Let It Be Me

by Toni Aleo

  OTHER WORKS BY TONI ALEO

  The Assassins Series

  Loveswept titles:

  Taking Shots

  Trying to Score

  Empty Net

  Falling for the Backup

  And coming soon on December 9th, 2013

  Blue Lines

  This is for my mom, Patricia Ortiz.

  I love you & miss you so much.

  See that woman there?

  The one with beautiful long wavy blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her arms up protecting her eyes and face?

  That’s me. Violet Moore.

  I’ve always loved my big blue eyes, hence the reason I’m balled up trying to protect them, along with the nose I received from my mother and the defiant chin I got from my father. Before, Rob used to say my eyes could light up a room. Now he says they annoy him. Everything I do annoys him. I think even when I breathe, he’s annoyed, which is why he hits me.

  Like now, his booted foot connects with my gut with a force strong enough to obliterate any breath I thought I had. A strangled cry pitches from deep within my diaphragm, scorching my throat and he ignores it. He always ignores me. In some ways, I think it makes it worse. His kicks get harder, more frantic and violent when I scream or cry, but I can’t help it. His broad, 5’11 frame towers over my own willowy 5’6 build. He is stronger, much stronger, and Lord knows I’m scared of him. Like now, he lets loose a string of obscenities about how I’m the world’s biggest piece of shit when, not two years ago, I was his world. Before, I used to be the most amazing woman and he was the luckiest man on earth to have me. He promised me the world, and all I’ve received in the last two years is pain and heartache.

  Why the hell do I stay? Why do I take this and why do I allow this to happen?

  I’ve asked myself those same questions for the last seven hundred and thirty days, but for some reason I still stay. Even through the horrible honeymoon where I learned that the way I eat has driven him half past mad a dozen times. I spent most of our trip with sunglasses covering my bruised eyes, trying to hide from the stares of bystanders. Or when he took me away from my family in Colorado to Tennessee, so they would stop asking questions about my injuries. Or when he kicked me so hard, I lost my child.

  Is it love? Hell, I sure don’t think so because his voice makes my skin crawl. Even with his dark hair and even darker eyes, his olive skin, and the thick scruff that used to turn me on, I can’t stand the sight of him. I hate him. Am I scared to leave? Yes. Do I feel like I’ll never find someone to love me? Definitely. I’m scared shitless and it doesn’t help that Rob tells me daily that no one will ever love me. Have I lost all faith? Am I at the bottom of all bottoms? Fuck yes.I know it’s horrible, and I know I shouldn’t believe him, that I should love myself before anything. There used to be a day when I did, but Rob sucked it out of me.

  With my hands cupped over my face, I tense and wait for the blow, the one that tells me it’s going to be a long night and he’s had too much to drink. I don’t want to lie down and give him an even bigger advantage than he already has, but as his booted foot cracks into my sternum, I know it’s all over. My ragdoll body flies back a few feet and my hip slams into the cold linoleum of our kitchen floor. I used to love the swirling pattern of tiny, cerulean flowers, but now I avoid this room for fear of gagging.

  I let my body sag down until my temple hits the floor, the stars in my eyes and heave in my chest threatening bile or worst: blood. His foot connects again and a strangled cry pitches forth, straight from my diaphragm, ripping apart my throat. I can’t help but scream, even though I know it’ll only get worse.

  It always does.

  His kicks become harder and more frantic and I long for the warm detachment of unconsciousness, willing it to take me away.

  It’s amazing that Rob, the tall, dark and handsome stranger I fell in love with years ago, the one who carried me down the beach so I could snap my own “Footprints” photo, who stayed up with me late at night to tell stories and draw endless circles in the soft flesh of my back with his fingertips, could change so completely that he’s nothing more than a distorted image, a blurry memory of what could have been.

  I should have run the first time I heard “I’m sorry” while covering my black-and-blue eyes with dark sunglasses. I should have known better when he packed up our home and took me away from my family in Colorado to move to Tennessee, a place I’d never been, after my mom questioned the fingerprints on my forearms. But I didn’t. I went with him and now look where I am.

