by Ava Harrison
“Mom, I think it’s fine now. Matt was just leaving. Weren’t you, Matt?” He swallows and reluctantly bobs his head.
“This isn’t over.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. You go after Carson again—you say one word to me again. You do anything to us—not only will you lose everything monetarily speaking, but I will also press charges. Do you understand?”
I lift my arm. The color is already changing to a deep crimson.
“I understand,” he murmurs.
“Get out, and be lucky I don’t have you arrested. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
When he finally leaves, I let out the breath I’m holding.
Fuck.
I fall on the floor, tears flowing from my eyes in black rivulets.
Through my sobs I hear the soft patter of footsteps coming closer. “Are you—”
“No. Thank you for sticking up for me, but I can’t deal with you right now.” I swipe my face. Hold my back up and open the door. She walks out, and without a word I close it.
I need to go to the doctor, or hospital. I need to see if this is broken. I wonder if I should call Carson. Probably, but he’s so on edge these days. I’m not sure what to do.
Me: I need you.
Bridget: Are you okay.
Me: No. Not really, but I will be.
Bridget: Come here.
Me: Is your dad there?
Bridget: Why do you need my dad?
Me: I’m hurt.
Bridget: Now you’re scaring me.
Me: I’ll see you soon.
Bridget hugs me to her the moment I step through the door. My whole body relaxes into her embrace. I have to tell her. No. Not like this. Not when I’m wounded and confused. This isn’t the right time. As she hugs me tighter, I wince in pain.
“What happened?” she asks as she pulls away. “Are you okay?” I shrug.
“It’s my wrist. I hurt it.” I try to downplay the whole situation. But it doesn’t work as she frantically takes my arm in hers, and then draws in a long breath.
“It’s swollen.”
All I can do is nod. Nod and pray she doesn’t ask questions.
“Like, really swollen.”
“Yeah, I know.” I jerk my head in the other direction to ward off her inquiry.
“How did this happen?” No such luck.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” My upper teeth bite into my lower lip. Please don’t push.
“Bullshit, Lynn. You are going to tell me exactly what happened, and you are going to tell me now. Was it Carson?” She doesn’t know much about Carson. She never had him as a teacher, but still. It makes my stomach drop that she would even think it’s him.
“No, of course not.” I squeeze my eyes shut then reopen them. “How can you think that?”
“Well, what do you want me to think? You’ve been so weird lately. Distant—”
“So . . .” I look at her intently, then wave my wounded hand at her. “You think I’m a battered girlfriend. Really, Bridge?”
“I’m worried about you. I have no idea what your deal is. Tell me who did this. What happened? If not Carson, then who?”
She’s right. I have to tell her. As much as it pains me to admit what happened, it’s necessary.
“Matt.”
“Matt?” Her eyes are huge. Her mouth hangs open.
“Yes. He’s been harassing me.”
“I-I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed,” I whisper out and she pulls me back into her arms.
“You never have to be embarrassed or ashamed with me.” I think about coming clean. Of telling her everything. All the secrets I have hidden inside. The relief would be welcome. Maybe I could tell Sam, too.
“What’s going on in here?” My back stiffens at the new voice. Speak of the devil . . . It’s my father. This is not how I want him to see me, crying in Bridget’s arms. I need to be strong to confront him. No, tonight isn’t the time or the place. It will have to wait. “Will someone please answer me?”
“Lynn is hurt, Dad. Can you look at her?” I pull away and extend my hand to him.
“Yes, of course,” he says as he takes my hand and looks down. He moves my hand, turns my wrist in different directions. “How did this happen?”
“My-my—” I try to say, but a strangled sob comes out instead.
“Her ex-boyfriend,” Bridget steps in and informs him.
“You really should file a—”
“No,” I blurt out. I can’t. I can’t run the risk of Matt causing more trouble for Carson and me. “That’s not necessary.” His eyes narrow. “Please.”
“I’m not okay with this. But you’re not my daughter, and you’re over eighteen, so I can’t insist.” My stomach clenches. Not his daughter. It feels as if my breath is cut off as the sentence plays over and over again in my head. No. Don’t think about it. With a deep breath, I calm my tattered nerves.
“Thank you.”
The tension in the room is palpable as no one speaks. Finally, Sam turns to me. “I still want to document this.”
“I—”
“No, Lynn. This, I insist on. Your wrist isn’t broken, but the bruising is apparent. If something happens again, we’ll have this. Please.”
I bite my lip and look away. “Okay.”
“Bridget, sweetie. Can you go to the medicine cabinet and grab the prescription Motrin for Lynn?”
“Sure.” As Sam wraps my wrist, Bridget steps out of the room.
“Thank you for letting me document this. I’d make Bridget press charges, but since you refuse and I’m not your father, I can’t make you. At least we have proof.”
I’m not your father.
I’m not your father.
I’m not your father.
The words replay over and over again in my head. They’re my undoing. Something inside me snaps completely at that. Every muscle tenses in my body as he finishes and steps away.
