Carnival

by D. M. Thornton

  The pillow is ripped from my hand, but before I can sit up, Fletcher is pushing me onto my back. “What are you doing, Fletcher? Get off!” I shout, but he has me pinned, my shoulders pressed into the mattress. “Stop it, you’re hurting me!”

  There are no gentle movements, no delicate touch when Fletcher rams his lips over mine and shoves his tongue in my mouth. The sour taste of his whiskey breath and the force of his tongue is not something I was prepared for and I gag against the intrusion. My hands fight to swat at him, but he has me trapped, so I bite his lower lip until he jumps back with a howl.

  “What the fuck?” Fletcher shouts, dabbing at his lip then checking to see if there is blood on his fingers. “What is your problem?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm and to control my words so he understands what I’m saying. “I said stop.” I push my feet off the bed and scoot back to put space between us.

  There is a darkness in his eyes, empty black holes that stare at me with disgust. Drunk and angry. “What is wrong with a man trying to fuck his fiancée?”

  “I said no,” I repeat.

  Fletcher grabs at my ankle and I kick at his hand. He chuckles a deep-throated vibrato, a sound that sends chills up my spine. His eyes light up, a game of cat and mouse he’s prepared to play, and swipes at my ankle again. I kick, but he’s quicker and wraps a painful grip around my ankle and yanks me toward him. I use my free foot to kick him in the shoulder as I’m sliding across the bed, but his reflexes are rather quick for being drunk, and he shoves my leg under his knee.

  I cry out, the weight of him heavy on my leg. “Fletcher, you’re hurting me. Please, get off!”

  My pleas go unheard, words mute and useless as he crawls on top of me and covers me with his body. Every time he tries to kiss me, I jerk my head away until he grabs my face and holds my head in place so he can smother my lips with his bitter mouth. I thrash, I claw, but he overpowers me. He fondles, he gropes, grabbing at my breasts.

  I can’t breathe. Trapped under him and tangled in the sheets has me suffocating and gulping for air. This can’t be happening. He’s someone I trusted, loved. Things like this don’t happen to people like me. “Fletcher,” my voice, weak, croaks. “Fletcher, I can’t breathe. Please, let me up and we can start over. We can make love, we can. Please.”

  In one fluid motion, my body is being lifted and rolled. It happens so fast I don’t have time to blink, to take an inhale of breath. I’m face down in a pillow; Fletcher is pressed against my backside. Panic takes over and I start to scream, “Get off me! What the fuck, Fletcher, get the fuck off me!”

  He lifts my nightshirt and pushes it up my back then slaps my ass as hard as he can. I buckle from the burn, but he wraps an arm around my belly and lifts up my ass. Not willing to give up, I prop myself up on my hands and look over my shoulder. Fletcher is struggling to undo the button of his jeans with one hand, which allows me to buck into him, causing him to lose his footing and stumble. Before I can scurry off the bed, he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks me back, jamming his hips against my backside, his rigid cock slamming into my ass through his jeans.

  “Fucking stop!” I buck wildly, flailing my arms and thrashing my body, but that only makes his grip on my hair grow tighter. “Stop.” I cry feeble tears as my head is cranked backwards. My hand finds Fletcher’s wrist and I dig my nails into his skin until he lets go of my hair. I don’t stop fighting. I see my window of opportunity and take it, turning my body so I can push and punch at Fletcher’s chest. One of my blows backhands Fletcher in the jaw and he falls against the nightstand. He knocks into the lamp and sends it crashing to the floor.

  My scrambling limbs carry me across the bed and I leap off, running for the bathroom and locking myself in. I press my ear against the door and I listen. No movement, no noise. It’s silent and calm.

  Except my heart that is pounding loudly and erratically in my chest.

  Four

  Piper

  I’ve been in the bathroom all night. I fell asleep on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold marble. When I feel brave, I crack the door open and peek out into the bedroom. There is no sign of Fletcher, no sign of a struggle. The bed is neatly made and the lamp is placed back on the side table, the shade slightly tilted to one side. Any evidence of last night hidden behind a tidy room.

