbed dealing with my own problems that I’ve let her issue go to the wayside. At least she has no idea I’m leaving her out to dry, but it still doesn’t make it right. I have kept a watchful eye on the house during my downtime. I have barely seen Charlie leave, except for school. She didn’t even ask how I was feeling, not once, and that is not like her. I have
texted her and all I get back are one-word responses.

  I’m failing at everything in life right now.

  My phone vibrates. It’s a message from Liam. The third one since that horrible night. My body goes numb.

  Please, can we talk? You said you would help me. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?

  It’s the same as the last two. My plan is to keep ignoring him. I feel that it is all I can do. That horrendous night in my bedroom seeps back into my memories. The handcuffs, his eyes, his awful words, the choking. I rub my wrists, which are healed now, and my throat feels better too, but the memory of that night will be with me forever. The psychologist in me wants to dive in and figure out why he did what he did, but the victim he made of me won’t let me even touch the surface of his problems.

  I turn my phone off and decide to get outside for some fresh air. I’ve been trapped in my house for two weeks. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I bought myself some time away from the family with my made-up flu. No one wanted to get sick, so they kept their distance. Joan left soup on my doorstep on more than one occasion, but for the most part they let me be. But now with my conjectured flu gone, I have to pretend I’m OK, but I’m not OK.

  Once outside, I’m about to take a seat at our patio table when I see Joan.

  “Hey, good to see you out and about. Some flu you had. I hope you’re doing better now,” Joan says.

  “I’m tired, but I’m doing good,” I respond. All lies.

  Joan takes a seat next to me. Her eyes are red and puffy. “I know you’ve been sick, but we need to get back on track with Charlie. She had another panic attack last night. I calmed her down like you did last time.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I respond.

  “We had it under control. It wasn’t as bad as the first one. It only lasted a few moments,” Joan says.

  “I know I’ve been ill, but you really should have called me. I should have been there. Especially if you want me to treat her,” I lecture my sister. “How has she been lately?”

  “Well, here’s another thing. Her school called yesterday. She’s been missing her history class after her lunch period. They said they left me a couple of messages on our answering machine at home, but Charlie must have deleted them, because we never got the messages.”

  “What? Charlie would never miss a class. That’s not like her,” I respond.

  Joan shifts in her chair. “I’m really worried. When I asked her about it, she completely ignored me and shut me out. She stomped off to her bedroom and slammed the door. She’s been on that darn laptop of hers all the time, and that’s it. She hasn’t done anything outside the house. We have no idea what she’s doing after lunch.”

  I feel guilt pinging its way down my entire body.

  I watch as Joan wipes the tears from her eyes. She continues. “So, I couldn’t help myself, and I called her friend Zoey to see if she knew what’s been going on with Charlie. I didn’t tell her about the panic attacks, of course. That information is only for the family’s ears. Zoey said Charlie has been quiet and withdrawn lately. She barely says two words to her at school and they haven’t hung out in weeks. That was all she knew. She seemed worried about Charlie too.”

  I’m in absolute shock. This is not like my niece at all. “Do you think that maybe Charlie is finally being a normal teenager and rebelling like you did when you were her age?” I ask my sister.

  “You were nine when I was Charlie’s age. How do you remember what I was like?” Joan questions. “And, no, I know my daughter, and this is not stupid rebellious stuff.”

  “I looked up to my big sister. I watched your every move. You had a wild side. Maybe Charlie got a little of that from you.” I push back to my sister’s response.

  “I promise you, it’s not like that. It’s different,” Joan shouts. “I know my daughter, and trust I know her better than you do.”

  I’m not sure how true her last statement is. I feel like I spend more time with Charlie than she does.

  “Well then, Joan, we are losing time. She is going to be leaving soon, and we need to figure this out. I think it might be time we look into other professionals for help.”

  “Jenny, we really need you to help her. It has to be you,” Joan demands.

  “Why does it have to be me? Help is help.” I shout, demanding an answer.

  I’m not in the right frame of mind to help Charlie the way she needs to be helped. I want to tell my sister I’m broken right now, but I don’t.

  “Remember when you told me about that hypnotherapy study clinic you did in grad school? Do you think you could try it on Charlie?” Joan asks.

  “Oh, no, Joan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please, Jenny. Frank and I discussed it, and we don’t know what else to do. You have to try for us.”

  “I will think about it,” I say, feeling overly defeated by my older sister.

  CHAPTER 35

  Jenny

  May 2008

  I have to get back into my routine. I can’t let everything going on keep me down. I’ve been disconnected and out of sorts. This has gone on for far too long and it is even more clear now that it’s not going to stop. The text messages I received this morning still have me shaken.

  Jenny. Are you ignoring me? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

  Answer me now!

  I want to block his number, but I don’t want to be caught off guard. I have to stay alert and know what’s coming next. If I block him, then I would be blind to his actions.

  I’ve been leaving the house less and less to avoid any sort of encounter from Liam or the author of my notes. I have zero food left in my house, so the grocery store is first on my to-do list. I have to go on with my life or he wins.

  As I walk through the store, I feel everyone’s eyes on me. I know it’s all in my head, but I feel like I have the words, guilty, victim, and fool written in marker on my face.

  I’m having a hard time looking people in the eye. I keep my head down and work my way through my grocery list. My phone vibrates, another text message from Liam.

  Don’t forget the bacon, sweetie.

  He’s watching me. He knows that I am at the grocery store. My eyes dart around. My head is spinning.

  Liam is following me.

  I am in public, so he can’t hurt me here. Right?

  My heart descends down into my stomach. He is stepping up his game. Taunting me. Waiting for me to react. That is exactly what he wants. He wants to see me squirm. I cannot react. I am not calm, but I have to pretend to be. I finish grabbing the last few items on my grocery list and make my way to the cash register.

  Another text from him.

  Did you get the red wine I like?

  Seriously. This has to stop. He is like a cat playing with its prey before it goes in for the kill.

  I unload my cart. The cashier asks me a question, probably about the weather or if I found everything OK. I honestly don’t know. I just smile and nod and continue about my business.

  The bag boy loads my bags into the cart, and I wheel it to my car. My eyes dash quickly through the parking lot. His old beat-up car is parked at the end of the lot. He speeds away when he sees me. His car is quiet now. That sneaky son-of-a-bitch got his muffler fixed. He knew I would be listening for his loud noise-polluting piece of trash. I cannot help but put my middle finger in the air as he pulls out of the parking lot and speeds away.

  Once I am safe in my car and driving home, I let my emotions play out. I scream. I cry. I even laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you question your sanity.

  Why is he tormenting me? Did he not get enough that night? He’s harassing, threatening, and stalking me. I know I need to go to the police, but the thought makes me recoil. That would mean telling my story, and I don’t think I’m ready to relive that just yet. I am also not prepared for the repercussions of what will happen when I tell the police I slept with my patient while I was treating him. I am not ready for my family to hear
how unethical I have been, and I’m most definitely not ready to say I was held hostage on my bed while I was taunted, handcuffed, raped, and then choked until I blacked out. I’m just not ready for all that. I don’t want Charlie to hear any of it, especially right now. I could not bear if this makes her condition worse. I’ve already had to be sneaky to gather what I have so far to help her. She has no idea. This could make things worse. So much worse.

  I fucked up.

  I really fucked up.

  I turn on the music as loud as I can tolerate it. I have to tune out the world.

  When I pull up to my house and park my car, I can sense something is not right. My front door is slightly open.

  Maybe it’s just Frank. He said he would fix the loose floorboard in my living room, but he would have given me a heads-up. He respects my privacy. Charlie has been known to let herself into my house before, but given her current circumstances, I highly doubt it is her. She has been keeping her distance from me, and everyone, for that matter.

  I slowly step out of my car and locate my mace and take it from my purse. I hold it tightly in one hand. My phone is secure in my back pocket for easy reach and my car keys in the other, pointing straight forward as a potential weapon.

  I cautiously nudge the door open with the mace out in front of me.

  I shakily let out, “Hello, who’s there? Joan? Frank? Charlie?”

  No response.

  I hear someone shuffling their feet across the hardwood floor in my bedroom. I raise my hand higher, showing I am not afraid to use the mace.

  Liam steps out from my bedroom. He has his hands in the air like he is surrendering to the police.

  “Whoa, Jenny. It’s just me. You don’t need that mace now, do you?” He smiles as he lowers his hands.

  I keep my arm straight forward, ready to spray. The sight of him repulses me. I want to run, but I know that is what he wants from me. I have to stay strong.

 

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