by Sam Mariano
Until she fell asleep on another bad night. Then he’d do it all over again, but it wasn’t like her dreams were within his control.
Maybe she should just stop sleeping. Too bad she couldn’t function without sleep.
Since she didn’t want to get caught sneaking out—no way could she explain that—she crept downstairs and didn’t turn on any lights. Her anxiety levels spiked—not only had she refused to be alone outside of her bedroom since she’d been taken, but she was essentially terrified of the dark, and usually turned every light in the house on, even if she was just going downstairs to get a drink while her family watched television.
Sitting on the couch by herself in the dark, looking at the door that strangers had walked through and then dragged her unconscious body out of… wasn’t exactly comforting.
Finally she saw a car pull up outside of her house, but she didn’t unlock the door until he sent her a text to verify that he was there.
A split second later, her paranoia took over and she panicked—what if he was in on it? What if he was a bad guy posing as a good guy, and he had just been biding his time, waiting for his chance to take her back? For all she knew, he didn’t even really have a wife or kids! She had seen no proof. Maybe he wasn’t even Ethan Wilde. His picture probably wasn’t listed on his website, since his job required anonymity.
She didn’t unlock the door. She moved her hand away from the doorknob. Panic was rising up in her chest and she wondered frantically what she had done. Maybe she should go upstairs and lock herself in the bedroom with Ashlynn and Lauren and tell him to go away. If he didn’t, she would know he was a bad guy and she could call the cops. Surely he hadn’t brought anyone to help him, since he hadn’t expected resistance.
“Are you coming out?”
Her heart skittered as she read the message. She was being crazy. Or had she been too trusting before? She didn’t know, all she knew was that terror had wrapped its talons around her nerves and she was starting to shake.
“I changed my mind,” she sent back, not sure what else to do.
“Do you want me to leave? Are you okay?” he replied.
“Are you alone?” she sent back.
There was a brief pause, then he said of course he was alone.
At first, she didn’t know what to say or do, then she sent back, “Send me a picture of your driver’s license, please.”
“What?”
He was understandably confused—or was he reluctant, because he was really Jack?
A minute passed and then she received a picture message—Ethan Wilde, with his picture. Surely he wouldn’t have thought to bring a fake ID, right?
She hesitated, debating trying to get more proof or assurances, but she began to realize that she was being crazy.
Shoulders slumping, still uncertain, she stared at the license for another moment, looking for anything that felt off, before she managed to get her hand back on the knob.
But she couldn’t unlock it. The last time she had unlocked that door, someone had invaded her home and wrecked her life. She couldn’t shake the fear that it was going to happen again—after all, why should she trust him?
Then she thought about the scenario at the pizza place, the girl who had been a spy…she was going to shoot Ethan. There was no way they had the foresight to plan a long-con that long.
Instead of asking him to prove his identity again, she sent back simply, “Promise I’ll be safe.”
Without hesitation, he replied, “I promise.”
It didn’t reassure her like she hoped it would, but her memories of the night at that pizza parlor/whore house refuted her paranoia.
She unlocked the door and opened it, her body tense as she quickly looked out on her front porch.
Predictably, there was no team of goons waiting for her, only Ethan in his car, parked at the edge of her driveway. He had even driven up and turned around so that the passenger door was closer to her and she wouldn’t have to walk all the way around the car.
Locking the door behind her, she sprinted down the steps and ran the length of the driveway, grabbing his door handle and throwing it open. Once she was inside, she slammed the door and said, “Go.”
Nodding once, he switched the car out of park and started driving down the road.
He was quiet for a couple of minutes and so was she. Finally he asked why she had asked to see his ID, but once she got into the car with him, her sudden fears about him had leveled out and she was too embarrassed to tell him what she had been thinking.
“Where are we going?” she asked, instead of answering him.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Anywhere you want to go specifically?”
“Somewhere with lights. I don’t want to be out here in the dark.”
“Okay.” He nodded briefly, but didn’t say whether or not he knew where they should go. Willow didn’t ask.
Several minutes later when Ethan pulled down a residential road into a housing development, she lifted her eyebrows in alarm. “We aren’t going to your house, are we?”
A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “No. There’s a park up here with a well-lit basketball court and a clear view of the cars coming and going. I’m going to park there.”
“Oh. Do you live near here?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask him to.
When they got there, she felt a little more comfortable. He had been right about the basketball court; it was brightly lit, and the parking lot was right in front, so there was a lot of light spilling over, illuminating the area enough that she could clearly see Ethan—he was dressed in a maroon T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. She wondered briefly if he had changed, or if he had still been dressed.
It was after 11 by then, so he probably just pulled his clothes on before he left.
What had he told his wife? Maybe she was already asleep. If they had young children, they probably got up early.
That line of thought reminded her that she was standing in an empty parking lot with a full-grown man who was married with three children, and she was dreading going back to school.
