Claire recovered slowly and gradually. Dr. Leonard continued to treat her, coming to the estate every day during the first week after she woke. After that, the length between visits steadily increased. He never questioned her memory again. He did push her to recover. He pushed her to eat, walk, and go outside. He wasn’t the only one pushing. Catherine pushed. She pushed Claire to eat, shower, and do her hair and make-up.
The prompting seemed necessary. Claire would have lain in bed all day if they would let her. The only motivation she possessed was to return to the visions she’d experienced during her unconsciousness. Unfortunately, they didn’t reappear in any of her dreams.
It wasn’t that she felt sad—she didn’t. She didn’t feel scared, and with enough medication she didn’t feel pain. Accurately, she felt nothing. Consciously or unconsciously, she’d compartmentalized everything away. Nothing remained. With each prompt she obeyed. She ate. She walked—with difficulty at first. Her muscles lost tone in just two weeks, and her weight dropped below anything she ever remembered. She showered, at first with assistance and then on her own. She conceded to Catherine’s pleas for hair and make-up; however, every activity tired her. Therefore, sleep became a natural and accepted escape.
The one person who didn’t pressure Claire was Tony; however, he was omnipresent—every day. Catherine told Claire he hadn’t left her side while she was unconscious. Now, he went to work but returned every evening. He spent most of his time in Claire’s suite, sometimes with his laptop, reading a book, talking, always willing to listen, and every night sleeping. While Claire stayed in the hospital bed, he slept in a recliner that was brought to her room. Once she made the transition to her big bed, he asked if he could sleep with her.
Claire said, “Yes, but…”
“I just want to sleep near you, if that’s all right with you?”
Dr. Leonard hadn’t given her the go-ahead on all normal activities. She’d suffered a concussion—which attributed to her unconsciousness and headaches; however, it was her broken ribs that caused the problem. Claire couldn’t lay in certain positions. Her own weight caused intense pain. She knew Tony’s weight would be agony. She didn’t assume she had a choice in his sleeping location and truly didn’t care—as long as she could sleep. He didn’t complain.
Each milestone—getting out of bed alone—walking to the bathroom alone—walking to the dining room—or going into the backyard—received a gift. Some were simple tokens: a book, a journal, or a scarf—apparently very in style this season—but others, like for her first dinner in the dining room—were extravagant. The dining room warranted a new journey necklace, with three diamonds in increasing sizes to represent past, present, and future. The entire carat weight was easily over three. It was remarkable, but Claire missed her grandmother’s necklace. Although she didn’t mention it, she remembered it too had been a casualty of the accident.
It appeared the giving of gifts gave Tony pleasure, so Claire accepted them. The journey necklace representing past, present, and future didn’t bode well. She knew even in her fragile state—she didn’t want any of the represented time periods. The jewelry was so excessive Claire began to think of it as costume—it made accepting it easier. She tried to act happy about the gifts and the attention; however, she felt like his eyes had been—devoid of emotion. There was nothing inside of her.
Catherine knew Claire liked being outside and encouraged Tony to take her out into the yard. The scene didn’t help her state of mind. The blue skies rarely shone, and the green of spring and summer had disappeared—like brown withered leaves blown away in the cool autumn wind. With the foliage gone, the outside was gray. All that remained was the black and white photo of landscape Claire saw when she was first brought to the estate.
One day, while walking the perimeter of the backyard, wearing warm coats and soft gloves, she asked Tony, “Do you have any idea when my debt will be paid?” The question obviously caught him off guard. She witnessed the fluctuation of his eyes—the intensity changing until it finally settled on light brown.
“My dear Claire, the last time you were on your own—which was for only a day—look what happened. I think you need me. I don’t want you to have more accidents.” And then he added, “Do you?”
Remembering to answer audibly, Claire shook her head, looked down and whispered, “No.”
They didn’t discuss her accident. They discussed travel. The idea of leaving the estate frightened Claire. She felt confident she could avoid accidents if she stayed put. Tony said that when she was better he’d like to have her join him while he traveled. He talked about Chicago, New York, Phoenix, San Francisco, and overseas destinations. Claire asked if she needed a passport if they flew on a private jet. Tony said he would have Brent work on getting her one.
On a Saturday, in mid-November, two months after her accident, Claire was technically pronounced physically well. She’d become stronger with time. Her bruises had disappeared, ribs totally healed, headaches less frequent, and she could eat—although she had no appetite. Dr. Leonard visited the estate the day before and released her from his care.
Tony decided they should go on a drive. Claire hadn’t left the property, or even the immediate house, since early September. Faced with the reality of getting into the car caused an explosive and unexpected trauma.
That morning, she obediently dressed in the clothes she found laid out for her, which had happened every day since she was well enough to dress. The sun shone and the temperature felt unseasonably warm. She anticipated going outside, but when Tony announced he had the Lexus out front—Claire panicked. Her reaction was quick and unpredicted. Not wanting to go, she started to cry and shake. For the first time since the accident, Tony pushed. He didn’t ask, he declared—they were going for a drive.
