She was out the door and marching towards the exit before I could assure her that if I did—if my worst fears came to fruition, and I became the very same monster that had destroyed my young, fragile body from the inside out—I would castrate myself. And that was a promise too.
I WAS SIX YEARS old the first time it happened.
At least that was as far back as my memory went.
The doctors said I could have been molested as early as four. The damage was so extensive, my insides so ravaged with scar tissue, that it was hard to pinpoint when the abuse began. So in my mind, it was six. Because that was when I remembered him coming into my room. That was when I remembered screaming and crying so hard that the sides of my lips ripped and bled.
It was a stifling hot night in South Florida. He was drunk off rum. Even then, I knew his drinking meant trouble for me. My uncle was kind and charismatic normally. A beloved member of the community. A devoted brother to his late brother and his young wife. A caring, loving uncle and caregiver to an orphaned toddler. But when he drank, he became frightening. The way he watched me as I colored at the dining table or played with my trucks on the floor. I felt his eyes on me as I watched my favorite cartoon. And even worse, his touch . . . the way his hands felt on my tiny body during bath time. Fingertips grazing my spine from my neck to the top of my backside. The extra attention he paid to washing between my legs. I told him I was a big boy—I could do it myself. But he was so insistent on proving that he was an attentive caregiver. He wanted to make sure it was done right.
It was wrong. I knew it was, even then. He was a liar and a thief. He stole my innocence and told me it was done out of love.
He had to hold me down. I still remember the weight of his palms on the backs of my wrists and the sweat between our skin. I cried so hard for so long that my pillow was soaked with tears and blood from my cracked lips. At some point, I must’ve vomited too. It was hard to fully grasp what was being done to my body.
I lay on a mattress saturated with my blood, urine, feces and his fluids for two days after. I was afraid to get up. It hurt all over, and I had no control of my bathroom functions. My insides had been pulverized into pulp, and I was sure I needed to go to the hospital. But I had no one to turn to. No one to talk to. But him.
He came in to carry me to the bath. I was too exhausted and sore to fight him. I was frightened and I was sick. I had been naked and covered in filth and sweat for days, and with my open wounds going untreated, I surely had some type of infection.
He washed the dried blood from my thighs and shampooed my hair. He touched me gently, reverently. And after a long time, he told me how much he loved me and how proud he was to be my uncle.
He said I was a good boy.
That was all I had strived to be. After my parents had died, I was so afraid of losing someone else that I always tried my best to be good. I was quiet, respectful, helpful. I kept my head down and did as I was told. Sometimes my uncle would reward my good behavior with candy and toys, so I quickly learned that being good also benefitted me.
This was his reward. This was his prize for taking me in and caring for me.
That was the first time I remember wishing that I would have died on that stained mattress. Wishing I had had the courage to bury my head in that tear-streaked pillow and smothered myself to death. At least I would’ve been with Mama and Papa again.
Tonight, it was Lauren.
Aerobics instructor at Planet Fitness. Vegan. Very flexible.
She and I had flirted before in the cardio room. She said I should check out her class. I told her only if it was a private session.
Tonight I got my wish.
After Raven stormed out of my office, wisps of black hair becoming unraveled from her messy bun from the sheer force of her stride, I couldn’t clear my head of all the putrid bullshit that put me back in that place . . . that place where I was a helpless little boy crying out for a mama and papa that would never, ever hear him again.
I didn’t want to go to Dive. Kam would see it on my face, and chances were good that Angel would be there too. I couldn’t escape those two. They knew . . . they knew how it was for me when the memories took hold.
I wasn’t ready to be alone either, so I decided to grab my gear and pound out my frustrations on the treadmill. Eminem was blasting in my headphones, spitting venom over vibrating bass lines and digitized drumbeats. I had just hit mile 3 when Lauren approached, resting her forearm on the handle on my machine and striking a pose. She wore tiny spandex cropped pants and a sports bra. The laces of her sneakers matched the hot pink pattern on her scant top.