I can’t take it. Even though I know he doesn’t know, all the lies my mother spewed over the years manifest into a feeling that won’t be contained. Misplaced or not, anger coils inside me until it’s impossible for the rage not to expel.
“Does she know?” I hiss out.
His whole body stiffens as he turns to me from across the room. “Does who know?” he says awkwardly, clearing his throat.
“Your wife.”
Sam flinches at my words. His eyes go round. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he stutters, and I know he does and it infuriates me more.
“Don’t you?”
He doesn’t speak, just rubs at his brow.
“Nothing to say?”
“Listen, I’m not sure what your mother told you, but I can assure you, it’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think . . . Not what I think,” I mumble under my breath, shaking my head. “You disgust me.” I don’t give him time to defend himself. I’m too angry and too weak to fight anymore. All I can do is find Bridget and cry.
Thirty minutes later, I find myself tucked in Bridget’s bed next to her. She insisted. She wouldn’t even let me sleep in the guest room. It feels right being here like this, as if we’re sisters.
I shouldn’t have yelled at Sam. Now that I’m calm I can see that. I was just so angry, I saw red. He needs to know, because it’s obvious he doesn’t. I need to find the courage to tell him . . . to tell them. With a deep breath, I close my eyes.
I will.
But not today.
The next day, I know I can’t put it off any longer. I have to see Carson. He’s been texting and calling all day. I can’t avoid him, not without hurting him.
I knock on his door with my right hand. Thank God that wasn’t the one that was bruised. I was lucky. I was also lucky it wasn’t a break. If it was, I don’t think I would’ve been able to convince them not to press charges.
My stomach feels uneasy. I dread facing Carson. I dread what he will say, and truth b
e told, I’m scared. Not for me, but for him. Heaven knows how he’ll control himself knowing Matt touched me. That’s something we need to talk about. He would never hurt me, but he still needs to work on his anger issues.
The door swings open and Carson is standing there in his usual casual attire: white T-shirt, ripped jeans, white Converse. A man should never be this sexy. I’m having a hard time speaking as I appraise him.
“What happened to your hand?” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“My hand?” I repeat dumbly, and then snap out of it. I’m not here to have my way with him. I’m here to tell him about Matt.
“Oh, this.” I try to make it sound like it’s not a big deal. It is, but we are standing in the hallway of his apartment building. This is not the place to have this conversation.
“Yeah . . . this.” He glowers at me. It’s hard to be evasive when someone knows you so well.
“Can we go inside . . . please?” He must notice my trepidation because his eyes soften.
“Come here first.” He gently pulls me into his embrace. It feels so good. Home. I want to fall into him. I want to cry and let it all go. Every last bit of anger, rage, and sadness for what I went through, for what we went through. But first I need to tell him what happened.
He kisses my hair gently, then moves to tip my chin up and place a soft kiss on my lips. Pulling back he smiles. “Now we can go in.”
I follow him into the apartment. Taking a seat on the couch, I look up at him. I know I have to tell him. God, why is this so hard?
He sits adjacent to me and waits. Waits for me to find my strength, my words.
“Matt did this to me.” With that, he pushes to stand. His right hand clenches into a fist. I want to go to him. Hold him. Tell him it’s okay. But even though I know he won’t hurt me, it’s better I stay away. All I can do is pray he can control himself, not for me, but for him. “Please listen. Please calm down.” His eyes are wild as they take me in. The blue of his irises are completely gone. He looks like a rabid animal.
“Take a deep breath, Carson.” I have to fight my visceral reaction to touch him. To make contact with his skin. “Take a deep breath. I’m okay. Do you hear me? I’m okay.”
I watch his chest heave. In. Out. In. Out.
“Talk,” he says through gritted teeth. He inhales again. “Please. Talk, Lynn.” In. Out. In. Out. “I need to know what happened.” I swallow with difficulty until I find my voice.
“He showed up at my place. He was drunk. He blamed us for everything. He said you went to his father.”
“I did,” he admits in a cool tone. As if he’s trying to refrain from going over the edge.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“At the time?” His shoulders lift. “I don’t know.”
“From now on, you tell me things . . . Okay?” His brows set into a straight line.
“Okay.”
“So, he showed up at my place ranting and raving. It was entirely your fault. It was entirely my fault. I tried to walk away and he grabbed my wrist so I’d listen to him. He was so drunk, I’m no—”
“Do not make excuses for him. It’s never right to lay a hand on a woman.” I want to say on anyone, but this is not the time to bring that up. I’ll broach that topic once I get this out.
“He wanted me back, wanted to hurt you through me.”
“Did he . . .” I lift my unwounded hand.
“No. He mentioned that, but no, he didn’t hurt me like that. He wanted to get back with me to hurt you.” Veins have popped up in Carson’s neck. Tension is radiating off him. His shoulders lift as he takes a deep breath.
“So, what happened?”
“My mom walked in. Might be the first time I’ve ever been happy to see her. She threatened him.”
“And then what?” He almost sounds like a robot. Stoic.