  I tiptoe out into the room and stop at the door, listening for any noise suggesting Fletcher is somewhere in the house. It’s quiet. As quick as I can, I grab a duffle bag and begin stuffing it full of clothes and toiletries. Staying is no longer an option. It is imperative I leave, and now. Leaving has taken priority over anything else and I waste no time running around stuffing everything I can fit into my bag until it is bulging full. I grab my makeup bag and toss it into my purse.

  A shower would be nice, but I have no time to spare, so I quickly clean all my major extremities with a soaked washcloth. I jump into some leggings and toss a long sweater over my bare breasts and throw the duffle bag over my shoulder as I shimmy my feet into my shoes.

  My only focus is on getting out of here. I’m so consumed by only grabbing the essentials and not worrying about all my other belongings, I don’t realize Fletcher is sitting at the dining room table until he clears his throat as I’m sprinting by. I stop in my tracks, paralyzed with fear. I keep my head down and don’t turn around, thinking if I remain still maybe he will forget I’m standing here.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice thick with last night’s liquor. “You running to him?”

  The front door is only a few steps away. I could ignore his question and just leave, but I spin around, my face contorted with confusion. “Excuse me? And who would I be running to?”

  With a flick of his wrist Fletcher chucks the newspaper across the table. I step into the dining room, and with a trembling hand, pick it up and read the headline on the first page.

  Are Milo Creed and Fletcher Donovan’s fiancé, Piper Posey, an item?

  They make it sound like I am an object, property of Fletcher Donovan. Below the caption is a photo of me holding the microphone while Oliver sings to me. Our eyes are fixated on each other, everyone else around us forgotten. We look smitten, and not in the singer performing for a fan kind of way, but in the “I have always loved you and still do kind of” way.

  I drop the newspaper on the table, feeling no need to explain to someone who has no reasoning skills that the media likes to exaggerate their stories. Someone of Fletcher’s caliber would certainly understand, but he is special. There is no arguing when it is already set in his head.

  “I’m leaving and I am not coming back,” I say.

  Fletcher rubs his scruffy chin and flops back in his chair. “I always knew you were a slut.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek in order to keep from lashing out, and calmly respond, “And I never in a million years would have pinned you as a rapist.”

  Fletcher is on his feet in a flash, the chair scraping and crashing to the floor. He points a finger in my face and clenches his teeth. “You better watch what you say or—”

  “Or what?” I fire back. “You’ll hit me? You’ll call me names? There is nothing you can do to me that could possibly be any worse than what you tried to do last night. Don’t sit here and pretend you haven’t been a man whore, sleeping around for the past year.” I take a step toward him and point my own finger at him, not backing down. Not afraid. “The way I see it, I can take you down in a single word. If I even remotely whisper the word rape to the media, they will run with it and it will spread like wild fire. And what do you think that will mean for your little campaign? How many votes do you think you’ll get after the entire state of California knows you are an adulterer and a rapist?”

  His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens, but he stays silent.

  I walk to the front door, but before I open it, I turn my head and speak over my shoulder. “I’m not sure where we went wrong, Fletcher. What happened to us? In some
regard, I will always love you, but after what you did last night…” I fight back a sob. “I’ve never once cheated on you and you know it, and for you to call me a slut…” A tear falls down my cheek and I swipe it away with the back of my hand, angry to show any sign of weakness. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  I walk out the door, letting it slam behind me as I walk away.

  I beat my palm relentlessly on Luna’s door until she opens it, her hair matted to her cheek. She rubs her eyes with her balled fists. “For cryin’ out loud, Piper, what the fuck?” It takes far too long for her to register my puffy red eyes, the duffle bag. She looks left then right, scanning the floor of her apartment. “Are you all right, Pipe? What happened?”

  “I left.” I begin to cry, my chest heaving in hyperventilating sobs.

  Luna takes my hand and pulls me into her apartment and sits me on the couch. “Are you saying you left, as in you left, left? Like, for good?”