I removed my headphones to be polite. I didn’t feel like being bothered, but I also didn’t want her to think I wasn’t interested. I was. Or at least I could be.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about that private class you had mentioned,” she smiled, her lips looking much too glossed to have been working out. Her sun-streaked hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, which instantly made me think of Raven’s mane being pulled up in the same way. I shook it off. Our last conversation left a bad taste in my mouth, and shit, just thinking about her triggered my saliva in preparation for vomit.
I hit Stop on the treadmill and went for my water bottle before I got sick all over this poor girl. “Oh yeah?” I asked breathlessly. I wiped the sweat from my brow with a towel and returned her flirtatious grin, despite the bile roiling in my gut like a whirlpool. “Draw any conclusions?”
“I did actually. The studio is free if you’re still interested.”
I told her I’d meet her in there, and dashed to the locker room to wash my face. I didn’t bother to shower or any shit like that. This girl knew what she was getting, and part of me thought she liked it that way.
I was right.
A few stretches and breathing techniques later, I had her back stretched along a yoga ball, her sneakers locked together above my bare ass and her hands fisting my sweat-drenched hair. Thank God, I never left home without condoms. This actually wasn’t my first gym romp. You’d be surprised how many chicks dig sweaty, funky sex.
I didn’t shower until I got home. Public showers around other men was completely out of the question for me. It was hell for me in high school, but I made do.
When I was finally able to stand under the hot spray, letting the water wash away sticky layers of sweat, sex and shame, I gave into the ache in my chest and released the sob that had been stuck there since the moment Raven had fled my office with a piece of my dignity. I let myself cry for the little boy that endured years of agony and abuse because he thought that was the price of love. I cried for all the nights he was pressed into his twin mattress, that monster’s rum-tinged, hot breath fanning over his tear-streaked cheeks, telling him what a good boy he was. I cried for every doubt he had about himself and what he was as a man thereafter, feeling like his masculinity had been tarnished. And I cried for that man whose heart and body had been broken beyond repair, who had longed for someone to see all those horrid cracks and fissures and not run in repulsion, but instead, help him to repair the damage.
As I slid onto the tiled floor, scalding hot water beating down on my back until it was raw, I found that I was crying for Toby too, for fear that someone had hurt him in the most reprehensible way, stealing his voice and all the goodness in his young world.
I DID MY BEST to do right by Toby and uphold my end of our bargain, but I was still rattled by Raven’s warning. Maybe she saw something in me that I had been trying to deny. Maybe she could tell I was meant to be a statistic—a clinical fact in cases like mine. I had spent most of my life trying to prove I was nothing like Hector Trevino, but maybe I was. Maybe his sickness had infected me. Maybe that sordid depravity was contagious.
I could tell Toby knew something was up. He kept watching me with those sharp, brown eyes, his stare as piercing as his sister’s. After a few minutes of awkward silence during a mindless game of Connect Four, he picked up the pencil and pad.
> “Everyone?” I asked, a small sense of relief washing over me. Maybe it wasn’t me after all.
He shrugged before picking up the pencil again.
“Why do you think that is?”
Another shrug, but this time he didn’t write more. Interesting. Could I have been reading this all wrong? Could Raven actually be the victim?
I honestly couldn’t imagine Raven being anyone’s victim. The girl was just too fiery and tough. I almost pitied any guy that crossed her. She probably had a tin bucket of testicles stashed away in her trunk that she took to the driving range to practice her swing. Fore!
Heartbreak had hardened many a woman, but it didn’t explain her deep-seated hatred for me, a guy she didn’t even know. Sure, I may have been a little touchy during our first meeting, but once she made it clear it wasn’t welcomed, I backed off. For me, No meant Hell No.
We didn’t talk about Raven again after that, and she hardly spoke two words to me until Friday. And that was only because she had to.