She might feel a little more awkward about it if he hadn’t also been inside of her, if she didn’t have vivid memories of the man groaning as she took his cock into her mouth.
Shifting a little uncomfortably at the thought, she averted her gaze, focusing on the cement instead.
“So, what’s going on?” he finally asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Willow looked up at him—caught him giving her a once-over, actually—and felt oddly defused. A half hour earlier, she wanted to rip his head off his shoulders, but something about his presence calmed her, made her feel not so alone.
“I… I was asleep, I had a bad dream and I wanted to lash out. I shouldn’t have sent that message.”
He didn’t immediately respond. The silence made her uncomfortable so she stole a glance in his direction. He was also looking at the pavement, his expression pensive. “I’m not sure what to say here, Willow. I want to help you, I want you to…vent your frustrations, but I’m not sure how to bring that about.”
“I know.” After a few seconds, she said, “It’s hardest at night. Too many shadows, I guess.”
Ethan nodded as if he understood. “You weren’t lucky,” he suddenly said. “Your mom would never say that if she knew.”
Her lips curved up ironically. “She might, actually. My mom… she doesn’t handle negativity very well. She lives in denial. She would probably just say I was at least lucky I lived or wasn’t passed around or that… you used a fucking condom. She would find the silver lining somewhere, and it would just piss me off even more. I’m kind of glad she doesn’t know. I’m not sure I could handle that.”
“What about your other mom—Ashlynn?”
Flicking her eyes in his direction, she said, “Ashlynn would castrate you. She was abused as a kid, so… she doesn’t make excuses or look for a bright side.”
“Noted,” he remarked.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell her.”
“I get the feeling she doesn’t really trust me anyway.”
Unable to argue with the truth, she nodded. “She doesn’t really trust anyone with a penis. Plus… I shouldn’t have been so weird around you at that awful dinner. That didn’t help.”
“It couldn’t have been easy for you.”
She choked on a bitter laugh. “Easy? No, none of this has been easy for me. I can’t even climb into bed at night without being terrified of what’s going to be there when I close my eyes. I was doing better for a while, I went 5 days without a bad dream, but then tonight… there was a news story about this kidnapped 15-year-old and then my mom… And that was all it took. Less than a minute of exposure wiped out any illusion of progress and it was just like being there all over again.”
Her voice started to shake at the end so she stopped, turning and looking at the basketball court until she got herself under control.
“No, don’t do that,” he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, intending to urge her to turn around.
She flinched, closing her eyes and tensing up. He immediately removed his hand and apologized.
“I meant… you don’t have to hide it. That’s why you’re here, get it out.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, shaking her head, still not turning around. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have made you come out here. I don’t even want to talk about it.”
“Maybe you need to,” he suggested. “Whether you want to or not.”
Willow shook her head, but turned back around since she felt like she had her tear ducts under control. “What good will that do?”
His blue eyes widened slightly. “Are you serious? It could do a lot of good. It needs to come out. You can’t keep your feelings bottled up inside, you’ll only end up hurting yourself and you’ve been hurt enough.”
There was a retort on the tip of her tongue but she shook her head, resisting. “It’s not fair though. You’re the only person I have to blame, and it wasn’t even your fault. Do you have any idea how confusing that is?”
“Tell me,” he implored.
She shook her head more vehemently. “It’s too weird.”
“Fuck weird,” he said, surprising her. “Let me have it. Tell me I’m a bastard. I’m not gonna hold it against you.”
Her eyes flew to his—she didn’t like confrontation, but she kind of believed him. “How could you not? I mean… it isn’t fair to you either. It’s not fair to me because it happened and I have to live with it, but it isn’t fair to…to yell at you as if you had a choice, as if you wanted to.”
“The hell it isn’t. I made a choice. I only had bad choices, but I still made a fucking choice. A nobler person might have died, but he would have died without raping you, without stealing your virginity.”
Her face crumbled slightly at the words and he heard her breath hitch.
“Tell me what a fucking asshole I am, Willow. I can take it.”
Swallowing hard, she turned away from him, not toward the court, just to the side, so she didn’t have to look at him as he tried to pull the anger out of her.
He moved into her line of sight, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
“No,” she said again, tentatively looking up at him. “I can’t.”
“Tell me, goddammit,” he ordered, his voice lowering instead of rising, since that didn’t seem to be working. When she continued to resist, he aimed a little lower. “Tell me about your dream.”
That hit a little closer. He saw her eyes spark, her cheeks turn pink, her upper lip curl into an unintentional sneer that she caught immediately, pressing her lips together firmly but managing to hold her tongue.
He didn’t want to push any harder than that, but he also wanted her to spill so she would feel better.
Ethan sighed, tilting his head back and peering up at the dark sky. “Come on, Willow.”
