Shadow of a Girl

by Shannon Greenland

  “Don’t start throwing up walls,” he warns. “Or I will do what I said. I will walk out, and you will never make this up to me.”

  Irritation flares through me as I pull the tape out of my pocket and swing around to face him. “You want to know why I put this on there? Because my FATHER used to watch me through a reverse peephole in my bedroom door.” I trudge over and wave the tape in West’s face. “And you know why he did it? Because ‘Girls do things behind closed doors they aren’t supposed to.’ It was his job to make sure I didn’t do them. To make sure I stayed clean.” I fling the tape in his lap. “There. You wanted to know about that damn piece of tape? Well now you do!”

  I wait for him to say something, get up and leave, show disgust, something. Instead his eyes are gentle as he looks up at me. It isn’t what I expect.

  Some awkward silent seconds beat by, filled only by the sound of my heavy breaths. But the more I breathe, and the more I look down at him, the more my anger slowly fades.

  I turn away. I just yelled at West. I’ve never yelled at anybody in my entire life. I also just admitted to him, and to myself, that Gideon is my father. I haven’t thought of him with that term in more years than I care to count.

  Defeated by the past weeks, by my memories, by everything, I sink down on the edge of Anne’s bed and let out a long exhausted breath.

  “I can’t believe I yelled at you.” I give West a weak smile. “It felt good.”

  “I bet it did. It certainly sobered me, and I haven’t even been drinking.”

  I inhale a breath and let it back out. “I’m so tired of being who I am.”

  West pushes out of the chair and comes to kneel in front of me. He slides his arms along the sides of my legs, loosely cradling me like he did on that park bench. “Is this okay?” he quietly asks like he did before.

  A sense of calmness settles over me, and I nod.

  “I think you’re amazing,” he reassures me. “You have some awful stuff to work through, and you’re incredibly brave to do so.”

  Brave. I like that word.

  “Did your father hurt you?” he questions, his arms tightening around me. “Is that what’s on your back? Is that why you don’t like your wrists held?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “It’s okay,” West reassures me. “It’s just you and me. No one’s watching. No one’s listening.”

  Memories flash through my brain and I flinch.

  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  I do and West searches mine with sweet and understanding ones. We lapse into silence, staring at each other, and the more we stare, the more comfortable I become. Like I can sink right into his dark gaze and confide in him.

  “Did he hurt you?” West repeats.

  I nod. “Yes.” And that one simple word lifts a gigantic burden.

  He doesn’t respond, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in sharing. Maybe I can come up with a way to reverse this conversation. I could make up some excuse…

  A muscle angrily flexes in his jaw. “What is your father’s name?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now,” I lie. I’m not ready to reveal names. To reveal the rest.

  “Did he sexually abuse you?” he asks.

  I shake my head, but I don’t tell him that I “tempted” Gideon. That I gave him unclean thoughts.

  West inhales a huge breath in and then softly releases it. “When did the physical abuse start?”

  “As long as I can remember,” I quietly admit.

  West’s face hardens in both anguish and concern. “How many times were there?”

  I glance away. “A lot.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and again, I think I probably shouldn’t have shared. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally admits.

  Sweat breaks out all over my skin, making me more cold than hot. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  He sighs and takes my hand, and the small gesture makes my thoughts tumble. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. Don’t ever think that.” He presses a kiss to my open palm. “Have you always dealt with this alone? Has anybody ever helped you?”

  “Bluma helped me—” escape. But I don’t tell him that part, either. Or the fact that my name is fake. Or that I’m only sixteen. Or who my father really is.

  “What about your mother?”

  “She died a very long time ago.” I’ve wondered so many times what my life would be like if she were still alive. I’ve also wondered if Gideon treated her the same way he treated me. I hope he didn’t.

  West moves to sit beside me on the bed. “Know I’m here, too. Always.”

  I turn a little to face him, loving the closeness that feels comfortable and non-intimidating. He brushes a kiss to the inside of my wrist and then lays my hand over his heart. The whole thing feels so darn good. So loving.

  “You’re nothing like I imagined you’d be,” I softly tell him.

  West laughs a little, and just the sound of it brings me joy. “How was that?”

  “I don’t know. The typical sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll I guess.”

  “Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll, huh? Well, no drugs for me but definitely lots of music and sex.”

  My face goes warm at the sex part. He leans in to press a kiss to my cheek, and I close my eyes, soaking in his scent, his closeness.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He caresses my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “You are something else.”

  We stay that way a few seconds, our foreheads touching, taking each other in. Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me. How does he think I seem sitting here? I hope not pathetic. The last thing I ever want to be again is pathetic. Strong and independent. That’s what I want to be.

  He lies back on the bed and opens his arms, and I hesitate, though I’m not sure why.

  Amusement plays across his face. “No big deal, Eve. Just lie with me.”

  I glance away, suddenly swamped with everything he and I have done. Getting lost with each other. Kissing at the soundboard. Snuggling on the roof in New York City. Playing the guitar while he sang. Stretched out on top of me at the beach. Pressing into me—

  “What is it?” he asks.