  I nod, my hands coming up to cover my face.

  “All right, what did that fucktard do to you?” Luna stands and pushes the sleeves of her robe up her forearms. “I’m gonna kill’im.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I snort, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “You’re not going to do or say a thing, Luna Bear. It’s been a long time coming. Promise you won’t do something we will all regret.”

  I don’t believe Luna would do something to hurt Fletcher, but she does have a crazy streak that flows through her bones, so I can’t put anything past her. And to keep on the safe side, I won’t be fueling her fire with the details of the ending to my relationship with a man I have spent nearly seven years with.

  Luna flops onto the couch beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. She kisses my temple. “I got your back, seester. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. For now,” she mutters under her breath. “Do you need to camp out here for a bit?”

  “If you don’t mind. Only until I can find my own place.”

  The door to the fridge slams shut, startling me off the couch. I’m face to face with Oliver’s drummer, who is wearing nothing but a towel secured around his waist. He holds his hand out to me while he takes a big chug from the beer bottle he pulled from the fridge. “Nash, nice to meetchya.”

  I glance at Luna, her grin cheesy and her cheeks pink. “Piper, nice to meet you too, Nash,” I say, shaking his hand.

  He lays a sloppy kiss on Luna’s lips then strolls back to her room, closing the door behind him.

  “Well then,” I grumble. “Maybe me staying here isn’t such a good idea after all.”

  Luna stands and slips her arm through mine, locking our elbows. “Don’t be silly, Pipe. I have plenty of room.”

  She’s a liar, a bold-faced liar. Luna might have an extra room, but there is no available space for me to move around in it.

  “If you would excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” Luna chimes, her cheeks full of excitement.

  I roll my eyes and shoo her away with a wave of my hand, not wanting to know any more than I have to of what is going on between her and Nash. It is none of my business and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll have to suck it up, considering I don’t want to go home to Sacramento and be babied by our parents, so I will drown out the noises coming from down the hall with loud music and bury my head in all the shoe boxes filling up my temporary room.

  It takes me three hours to finally see the comforter of the full-sized bed. After taking the time to move things around and restack all of Luna’s shoe boxes, I have created enough of a path for me to walk on one side of the bed and to a section of the closet. Between the two towers of boxes in the closet, I hang the few outfits I packed and store my undergarments in my duffle bag under the bed, having to shove more boxes out of the way so it would fit.

  I always knew Luna loved shoes, but this requires an intervention, some SA. Shoes Anonymous.

  Exhausted, I throw myself back onto the bed. The flimsy mattress bounces and the headboard bangs against the wall. I’m surrounded.

  It’s not ideal, but it will work, I repeat.

  I’m not claustrophobic, but this is testing my anxiety levels.

  Closing my eyes only hides the boxes. I can still feel them trapping me, smothering me.

  Sleep comes easy when the body is tired, when the mind is spent. It happens without warning and I welcome it, sinking into a deep sleep while Ed Sheeran sings to me. My dreams are filled with fireflies and Oliver. Lyrics and melodies. A hand on my shoulder and a whisper against my cheek. My name being chanted, a gentle kiss over my ear. Shivers tickle my skin that shake my body. It all feels so real.

  The humming gets louder and the kisses travel down my jawline and land at the corner of my mouth. My eyes flutter open, but I don’t want to wake up yet. I need more sleep and I like Ed serenading me, and I especially enjoy the dreams of tender caresses. But a shadow hits my peripheral and I turn my head to meet blue eyes.

  Oliver.

  I scramble to my feet and leap off the bed, but hit a wall of boxes that tumble down on top of me, pushing me back onto the bed. Oliver is too busy laughing, not at all helping me break free from all the boxes piled on my head. I flail my arms and twist my body, surfacing from the sea of cardboard.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I shout, crawling over Oliver’s feet. I stumble off the bed and onto my feet where I prop my hands on my hips. Winded. “Why are you here?”