  He lets loose a string of obscenities about how I’m worthless as his foot cracks into my sternum again, and any breath I thought I had whooshes away and leaves me empty inside. I wrap my shaking fingers around my long blond hair, holding it close to me so that he has nothing to grab on to.

  Letting out a maniacal laugh that makes my blood curdle and congeal instantly in my veins, he takes a few steps back to look at the mess he’s made. The small pool of blood from my nose, my supine, willowy form with slim arms that cradle the stomach in which a baby had been growing before he kicked that away mere months ago. His eyes are distant, cold, and I know he’s not looking at me anymore.

  I’m aware that I could be classified as a weak person, but don’t give up on me yet, because, look, do you see that? Do you see the way I’m getting up? Look, I’m grabbing his grandmother’s ugly vase and look at my face. See the way my chin is going up, the way my tears have stopped? How my shoulders are squaring up? See how my grip on the vase has tightened? And look, do you see the shocked look on his face?

  Because I do.

  For once I feel the strength that has been hiding inside me for the last two years, the kind that converges under my skin until it manifests itself into something I can use. I’m going to beat the shit out of Rob for once.

  I’m going to fight back. I have to or he may very well kill me.

  Why am I doing this now you may ask?

  Why hadn’t I done this way before I married him, lost a child, and became so weak that I hate myself?

  Well. Get a blanket and maybe a glass of wine, you’re going to need it, because my story isn’t a happy one, well no, I take that back. It can be happy, I can be happy; I just have to get there. I have to fight for it. So sit back and let me explain how the fight was woken inside me.

  It all starts with Tucker McCloud

  I used to be freakishly in love with Rob Moore.

  I thought of him the first moment I woke, and he was the last thing I thought of before I went to sleep. His smile made my world shine and his eyes could bring me to my knees, so dark that they reminded me of night. I loved him and I thought he loved me.

  Things started between us three years ago, when I was in my graduating year of college to be a registered nurse. He was a nurse at the hospital at which I was interning. He stunned me with his angular face and square jaw, the muscles that rippled under this scrubs, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead effortlessly. I remember how shy and fidgety I used to be when he was around. How his velvety-smooth voice sent cascades of gooseflesh across my skin like the angels were singing and I had to listen. I was completely and utterly mesmerized by him.

  It didn’t take long for the attraction between us to blossom. He worked long hours and I only interned four times a week, so the time I had with him I treasured. He had a sly way of captivating me with stories of the hospital. He was funny, and Lord could he make me squirm in my scrubs. I wanted him. Desperately. At all hours of the day, it was mind blowing. Never before had I just wanted a man, but boy, did I want Rob Moore.

  When I was a teenager I thought that reality TV shows depicting inter-office relationships between nurses in hospitals – the kind that happened behind the closed doors of supply closets – wa
s all fake, but I was wrong. Before Rob, I didn’t consider myself one of those girls, the one’s that hook up without any cares of who would hear me, but I found myself rapidly becoming that girl.

  He had me.

  I was his and I wasn’t looking back. I had never been in love before, and when Rob came into my life, I felt like he was it. He was my ocean and I was drowning in him.

  Another big mistake on my part.

  Once we slept together, over and over again, I found myself so in love with him that I could hardly breathe. When I told him I loved him, he smiled and said, “I have loved you since the moment I set eyes on you, Vi. The word love doesn’t even express what my feelings are for you. I am and always will be completely and utterly yours.”

  For the next year, everything I did involved Rob. I didn’t notice then but slowly I lost all contact with my friends, the ones I thought were in it for the long haul. I stopped calling, stopped answering and soon all I did was love Rob. He was everything to me. I was completely consumed by him. The only thing I didn’t seem to let go of, despite Rob’s trying, was my mom. I talked to my mother every day, we went to dinner with her and I knew she loved Rob as much as I did.