“I told him I had enough evidence to have him arrested. He backed off after that. I then went to Sam and he treated me. We took pictures, and just in case he didn’t heed my warning, I sent Matt a text message with the images. I explained to him he had to stay away or I would go after him. I think he’ll leave us alone from now on.”
Carson studies me, his gaze hard and penetrating. “When did this happen?”
I wince. “Please don’t be mad.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.” His nostrils flare, and the mask of his rage appears.
“Goddamn, Lynn.” I feel sick hearing the tone and anger in his voice. I’m ashamed. I shudder with humiliation. I should have come to him but I was scared. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you call the cops? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was thinking of you. I was saving you.”
“He couldn’t hurt me.” He glares at me.
“I wasn’t saving you from him.”
“From whom, then?”
“From you. I was saving you from yourself. You have demons. I needed to protect you.”
“Lynn, you know I would never hurt you, right? I’m not like Matt. I would never do that. I would rather cut my own heart. I don’t want you to fear me.”
“I would never fear you.” I move to sit on him, placing my lips near his ear. “I love you. I love everything about you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he says pulling back and crashing his mouth onto mine.
Our mouths collide, teeth gnashing. Frantic. Desperate. I straddle his hips, moving in a circular motion to alleviate the need growing inside me. Frantic hands lift my shirt. Cold air hits my breasts and chills rush over my body. My nipples pebble against his hands. I pull my legs tighter, bracketing myself around him.
I need more.
So much more.
With one hand still wrapped around Carson, I lift my hips, then use my other hand to free him from his pants. I’m struggling because of my wound, so he moves my hand away and I hear the familiar rasp of a zipper. When he’s released himself, I feel his fingers pressing against my core. Circling. Teasing.
I want more than his hands. I push down to rub myself against him. He laughs against my mouth and then he repositions me, aligning me with him, pushing me down. Each inch is exquisite.
I pick up my rhythm, pushing up and slamming back down over and over again. It’s utter perfection. I feel myself ready to explode, and it’s obvious he is about to also. His hands tighten, possessing me and controlling me as he pushes up into me and I ride him. I feel everything; it’s so intense, my body stiffens with the need to let go and then it happens. I let go. I lay panting on his chest, my head in the crook of his neck and then he lifts.
One.
Two.
Three more times into me, and he follows me over the edge.
“I love you,” he mutters breathily from exertion. I laugh.
We stay panting and breathing heavily for a few minutes before I finally pull my head away to speak.
“I don’t think I can get up. I’m jelly.”
“Then don’t. Let’s stay here forever. Let’s never leave.”
“I would love that, but don’t you think that could cause problems?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure we could make do for a few weeks . . . at least.” He moves his body and I groan. He lets out a chuckle.
“Come on, shower time.”
“Shower time, you say?” My body perks up, dirty thoughts of an encore swirling through my mind.
“As much as I would love to have round two, I have a few things to do today. I have a group meeting tomorrow.”
“You’re still going to that?
“I said I would. And I’ll never lie to you.”
IT TAKES ME A FEW weeks to work up the courage, but finally today I decide it’s time. With every bit of strength I have, I knock on the door of their brownstone. I know Sam will answer and I’m petrified. What will I say? How will I say it? Fear coils in my stomach. My teeth rattle against each other, making my jaw tremble and shake.
“Lynn.” He narrows his eyes. “What are
you doing here?” He looks at me with trepidation and I understand why. Last time I was here, I was hurt and I went off on him, screaming and throwing accusations. Why would he feel comfortable around me? I’m like a ticking time bomb. Why he would even want me to be his daughter after that is beyond me, but I can’t possibly move forward in my life without trying. “Bridget is not here. She’s on her way to the theater.”
“I-I know. I actually wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay.” He pulls the door open wider and steps aside for me to pass. “Do you want to talk in my office or . . .”
“Your office is fine.”
I follow him inside and down the hall into the office on the main floor. He motions to a chair, and as he sits I take a seat across from him.
My knee shakes uncontrollably. My hands tremble in my lap.
“What’s this about?”
“First, I want to say how sorry I am about . . . Well, how sorry I am about the last time. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have. And not that it’s any of your business, Lynn, but Margo and I were legally separated. I was not cheating on her. The relationship I had with your mother was short and wrong. Very wrong. I knew she was married. I should never have taken part, but I was hurt and lonely. Margo had left me. And not that it’s an excuse, but when your mom came around, she was a beautiful woman who accepted me.
“In the end, I went back to Margo. I realized how much I loved her and Olivia and that I needed to change for them. At the time I was a different man, selfish, and my career came first. Your mother was appealing, she didn’t ask of my time, nothing more than I could give. But it was shallow and I realized I had a choice. Continue down that path and be with a woman like your mom, or value my wife, my marriage, and be happy. So, I went back to my wife. We halted the divorce proceedings, and I never looked back. And my wife knows. We have no secrets. I’m not sure why I have to justify it to you or why you feel you deserve to know, but that’s the story.”