I got the call late morning, and was already grabbing my coat before I could hear the whole story through the receiver. The school was only a ten-minute drive from Helping Hands, but I was pretty sure I made it in five, traffic laws be damned.
“What happened?” I huffed out, winded from the jog from the parking lot.
The middle school’s vice principal, Carol Jenkins, shook her head solemnly and exhaled. She and I had worked closely in the past on a few cases involving troubled students. She knew I was serious about my kids.
“Looks like some boys cornered him in the bathroom. He tried to give as good as he got, but they must’ve overpowered him. He’s in with the nurse.”
“Boys? How many?”
“No clue,” she shrugged. “He won’t tell us who it was, and the kid who walked in on them didn’t get a good look. Either that or he’s afraid of the ramifications. We have our suspicions, and we’ve got the staff looking for any kids who look like they’ve been fighting. We’ll find them, Dominic. And when we do, they will be punished harshly, I can promise you that. Let me take you in to see him.”
“Thanks, Carol,” I nodded, as I followed her down the hall to the tiny office.
Toby was sitting on a cot, an ice pack over his eye, looking pale and disheveled. His lip was also cut and bleeding. He looked up when I entered, and for a split second, he seemed . . . hopeful. Like he was almost happy I had come.
“Hey, Pacquiao. Heard about what happened. How you feeling?”
He shrugged, one side of his swollen mouth turning up into a sad half-smile.
“He’ll have a pretty good shiner,” the nurse reported, kneeling down in front of him to bandage his knuckles. The kid got a few good licks in. Good for him. “Busted lip and a few bruises. I’m sure his injuries are superficial, but just watch for any discoloration and pain around his ribs. He should be fine in a few days.”
“Will do. Have you contacted his sister?”
“We called and left a message. When we weren’t able to contact her immediately, I figured you’d want to know,” the vice principal explained before pulling me to the side.
I kept my eyes on Toby as the nurse cleaned the cut on his lip with some antiseptic. He flinched at the sting but didn’t make a sound. Shit. My heart broke for him. There’s no telling what those punks would have done to him if someone hadn’t walked in. And with him unwilling to talk, we would never know what had actually transpired before they ran off. I made a mental note to talk to some of our students that also attended school here. Maybe they knew who was behind the attack, or could at least point us in the right direction. Maybe even watch Toby’s back during school hours.
“I appreciate it, Carol. Listen, if you hear anything at all regarding him being bullied or harassed, you have my number.”
“I do,” she nodded before returning back to the nurse and Toby. I was watching from a distance, and letting them do their jobs, when Raven rushed in, her wind-whipped hair a nest of onyx on top of her head. Her cheeks were flushed to a bright pink, and her blue eyes were wide with worry.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I got the message,” she prattled off before kneeling in front of her brother, inspecting his cuts and scrapes with the gentlest of touches. She was so frantic that she didn’t even notice me there. Come to think of it, she didn’t really acknowledge anyone directly. Her main focus was Toby. She was as concerned as any parent would be if their child were hurt.
“Not a problem, Ms. West. Mr. Trevino was just minutes down the road and came as soon as he heard.”
At that, she went all Exorcist on us, her head snapping back in an almost inhuman way. “What?”
“We called him when we couldn’t immediately get in touch with you. He works closely with several of our students here.”
I could see Raven struggle with that realization. She wanted to go full-on bitch mode and list all the reasons why I had no business being here for her brother, caring for the kid just like she did. Maybe she wasn’t used to people having a genuine interest in helping him, or something. Because I swear, the thought that she wasn’t alone—they weren’t alone—really fucked with her.
She quickly schooled her features, releasing her anger through flared nostrils, before mumbling, “Thank you.” I don’t know if it was meant for me or Mrs. Jenkins, but I nodded in acquiesce anyway. I’d take any improvement from the eye rolls and death glares.
“Hey, Carol, if he’s good to go, think Toby could just take the day? You can email me the rest of the day’s assignments, and we’ll get them turned in next week.” Raven looked shocked that I had spoken up on their behalf, but she didn’t stop me. I doubt she wanted to send her little brother back to class in his condition.
“Sure, I think that’s a great idea. I’ll send them over.” Then Mrs. Jenkins went over to lend a few more encouraging words to Toby and a few promising ones to Raven before exiting the room, taking the nurse with her to write an official report. That just left the three of us.
“Hungry?”
Raven cut her eyes at me and barked out a stiff no—of course—but even with his purpling eye covered in an ice pack and his lip twice its size, Toby nodded yes.
“Good. I know just the place for lunch. My treat.” This was one of those rare occasions when No actually meant Hell Yes.
“Wait a minute. We’re not going anywhere with you.” She rose to her feet, her hands already perched onto her hips and that scowl fixed onto her face.
“Ok,” I shrugged with nonchalance. “Well, I’m starved and it is lunchtime. So if anyone’s hungry, and would like to eat the best burger in Queen City, they should probably follow me. I’ll just be on my way . . . driving the black Charger.” I turned toward the exit, but not before I saw Toby stand and tug on his sister’s sleeve.
“What?” she whispered. After a short pause and a reluctant sigh, I heard her reply, “Ok, fine.”
#Winning.
“Hey, Trevino,” Raven called out, annoyance in her voice. “Wait up.”
I waited for them to climb safely into their car, which surprisingly was an old Camaro in pretty stellar condition. The red paint job had seen better days, but the body was intact. I wouldn’t be surprised if Raven was into classic cars. And here I was, trying to impress her with my recent modeled Charger with all the bells and whistles. I probably sounded like a straight-up wanker.
“A bar?” she frowned looking up at Dive’s marquee. She was still halfway inside her car, refusing to get out, although Toby had already joined me on the sidewalk. “You brought us to a bar?”
“And grill,” I said, pointing to the signage. “Come on. It’s cool, trust me.”
“Trust you. Hmph,” she muttered. But she still got out of the car and shut the door with more force than was necessary, even for the older vehicle.
“Yo, Dom!” CJ called out as soon as we entered. I swear, for a guy that supposedly had a steady cash flow, there was no way he could have a job. He was here ev
ery afternoon and late into the night. I got that he was Blaine’s cousin and Mick—the former owner’s—son, but shit. How the hell did he run a business when he was always boozing at a bar and picking up random broads at bus stops?
We did the guy half-hand slap, half-hug thing before CJ set his sights on Raven, wearing a wolfish grin. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“No,” Raven snapped, dousing those two letters in enough venom to incapacitate a bull. At least I knew I wasn’t the sole recipient of her spite.
“I’m sure I do.” Just then, CJ got a view of Toby, partially shielded behind his sister with his head down. “Damn, Dirty. You never told me you were a family man.”
Oh shit. Before Raven could step forward and decapitate the poor bastard Game of Thrones style, I wedged myself between them, blocking his view. I was protective . . . of both Toby and Raven . . . and I didn’t like what he was insinuating, even if it was harmless. And I damn sure didn’t appreciate the way his eyes roamed her body, no doubt imagining what was under her scrubs.
“Shut it down.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“You’re not saying shit,” I replied, low enough that Toby wouldn’t hear, but loud enough that CJ could hear the threat in my voice. “Now shut it. The. Fuck. Down.”
I was still staring him down, taking things from playful to very fucking serious when Blaine came in from the back room, carrying a large box of bottled imports. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, setting down the box. “Everything good?”
I looked over at Blaine, the constant voice of reason, the level-headed guy with the patience of a saint, even though he looked more like a sinner with the ink and piercings. I could see the concern on his face, and it immediately made me remember myself and present company. Shit. I was losing my head.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I nodded, backing off from CJ and shaking off the tension of the moment. “We’re just here for lunch. We’ll take one of the booths.”
Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) Page 6