  On my wedding day, my mom told me that Rob had asked for my hand before asking me. Now, I wonder if he promised to love and care for me. To always protect me. I wonder how he could have looked my mother in the eyes and bald faced lied because for the last two years, he has not loved or taken care of me. Protect me? Please. It’s been hell and instead of calling my mother and telling her, I’ve taken the abuse.

  Disgusting, I know.

  After the honeymoon from hell, I remember being home and reaching for the phone so many times to call and tell my mom or even the friends I let go. But every time I got to the last number to make the call, I’d hang up. I still don’t understand what I was thinking. Did I think it was a one-time thing? Did I believe the sob story of how bad his family treated him and how he had all this pent up anger inside him from having his father hit him? Or was it that he said he promised he’d never do it again? Or maybe it was my own fucked up issues of needing to be loved by a man? Did not having a father to love me when I was growing up fuck me up so bad that instead of walking away and picking up the pieces, I decided to stay and take the abuse? I guess so because I’m still here after two years of it.

  I know, I’m shaking my head too, but remember how I asked you not to give up on me yet? Well, please, don’t. Not yet. Give me a little longer because this is just the beginning of my story and I still have tons to tell you.

  When I graduated from nursing school, I immediately got a job at the hospital at which Rob worked. On the surface, we were the golden couple. He wasn’t one to hide public displays of affection. Nope, he’d grab me and kiss me for the world to see before telling me how much I meant to him. I know, I was confused by it too, because once we got home and I didn’t cook or clean something the way he wanted, he’d hit me before begging me to forgive him, that he didn’t mean it, that if I’d just do as he asked, we wouldn’t have a problem. For some stupid fucking reason, I soon was walking on eggshells trying to please him. He started to control everything. What I wore, who I talked to and even how long I talked to my mom.

  It was sad and ridiculous, but I allowed him to do it.

  I was used to it and for a while, no harm came my way, but then a new doctor started working my floor and Rob hated him. I mean despised the man, and every night after our shift all Rob did was bitch and moan about how much he hated him. I, for one, thought that Dr. Reeves was a nice guy. He was young and an eager doctor that loved his patients and treated his nurses well. This was good because not all doctors are like that. Some can be real assholes and I was thankful to work with a good one but that all changed when Dr. Reeves hugged me one day.

  It had been a tough day. I had lost one of my favorite patients to lung cancer and even though this was part of my job, death happened daily, it affected me more. Mr. Ralph and I were buddies. There is and always will be a special place in my heart for that man. He was the grandfather I never had since my mom lost her father at a young age. I cared for him deeply and it honestly broke me to lose him.

  I remember after getting him ready for the morgue to come get him, I broke down. I cried so hard that my body shook with the sobs. I hadn’t cried like that in months, and I guess Dr. Reeves heard me and came in to comfort me. He told me that we have to have a thick skin working the cancer unit but that he understood my grief since he, too, cared for Mr. Ralph. Hell, everyone did.

  I covered my face with my hands and the next thing I knew, he had me in his arms, telling me that it would be alright, that Mr. Ralph was in a better place with no pain. It helped and when I parted from him, I smiled because he was absolutely right. I whispered thank you to him but then out the corner of my eye, I saw Rob standing there. It was easy to tell that he was beyond pissed and I knew I was in for it. When Dr. Reeves cupped my face and asked if I was going to be all right, Rob lost it and the next thing I knew, he was beating Dr. Reeves to within an inch of his life. I couldn’t believe it, I had never seen him get physical with anyone but me and it scared me shitless. It took three people to pull him off the doctor and when his eyes met mine, I knew I was fucked even though I had no romantic feelings whatsoever for the good doctor.

  Needless to say, Rob was fired that day and I’m pretty sure he’ll do time as soon as he goes to court for it later this year but that’s beside the point because when I got home that night, he beat me to a bloody pulp. He broke my arm in two places, busted my lip, broke my nose and even killed the child I was carrying after repeatedly kicking me in the stomach. Want to know what I told the hospital though? That I fell down the stone stairs of our apartment. Hey, it’s better than saying I ran into a doorknob, right?