When he looked back at her, he saw her hands were clenched into fists and he hoped that she was working herself up, pushing herself, because he didn’t know how much more he could push without making matters worse.
“Was I in it?” he prodded.
“Yes,” she ground out.
Progress—he noticed the rise and fall of her chest becoming more pronounced and he could see the resentment burning in her face.
He took one small step closer, swallowing the lump in his throat and threw all of his chips on the table. “What was I doing to you?” he asked lowly.
A breath escaped her like a hiss, her eyes met his furiously. Instead of answering that time, she flung herself at him, pulling her fists back and letting loose as she slammed them as hard as she could against his chest.
He hadn’t been braced for it so he stumbled back a step, but managed to regain his balance and brace for another round.
The round didn’t come. Instead when he looked at her, she turned away, her hands pressed against her mouth as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Yes, you should have,” he stated. “Get it out.”
“No. I…” She spun around to face him, her frustration clear. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I’m not going to stop you,” he said simply.
Willow shook her head. “I just… It isn’t fair. I don’t want to feel this way, but then when I’m alone and I remember, I’m so angry.”
“Tell me about it,” he prompted gently, thinking maybe he had pushed far enough.
Still, she shook her damn head.
“I can handle it, Willow. You’re angry? Be angry. Tell me. Show me. Hit me if it’ll make you feel better, give me all you’ve got. I’m the one who hurt you, I’m the reason you feel like this, so fucking hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Why not?” He wanted her to let the anger out before it consumed her, turned against her. Once more, he took a step closer, squaring his shoulders and using his size to subtly remind her that he was more powerful than she was. “I hurt you, Willow. I raped you. I forced you—”
With something like a growl, she came at him again, slamming her hands against his chest, not just once that time, but repeatedly. He nearly lost his balance again, but managed to stay upright as she pounded her fists against his chest, emitting sounds of raw frustration with each strike.
She had more violence in her than he expected; he was definitely going to have bruises, but he let her keep going until she ran out of stamina, her breathing heavy and her eyes wet. He could feel her weakening with each swing, and she finally stopped altogether, her hands still on his chest, but her energy spent.
Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her—only one so that she could get away from him if it was the wrong thing to do. Dissolving into tears, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and he tentatively brought his other arm around her, fully embracing her.
He didn’t say anything else. Merely held her while she cried, hoping that it helped her at least in some small way.
After a few minutes, still with her face buried in his chest, she murmured, "I'm sorry...."
"Don’t be," he said, lightly rubbing her back. Then, pulling back a couple inches, he added, "I want you to tell your counselor the truth. Tell her everything."
Glancing up at him uncertainly, she shook her head. "I can't. I don't want to get you in trouble."
"You won't," he stated. "Everything you tell her is safe, you're protected by confidentiality. The only thing she would be allowed to break confidentiality for is if you wanted to hurt yourself or someone else. You can tell her the truth, all of it, she can't tell anyone."
"I don't know... she would still know. What if she saw you somewhere?"
"That's not your problem," he told her. "I don't want you to keep all this anger inside, Willow. It isn't healthy, it’s… poison. You'll never feel better that way."
Offering a watery smile,
she said, "I feel better right now. Maybe we should just meet and I can beat you up every night."
Cracking a smile, he replied, "I think therapy might be healthier—for both of us."
She nodded, trying to wipe at the tears on her face with the shoulder of her dress, since she still had her arms wrapped around him.
Without thought, he reached down and brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb.
The way she looked up at him when he did, all beautiful and vulnerable, her lips slightly parted, her face tilted up, basked in the moonlight… he realized he had made a mistake. The stirring in his groin and his slow realization that she was pressed up against his body, with only a thin layer of fabric between them verified it.
Her tongue peeked out, wetting her bottom lip, and he barely stifled a groan. He needed to let go. Loosen his grip, step back… hope like hell that his growing arousal wasn’t plainly visible.
For a split second, the wicked possibility of not letting her go crossed his mind as his gaze swept over her plump lips, her soft skin, the look in her eyes, the awareness of her breasts pressed up against his chest….
Before he did something else to regret, he released her and took a step back.
He wasn’t sure if she actually looked a little disappointed, or it was his imagination.
Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping her gaze didn’t drop as he shifted uncomfortably, attempting to accommodate his damn budding erection.
“I should probably take you home,” he said lowly.
Willow could only nod, her eyes widening as she quickly made her way around to the passenger side and opened the door, sliding inside.
He sat in the driver’s seat, a heavy ball of dread settling in his stomach. Should he say something? Should he ignore it? Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe she was just vulnerable, and he was just a fucking asshole who imagined an invitation that hadn’t been there.
Jesus Christ.
As if she wasn’t confused enough already.
When several minutes passed wordlessly, he glanced over at her and she glanced back. Then he turned his gaze back to the road, but since he had her attention, he said, “I’m sorry.”