  I turn to look at him. “I’ve had some thoughts, some sex thoughts,” I blurt out, then press my lips together. I can’t believe I just said that.

  His eyes widen in interest. In surprise. In wariness. It’s the wariness that has me frowning. “Believe me,” he says, “I think about sex a lot, too.”

  My breathing stops.

  “Oh, Green Eyes…” he sighs.

  “I really like it when you call me that.”

  His expression gentles even more. “Eve, you have no idea how much I want to experience that with you. But, we’re not ready.”

  We’re not ready. I’m so glad he didn’t say I wasn’t ready. Although way down deep I know I’m not.

  I lie back on the bed beside him and stare up at the ceiling. I’m fully aware of West just inches from me, breathing. I rotate my head and look at him to find him staring right back. Drinking me in really. Memorizing my details. Like he’s hungry or something.

  I have a flash of me in the bathroom pleasuring myself, but just as quickly as the flash comes, insecurity replaces it. Why? I don’t want insecurity. I want the pleasure.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a bit floaty, and can’t help the sneaking thought, If I was Illana, I’d be ready and experienced and know exactly what to do.

  Taking the initiative, I roll over and snuggle in to his side, and he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in. “Make no mistake,” he whispers, “when that does happen for us, it will be the most amazing thing either of us has ever experienced.”

  My eyes widen in excitement, in confusion, in everything.

  He brushes his lips across my temple and then slowly caresses his nose up and down my hair line, b
reathing me in.

  “I really did miss you,” I softly admit.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I try to settle my excitement as I glance again to the note West left me. I think I’ve looked at it a million times since getting up and around.

  Brunch. My suite. 11 am.

  I’d fallen asleep last night cuddled into West as he soothingly stroked my back. My back, and I didn’t even freak. At some point during the night he left, and when I woke up this morning, the note was laying on my bedside table.

  Anne comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. “West and Eve sitting in a tree…”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  She laughs. “Seriously? I’m so happy for you I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe slowly. What is my problem? I’ve got to calm down. It’s just brunch.

  In. His. Suite.

  It’s a second chance, and I don’t want to blow it.

  I open my eyes and focus on my roommate.

  She drops her towel and starts dressing, and I glance down to Anne’s overnight bag. “Do you have any makeup I can use?”

  “Are you serious?” She hops into her jeans. “Hell, yeah.” She yanks on a shirt and pulls the desk chair out. “Sit down.”

  I do, and she excitedly digs around in her bag. “Not a lot,” I tell her. I’ve never worn makeup before. I don’t want to overdo my first time.

  She waves me off. “I got this.”

  She spins me so I can’t watch in the mirror and breaks out a brush. She swipes it through white powder and says, “Close your eyes.”

  I do and feel the soft bristles on each of my eyelids. “What are you going to do today?” I ask.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” she tells me, and I hear her pick something else up. She moves close again, and I feel her on my eyelashes now. “Well,” she says, “I met this hot girl last night, and we’re doing lunch later.”

  Excitement dances in me for her. “Really? That’s so great, Anne.”

  “I know. You’ll have to meet her. She’s coming to tomorrow’s show. I think you’ll like her. Maybe we can all do something afterward.” She’s smears something on my lips. “That is if you’re not with West.”

  I think of one funny, awesome, dark-haired guy waiting on me upstairs. A guy that has turned me completely, utterly inside out and back again.

  “Okay.” Anne nudges my shoulder. “Look.”

  I turn around and oh-my-God I look amazing. She’s brushed pale powder on my eyes and blackened my lashes with mascara. She’s left my face alone and put a peach tinted gloss on my lips. In comparison to what most girls wear, it’s not much, but it all comes together and looks awesome.

  “Your eyes are literally popping green. West is going to die when he sees you.”

  I let out a nervous laugh.

  “Well?” she prods. “What do you think?”

  “I never knew I could look so pretty.”

  Anne’s face curves into a sweet smile. “You were already pretty. This makeup’s just decoration.” She waggles her brow, making the red ball jump, and then smoothes her hands up her striped Mohawk. “Just like my bling.”

  We both laugh, and she checks her watch. “Five til. Don’t keep that sexy man waiting.”

  I draw in a deep breath, give her a quick good-bye hug, and I’m out the door. I take the elevator up, bubbling with so much delight I think I might burst through my skin. At his door, I lift my none-so-steady hand and knock and try to breathe.

  The door swings open, and I’m immediately assaulted with flowers. Everywhere.

  Red ones. White ones. Yellow. Purple. Orange. In bouquets. In baskets. In vases. Hundreds of them. Literally, hundreds. On the dresser and the end tables and the desk and the windowsills and the table already set up with food. Everywhere.

  I take a shocked step into the room, the door closes, and I turn to see West. Holding yet another bouquet. He grins. God, I love his grin. “Welcome,” he says and hands me the ones he’s holding.

  I bury my nose in them and inhale. Heavenly. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

  He bows. Bows. “Well, I’m honored to be the first.”