  But even with my wonderful lie, my mom didn’t believe it. She begged me to tell her the truth. I wasn’t a clumsy person and it wasn’t raining that day, so how did I fall? I was so close to telling her what had happen, crying about how I lost the child that I was already in love with when Rob ripped the phone from my hands and hung up. He then informed me that we were moving back to his hometown of Maplewood, Tennessee. I tried to convince him not to move me from the only place I knew and loved, but he told me that he’d kill me before he’d live without me and he was going, so I was too.

  I know you’re thinking, ‘don’t go, it’s that easy!’ But if you’d been there and seen the way he said it, you would know that I had no choice. He had nothing but hatred and anger in his eyes. After watching him beat up Dr. Reeves, I decided that he wasn’t messing around and since for some reason I wanted to live, I agreed and went with him.

  Even despite my mother’s pleas and tears, despite my grandmother begging me to stay with them, I followed my husband across the country to a place I didn’t know or want to live in. I played the wife, setting up our home in the house Rob grew up in. I did what was asked of me through pure fear of Rob actually going through with his threats and killing me. I even stopped calling my mom every day because being slapped in the back of the head each time begins to wear on the soul.

  He was sucking everything out of me, and I let him, like a complete idiot.

  I know Rob’s going to be pissed when I get home, he hates that I am working somewhere he is not, but for the next eight hours I get to sit in the quiet comfort of Dr. McCloud’s office filing paperwork. There’s something almost cathartic about finally being able to get out of bed in the morning and having something to look forward to. I even managed to dress myself and conceal the fading, greenish-yellow bruise on my chest bone. My long blonde hair is in waves falling over my shoulders and framing my face, and I’m happy in a way I haven’t been in a long time. I even took the time to brush on some lip gloss this morning.

  My desk is organized and personalized with zebra print office supplies and a framed picture of me, my mom and my grandmother. Rob would have a fit if he saw my desk – he hates anything he conside
red ostentatious – but I love it and I finally have something that’s mine. I’m starting to feel like an adult again. Leaning back in my plush-back chair, I smile as I looked around my little office. It isn’t as big as Dr. McCloud’s, but to me it’s perfect. The old office manager, Dr. McCloud ‘s wife, and I had spent the last week training. Thankfully, I’m a fast learner and we hit it off quickly. She’s a lovely woman and I loved working with her but the rush I’m feeling right now is unreal. For once I’ll be in control of something, and that alone makes me shiver with anticipation. I know I’ll be the best damn office manager ever and even with Rob in the back of my head telling me I’m going to fail, I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.

  I actually feel alive.

  Just as I’m about to reach to turn on my new Mac, my door opens and in comes Dr. McCloud.

  “Morning, Violet.”

  I smile. “Good morning, Dr. McCloud, how are you?”

  “Wonderful, and you? Are you settled?”

  “Yes sir, I’m great,” I say, my grin growing by the second.

  He lets out a hearty laugh and I swear my face is going to break from the smile that’s been there so long it could crystalize. He reminds me of Harrison Ford with his strong facial features and light brown eyes. He is a good looking guy for his age and most of the nurses have a slight crush on him. I wouldn’t go that far as to crush on him, but I know I will love working for him. He’s built his small practice from the ground up and I couldn’t be more excited about the new possibilities.

  “I must say, Violet, you look great behind that desk. I’m glad I picked you for this position. It’s time we had some spring chickens in this office and, with my beautiful wife retiring, even she agreed we needed someone that would be long term. I feel I’ll have you until you retire.”

  I nod like a bobble head, still completely shocked that he did give a twenty-three-year-old woman with little experience a position that should have been given to someone with more experience and age. But I understand his reasoning and I thank sweet baby Jesus he picked me, because I need this. I need this chance to see what I can do.