It was the best thing he could do. She needed to get out, but Claire couldn’t think straight. She sat on the front steps and refused to get up. Finally, Tony reached for her arm. She reacted in a way she hadn’t since the first days of her arrival. Her entire body filled with anguish. Violently trembling, she started to scream, “I remember everything! I know the truth! Please do not touch me!”—her torment erupted as her volume increased—“I hate you! Leave me alone!”
He looked at her with disbelief and she stared at him with vengeance.
Her screaming caused Catherine and Cindy to come running. By the time they arrived, Claire’s words were unintelligible, overlapped by sobs and whimpers. She sat on the steps, shaking, holding her knees, and rocking back and forth. Eventually her sobs subsided into freely flowing tears. She didn’t speak as Catherine gently helped her to her feet and calmly walked her to the car.
They began the drive in silence. Tony didn’t do or say anything. He drove and let Claire cry. It had been two months since her accident. She hadn’t cried or said a word—suddenly it all exploded.
Dr. Leonard had given his clearance. Tony had been patient. Claire knew what he wanted, and she was petrified to be with him again. He drove them to a meadow. She’d never been there before or even seen it. It was very secluded. Claire’s crying subsided. Tony tenderly helped her out of the car, and while holding her hand he offered his overdue apology. “Claire, I’m sorry.”
She looked up at his eyes, they glistened light brown. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry?”
His tone was remorseful and sincere, “I’m sorry for your accident.” She didn’t respond and looked away from his eyes. He continued, “Yes, I admit what happened that night was me. I admit I lost control—something which doesn’t usually happen. I admit I feel terrible—and Catherine has made me feel worse. I admit I was beyond furious with you and the article by Meredith Banks. I wasn’t thinking straight.” His eyes were getting darker. “I trusted you. I believed you wouldn’t betray my confidence and then—” His shoulders stiffened and then relaxed. “Claire, I would do anything to have that night to do over.”
They stood by the car, no longer touching. The breeze gently rustl
ed the tall grass, blew wisps of hair around her face, and filled her lungs with the smell of impending winter. Claire watched his expression as he spoke. It had been so long since she’d felt anything. Suddenly, she fought the rapid mixture of emotions stirring inside of her.
*
Tony watched as her eyes, which had been dull and dead. They now contained a small spark.
“Tony, I remember. I remember what you were doing and saying. I remember you saying I would need to be alone for a while—to think about who to talk to and who not to talk to.” Tony nodded his head. He’d said that. Claire’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Is that still coming?”
He reached for her shoulders. He intended to be gentle, but Claire backed away—tripped—and fell onto the ground.
*
His eyes said tender but she remembered anger. She didn’t know what to think or feel. Not feeling was so much easier. Confusion, apprehension, anger, and dread all bubbled up inside of her. From Tony’s expression, they also showed in her eyes.
He followed her to the ground. “Claire, please stop.” He knelt beside her. “No—that isn’t coming. I don’t think you need any more reminders on how to behave, do you?”
Barely audible, she replied, “No—no I don’t.”
“Claire, may I please touch you?”
Her trembling resumed. Sobs again resonated from her chest.
His voice, still gentle was also firm, “You know I don’t need your permission to touch you. I don’t need your permission to do anything.”
Claire’s eyes closed as she tried to swallow her sobs. She nodded her head knowing too well her permission wasn’t necessary.
“But, I’d like to have it. Please, may I have your consent?”
She braced herself and opened her eyes. She looked at him, his expression, and his eyes. She closed her eyes again and meekly replied, “Okay.”
He scooted next to her, sitting on the cold hard ground, and softly placed his arm around her back. She tried to hide the tension, but she couldn’t control her anxiety at his touch. He gently bent down and tenderly kissed her lips, very lightly brushing his lips against hers. She didn’t back away. His mellow tone whispered near her ear, “Have I told you how much I like the highlights in your hair?” She shook her head. He lightly stroked her hair. “I think you’re amazing. You’re so strong and resilient. I don’t deserve your forgiveness for what I did, but you deserve to hear me ask for it.”
She didn’t want to look at him. Her emotions were too raw—she wanted to forgive him.
He didn’t touch her, instead he moved himself in front of her so they were eye to eye. “Claire, I’m sorry I hurt you.” She felt the tears as she tried to maintain eye contact. He gently took her hands. “I ask that one day you’ll consider forgiving me.”
He kissed her hands.
When she looked into his eyes she saw sadness and remorse. The swirl of emotions that had so violently erupted at the estate now settled into her chest. She wanted the sadness to go away. He’d been so patient. He was being so tender. She didn’t forgive him, but she began to respond to his advances. It started with kissing, he kissed her and she began to kiss him. Then she felt his warmth as her hands caressed his arms and shoulders.
Tony bulged with excitement, yet he didn’t rush or push. He stayed compassionate and tender.
“Tony, I’m scared,” Claire confessed.
“I promise I’ll be gentle.” Although she had every reason to not believe him—she did.
“Can we please go home—to a nice soft bed?” He quietly stood and helped Claire to her feet. She took the hand he offered and walked back to the car. This time, she got in willingly.
When they pulled up to the house, Claire leaned over. “I really want this, but please be gentle.”
He parked, walked around to her door, and helped her out of the car. They walked up the front steps hand in hand where only a few hours ago, had been the scene of her hysterics. When he opened the door, he scooped Claire into his arms. Instead of going up to her suite, he carried her to his room. While he held her, she closed her eyes and nuzzled his neck. The aroma of his skin and cologne intoxicated her.
She had never—in all the time she’d been there—been in his bedroom. It was grand—almost royal. The walls were covered with cherry paneling and ornate carpentry. One wall was covered with a large screen framed like a picture—like the one in his office. His bed was massive—tall and larger than a normal king-sized. There were even steps to reach the height of the mattress. He gently placed her on his bed.
She watched as he slowly removed her shoes. Then, he unbuttoned and tenderly removed her jacket, her blouse, and her jeans. He removed his own clothes while she observed his every move. He was gorgeous, and his moves were slow and sensual. He softly kissed her, causing her to lie back. She looked up at the beautiful ornate ceiling. She felt his lips move down her body. They lingered at her neck, at her breast, stopping to lick and suckle her nipples. Claire’s back arched, and she pressed her breasts toward Tony.
He continued to touch her warm body, taste her skin, and inhale her scent.
She hadn’t realized it before that moment, but after experiencing satisfaction routinely, the void of the past two months left her wanting. Her body was now alive—on full alert—with every nerve electrified. He fondled her breasts and gently twisted her nipples. When she moaned in ecstasy, he stopped. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”
She pleaded, “No, God no. Please don’t stop.”
He allowed his lips to move from her breasts to her flat stomach and over her protruding hipbones. As he tenderly spread her legs and kissed her inner thighs, she feared she would explode before he reached his destination. Next, his mouth affectionately awakened her desires. He satisfied every need she’d ever had and ones she’d forgotten. He moved slowly and deliberately, sensual and romantic, compassionately and lovingly.
He was patient and remorseful. His pleasure came by pleasing her. Now, it was his turn to experience a favorable consequence. His actions had taken everything away—and now his actions brought everything back.
Nothing is more common on earth than to deceive and be deceived.
—Johann G. Seume
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. Samuel Rawls and Jared Clawson sat while Nathaniel Rawls paced. The large polished conference table was barely visible beneath the magnitude of papers. The players no longer worked from the New Jersey office above the textile factory, as they had five years ago. Instead, the view from the conference table or large mahogany desk was now that of Cedar Street in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district.
“Rawls stock is up another five-eighths after heavy trading. The rumors that circulated today about the quarterly report helped with that increase,” Clawson said as he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair, adjusting his suit jacket.
Nathaniel’s track around the large office included peering out toward the NYSE and circling the desk to see the large computer screens which relayed up-to-the-minute stock information. Exhaling a large gray cloud, he asked the question that sat heavily on his and Samuel’s minds, “But what happens when it’s discovered the rumors and reality are different?”
“Shit hits the fan”—Clawson smiled—“So—we don’t tell anyone.”
Samuel rubbed his throbbing head. “What do you mean we don’t tell anyone? The quarterly earnings report will be released tomorrow. The investors will find out that our capital is down. That last string of investments wiped out millions.”
“Numbers are funny things. I have a copy here of an alternative report. The numbers are all legitimate, but the information is written with a positive slant.” Clawson distributed the report. The room filled with uncomfortable silence as the two Rawls men read the new report.
“Where’s the original report?” Nathaniel bellowed. Immediately, Clawson pulled the requested pages from the clutter
ed table. The elder Rawls took the two reports and sat heavily at his desk. Page by page he compared the figures. Samuel and Clawson watched as the tips of Nathaniel’s lips moved from south to north. The telephone rang, breaking the silence. Instead of answering, Nathaniel hit the button on the intercom. “Connie, I said no calls!”
The voice from the box spoke apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rawls. It’s your personal line. I’ll take care of it.” Immediately, the ringing stopped.
The sight of Nathaniel’s smile had differing effects. Clawson resumed his leaned back position and lit another cigarette. Samuel leaned forward and held his head in his hands. Confronting his father in front of Clawson wasn’t a good idea, but it had to be done.
This whole damn thing was getting out of hand.
It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know it has begun
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Chapter Twenty-Three
‡
His head rested on his arm as he listened to her breathing and watched her sleep. The discussion in his head had raged for hours. Sensing her warmth, inhaling her scent, and wanting to taste her lips…the voice of love prevailed.
*
Claire floated in that place before consciousness, having difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasy—unsure of what she was feeling. The epiphany came with the realization—she was feeling. It’d been so long since she felt anything. She felt warm—safe—and secure. Her mind tried to convince her it was a dream, but she remembered feeling the same way before she fell asleep. She questioned herself, is this real? Her soft skin rolled on the silky sheets and felt radiating warmth. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes. Right in front of her—close enough to touch—was Tony’s firm broad chest. Again—questions, is he really here—he usually left her bed before she woke—Why is he still here?—Now as Claire rolled onto her back and saw the beautiful ornate ceiling she wondered, Where is here? This isn’t my room.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 22