  Oliver casually rolls over and folds his arms behind his head. He smirks up at me, one side of his mouth rounding out his cheek. “Your sister called me. Said you needed to be kept company while she was, well, you know, busy.”

  On instinct, I step forward and start slapping at Oliver’s legs and chest. Frustrated. “I don’t need your company. And why the hell were you kissing me?”

  Oliver grabs my wrists and pulls me on top of him, causing me to squeal and fight to get up, but he wraps his long arms around me so I’m pinned against his chest. My legs are too short to reach the ground so they kick frantically with no recourse. Our faces are mere inches apart. “Luna told me you left your fiancé. And I wasn’t kissing you, just pecked your ear and jaw a couple times trying to wake you up. It was innocent, I assure you.”

  I snort. “Ha. Nothing you ever do is innocent. There is always some motive.”

  He loosens his grip but keeps his arms draped around my waist. “You all right, little bird? Wanna talk about it?”

  “Good grief, no. Especially not with you.” I wiggle free from Oliver and roll onto my back, blowing out a heavy breath to push the hair away from my face.

  “Contrary to what you might believe, Piper, I’m a good listener,” Oliver says, his voice lowered to a solemn calmness.

  “Contrary to what you might believe, Jolly Green Giant, I actually believe you. However, I don’t want to talk about it. Not with anyone. Not right now.”

  Oliver nudges my arm with his elbow. “Well, then there is only one other thing we can do.”

  I roll my eyes, about to object to whatever obscene idea he has going on through his brain, when he takes my hand and pulls me off the bed. “Let’s blow this cesspool. These boxes are starting to give me anxiety.”

  I couldn’t agree more, so I slip my shoes on and follow Oliver to wherever he wants to take me.

  Five

  Oliver

  When Piper sees I’m pulling into the parking lot of the carnival, I think she’s going to protest, but she’s quiet. When we walk to the front entrance, I think she’s going to refuse to go in, but she walks through the front gate without the slightest falter of her feet. When I lead her straight to the Ferris wheel, I think she’s going to slug me in the stomach, but she boards the cart with a tight smile and a thank you to the attendant.

  The ride takes off with a jerk and we become suspended in the air, waiting for more people to get on the ride. Nothing has changed—Piper still white-knuckles the handlebar and her jaw still clenches tight. Her eyes are focused straight ah
ead, not a blink.

  “You all right?”

  Piper’s head nods excessively. “Fine. Fine. I’m just fine.”

  I chuckle. “So fine you have to say it three times.”

  “If I could move, I’d smack you right now,” she mumbles around tight lips. “And if you even think about rocking this cart, so help me, I will push you to your death and I won’t feel one lick sorry for it either.”

  My laughter is cut short when Piper’s elbow jabs me in the ribs. I decide to play it cool, keep my big mouth shut, and wrap my arm around her shoulders, tucking her into my side. A full rotation takes us back to the top of the wheel. The crowd below us scatters like ants, playing games and eating whatever fried food is popular this year. My mouth waters for funnel cake and a corn dog, the same meal Piper and I shared the night I left. The only difference between then and now is the few people who recognize me under my baseball cap and scream my name, taking pictures with their camera phones from the ground.

  “So, is life all you ever dreamt it would be?” Piper asks. “Did you find what you were searching for?”

  I turn to look at her, the cart swinging when I do. Her green eyes widen, scared, and searching for answers. “Well, I can’t complain. I have everything money can buy. I’ve traveled the world. My lifelong dream came true and I live it every day. But, yeah, there has always been a hole. I guess what I was searching for wasn’t where I thought it would be.”

  She nods. “Sorry.” She apologizes like it’s painful to say, like she doesn’t mean it, and why would she? I deserve every bit of shade Piper wants to throw at me. “I mean, I’m not sorry you’re dripping in cash while the rest of us commoners sulk in the mud we live in, but sorry you feel like you’re missing something. I know the feeling. It feels like you’re missing a portion of your heart. A void that hangs heavy in your chest. Hollow and empty. You try to shove a bunch of things inside that hole, but it never seems to fill it.”