  Giddiness bubbles up inside of me, and I turn a circle and take them all in again. When I come back around West is looking at me. His lips twitch, and I launch myself into his arms.

  “Thank you!” I tell him.

  He bursts into laughter and picks me up and spins me around. I squeal, and he squeezes me. “Now that’s a sound I like,” he says.

  I squeeze him again, and he lowers me to my feet. “Hungry?” he asks, and I nod.

  He puts the flowers I hold in a vase already set up on a side table and pulls my chair out for me. The simple and gentlemanly romantic gesture has me all kinds of giddy again. He goes about taking the silver tops off all the platters, revealing what has to be the entire room service brunch menu. Eggs, fruit, pancakes, sausage, waffles, coffee, juice, crepes…

  I laugh. “I can’t eat all of this.”

  “Well, I hope not. I’d be worried if you could.” He picks up my plate. “What do you want?”

  “Um,” I look at all the deliciousness, “how about a tiny little bit of everything.”

  He nods and starts serving me, and I take the second to just look at him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crème V-neck sweater. His thick black hair is doing that bedhead thing I adore. He’s shaved which bums me out a little. I like his whiskers. And he smells—I inhale—like West.

  He puts my plate down and serves himself next. “You wore makeup,” he notices.

  “Yes. Anne put it on me,” I shyly admit. I hope he likes it.

  His eyes lock onto mine. “You look gorgeous. You look just as gorgeous without it, too.”

  My insides get all gooey again. “Thanks.”

  He sits down and lifts his coffee cup. “To the first brunch of many.”

  I like the sound of that. I click my coffee cup to his, and we both dig in.

  “So, are you hungover at all?”

  I shake my head. “No. Little thirsty this morning, but that’s it.” I glance down at the bit of hair peeking out from his V-neck sweater and have this weird urge to bury my nose right there.

  I think of that time I saw him in a towel, and suddenly the temperature seems to rise as his half naked image floats through my mind. His lean muscles, the tattoo, and that light dusting of hair just below his navel.

  He dips his head to catch my gaze. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

  I shake my head.

  West arches a knowing brow. “You were just thinking about me, weren’t you?”

  “No!” I deny.

  He laughs. “You were!”

  I frown. “I was not.”

  His gaze deepens, as does his voice. “Hell, Eve, think away. Lord knows I do enough of that about you.”

  My eyes go wide. “You do?”

  He narrows his. “Oh, yeah.”

  His sexy voice makes everything in me contract, and I decide to say what’s been weighing heavy on my mind. “I’m sorry how I acted at your family’s house and afterwards. You saw and felt things I wasn’t ready for, and it scared me. I freaked, and I took it out on you.”

  He sits back in his chair. “I think that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me. Let’s not keep things from each other, okay? Here on out, fresh start.”

  My chest tightens with the guilt of everything I am keeping from him.

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I really want this to work for us.”

  I press my lips together. I do, too. So very much. I have a real chance at something here. The life I never thought I’d get to experience. Happiness. Friends. A boyfriend. Love. Acceptance.

  I need to tell him everything. That thought wiggles into me, takes deep roots, and wars with my guilt. I shove it all into the deepest crevice of my mind and focus on this perfect guy in front of me. I can do
this, can’t I? I can stay hidden and still be with West.

  “I’ve never been in a real relationship,” he says. “It’s always been quick and no strings. I’d like to try the dating thing with you. That is if you feel the same way.”

  I nod. “I do feel the same way.”

  His lips curve. “Well, then there. I guess we’re officially dating.” He lifts his coffee cup again. “To dating.”

  I laugh. “To dating.”

  Last night goes through my thoughts and the past weeks and everything back home. “West, be patient with me, okay? I want to be the way you described. Honest. Open. Talking. But this is all new to me, and I don’t know how. I’ll try. I promise. But be patient.”

  He reaches across the small table and takes my hand. “We’ll be patient with each other.”

  Several quiet seconds beat by as we stare into each other’s eyes, and something in the air shifts. An anticipation that wasn’t there before. An awareness.

  Simultaneously, we stand and move into each other’s arms for a long and warm hug. West pulls back first to stare down into my eyes, and keeping them locked with mine, he trails his hands just below my rear and lifts me to straddle him.

  I let out a surprised gasp, but go on instinct and wrap my legs around his waist. He pulls me in, and every inch of me tightens at the mind-numbing feeling of the new position. I run my fingers through his hair and down his cheeks to outline his bottom lip with my thumb. The kiss that comes next is soft and tender as we reacquaint ourselves with each other’s lips. I slide my fingers back into his hair and tug on the strands.

  West lets out a moan that vibrates through both our bodies and elicits a powerful excitement in me. Our kiss deepens as he takes a few steps and lands with me on the bed. He angles his head, taking the kiss deeper still, sliding his tongue over mine. He squeezes both my hips, and the kiss transitions into something hotter, sexier, before he tears his lips away and moves to my neck.

  There is no panic in me, only sensation, control, freedom, and power.

  I grab at his sweater—to take it off, to hold on—I’m not sure, but he lifts up and asks, “Do you want me to take it off?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight