“Mom,” Destiny said gently, but firmly. “I live here.”
Tori looked over at Dorian but he was pretending to study the TV, then she glanced at Brian.
“If you’re asking what we think, we don’t want her to leave,” Brian finally said, meeting Tori’s eyes. “I don’t want her to leave.”
The way he said it made warmth spread throughout her body and she dropped her head, studying her food. Tori looked at Destiny then back to Brian and sighed.
“I know,” Tori said.
No one had mentioned her and Brian’s relationship. On the outside nothing had really changed much anyway, but Destiny knew her mom and Dorian noticed something had shifted. She was glad they hadn’t pressed her about it. She didn’t know what to tell them if they did. They never had a chance to talk after she left Dorian’s place that night, and now everything was different. She was too numb and generally messed up to even think about being in a serious relationship. Brian deserved better.
“I can’t run, Mom,” she said quietly.
Tori stared at her, tears welling her eyes. They didn’t fall though.
“I know,” she said again.
They looked at each other for a second. Finally, Tori took a bite of her pasta and focused on the TV and Dorian put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it. Brian reached for Destiny’s hand again, and this time brought it to his lips. He kissed the inside of her palm.
Her mom didn’t bring Phoenix up again for the rest of the night. The tension eventually faded and they talked and laughed and shared stories about growing up and everything felt sort of normal—for a couple of hours, anyway. Brian never did let go of her hand.
Chapter 11
Tuesday, 8:45 p.m.
I went to work again today. I’ve been back for three weeks now and nothing has changed. But everything has changed, for me at least. I’ve learned to control my thoughts at work. I just focus on trying to be numb. It usually works. But I still dodge covering any concerts. So far, Gabe hasn’t sweated me about it. He did ask me about the Roc D concert. He wondered if I went. I lied and told him I never made it. It sucks. Kind of like writing in this journal. Vanessa made me take one at group counseling. She says it will help us “come to terms with what happened.” She actually said, “come to terms with what happened” like we were in the middle of a fucking Lifetime special. She thinks that because I’m a professional writer I especially should understand just how cathartic this journal is. I guess because it’s free church counseling they couldn’t afford a more equipped psychologist because that’s bullshit. It’s not like I’m going to be writing poetry, or deep philosophies about the meaning of life in here. I’m writing about being raped. And writing about Connor Dorsey is bullshit. He doesn’t deserve the ink in this $7 pen I stole from work today. Fuck. I hate being so angry. I hate being scared every time I drive by a fucking parking lot. I fucking HATE HIM. I wish I could stab him in the eye over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with this $7 pen. Fuck. My hand hurts now. And I just wrote, “fuck” at least 20 times. On second thought, that was fucking cathartic. This is bullshit.
She tossed the pen and plain beige journal on her bed and rolled over onto her back, studying the ceiling as she released a breath. She tried not to think about him. Tried not to think about why God had let this happen to her. She was failing miserably.
The apartment was silent and it seemed like every creak it made was magnified by a thousand. In the three weeks since her mom had left, she’d gone out of her way to make sure she didn’t have to be left alone with her thoughts very often. She took extra work home. She’d reached out to all of her freelance contacts and took on as many extra assignments as she could, which honestly wasn’t a lot. She’d even agreed to start blogging for a terrible startup music and culture site that wasn’t even paying her, just to have some busy work.
And she’d started a self-defense class at the YMCA around the corner from her apartment complex. For just five-dollars a class she was learning exactly what she wished she would’ve known that night. Brian had actually told her about the class although he always joked he shouldn’t have because now she could probably kick his ass. It’d only been about a week, so she knew that wasn’t even remotely possible, but it made her feel better in a weird way.
She’d also started practicing yoga. Raven kept insisting on its never-ending wonders, so she started going to a class Lina from work had suggested on Mondays and Thursdays.
It had taken her an entire week to tell Raven about what happened but she felt sort of obligated to share it with her. She knew something was up anyway, when she kept calling and getting no answer. Finally, Tori had answered the phone and Raven really started freaking out. Destiny knew she had to stop dodging her then. She of course cried, and Destiny had listened patiently. Eventually Dorian had taken the phone and talked to her. That seemed to calm her down. When she talked to her again she didn’t bring up that night, she just kept going on and on about how relaxing and freeing yoga was.
She actually really enjoyed it, to her surprise. The teacher was older than Madonna, but was as limber as an eighteen year-old. Destiny was mildly ashamed at her own lack of flexibility, but the stretching wasn’t really what she liked most about it anyway. It was the peace, the unforced calm. When she was doing yoga, it didn’t hurt to close her eyes. She didn’t see him.
But she wasn’t doing yoga now. And the memories were slamming against the walls in her mind, invading her. A month had passed, but the unwanted thoughts were still coming with almost the same frequency and intensity. She just wanted it to stop. She tried to think of something else, anything. She squeezed her eyes shut.
It hurt, it hurt so badly and he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop thrusting into her again, and again even though her body was physically rejecting him.
She opened her eyes, her stomach churning. She jumped up and ran into the bathroom, shedding her clothes before she even closed the door. She turned on the shower and stepped in, releasing a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, until the stream of water starting beating down on her skin. It wasn’t even totally warm yet but she didn’t care. She grabbed her washcloth and started scrubbing.
She was only on her second scrub when she heard someone knocking at the door. She figured it was probably Dorian. She quickly rinsed off and wrapped herself in a towel. Still dripping, she walked quickly into the living room and peered through the peek hole.
“I gotta get dressed,” she squeaked as soon as she swung the door open. Brian had barely stepped in and she was already darting back down the hallway, into the bathroom. She heard the new Esperanza Spalding album pouring through the small speakers in her living room as she quickly dried off and pulled on sweats and a tank top. The bruises on her body were gone now, but she still felt better in sweats.
“Hey,” she greeted him when she walked back into the living room.
He looked up from his phone and smiled in a way that made her blood rush and the pit of her stomach tighten.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes traveling quickly over her.
“Hey,” she said again, grinning.
“Come’ere.”
He smiled, beckoning her with a head nod. She crossed the room and sat down next to him, pulling her legs up under her. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweats too, like he usually did when he came over her house after work. His laptop bag was on the floor next to him, which meant that he probably had work to do. He’d actually told her he wasn’t going to be able to come by tonight because he needed to finish a project. She felt a pang of guilt because she knew that he felt responsible for her and she hadn’t done anything to deter that notion.
He came by to check on her almost every day. But to be honest, besides her self-defense class and yoga, it was the only thing she really looked forward to. She didn’t want to stop him.
“So how are you today, cutie pie?” he asked.
She laughed and rolled her eyes.
He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Long.”
She frowned, studying him.
“Stop looking like that, I’m good,” he said, cocking a half-grin at her that made her pulse race. He let his eyes travel over her again. “How many showers today?” he asked, keeping his tone light even though his eyes were serious.
She looked away. “Just three,” she said finally.
He nodded but said nothing else about it. “I brought you a pita from Marsita’s,” he said, referencing her favorite restaurant. “Dorian said you didn’t meet him for lunch today so I figured you didn’t eat.”
He was right, as usual. Her stomach grumbled as if it heard him and he laughed. He got up and headed toward the kitchen.
“I can get it,” she said, following him.
“Who said I was getting your food?” he asked, smiling as he got down two plates.
She pushed his shoulder and turned to get a couple of glasses out of the cupboard.
“Wine?” she asked, pulling out the red blend that Gabe had given to her at work earlier that day.
An advertiser had sent a few samples to the office and he’d discreetly let her take one. He nodded and finished stacking their food onto the plates while she popped the cork and poured the wine.
“I’m glad you’re here, Brian,” she said abruptly.
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “I’m glad you’re here, Destiny,” he grinned.
She shook her head and smiled softly. “I’m being serious,” she replied, pushing the cork into the bottle.
“I am, too.”
She bit her lip and looked at him. His eyes trailed to her mouth. His fingers twitched and he looked like he wanted to touch her, but he balled his fists and kept them at his sides. She released a breath and picked up their wine glasses.
“Soggy pitas are gross,” she said, trying to lighten the mood again as she headed back into the living room.
He followed behind her. “You know what’s even grosser? Slathering mayonnaise all over a chicken pita to make it soggy in the first place,” he teased her.
She rolled her eyes and grinned. “So, I think tonight we should watch Purple Rain,” she said as soon as they were situated comfortably on the futon.
They’d been watching movies together for the past week. A couple of times she’d even fallen asleep. She didn’t dream at all either of those times.
“Again?” he asked, frowning. “That movie is pretty terrible.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You lie!”
He chuckled. “Okay, the acting is pretty terrible. Which makes the movie pretty terrible by default.”
She stared at him like he’d grown horns. “Take it back.”
“Nah.” He looked at her and smirked.
“Prince is probably the most talented musician of this generation,” she argued.
He shrugged, biting into his pita. “We’re not talking about his musical talent, we’re talking about his acting ability.”
She rolled her eyes. “Prince is hot.”
He smirked again. “Sorry to burst your bubble, love, but he’s also pretty gay, so I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be into you.”
She shook her head and took a small bite, covering her mouth as she chewed.
“He is so not gay. Artistic? Okay. Gay? No. Besides he was married, more than once.”
“And that means, what exactly?” He shot her a look. “Ass-less pants? High heels? Shrieking and humping microphones? A female alter ego? Gay.”
He took a sip of his wine.
“Whatever, we’re watching Purple Rain,” she said definitively, daring him to deny it.
He grinned and shrugged, then brushed his finger down the tip of her nose. “Whatever you want, cutie pie.”
“Yay!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “And stop calling me ‘cutie pie.’”
He chuckled. “I think you like it.”
She grinned and hit play on the DVD. “I actually kinda do,” she admitted.
“Exclamation point.”
* * *
“See, that right there is why Prince is sexy as hell,” Destiny said, glancing over at Brian.
He stared blankly at the television screen and then looked at her. “He’s playing the guitar.”
“I know, and it’s hot,” she said, grinning.
She didn’t know whether it was the good food that she was actually able to finish, the nearly empty bottle of wine or Brian, but she hadn’t been this relaxed since that night.
“So he’s hot because he’s playing the guitar?”
She relaxed completely against the futon and turned her head to look at him.
“Yes.”
“You never said that about me all of those times I played the guitar for you,” he pointed out, with a crooked grin.
“You never played with your shirt off.”
He laughed and relaxed against the cushion too, stretching out his long legs. He’d finally closed his laptop about an hour into the movie, which meant he was probably behind at work. She felt bad about it, but not bad enough to tell him she didn’t need him to come over, which made her feel even worse.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.
“You,” she answered softly.
She studied him, watching his chest rise and fall a bit quicker as his breathing increased under her gaze. She wanted to tell him how he was the only person she completely connected with lately. That he was the best part of her day. That with his crooked grin and thoughtful eyes he’d morphed into the personification of comfort for her. That he felt like home.
“You know on the nights when you stay really late I don’t have nightmares,” she said instead.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. She let her eyes travel slowly over his face, the light from the TV illuminating his features. She took in the shape of his lips, the stubble that marked the hard line of his jaw before settling on her favorite feature, his eyes and those unbelievably long eyelashes. He was watching her look at him, and the want in his eyes was unmistakable. Before she had time to think about it, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
Warmth invaded her entire body, filling all of the cracks and spaces that were broken and cold. The kiss was soft and sweet, and full of unsaid things. She pulled back and looked at him. The look he was giving her made her want to stay there forever with him, lost inside of his eyes and all of the emotion between them, good and bad. He reached out and ran his fingers down her face, like he was impressing every feature upon his fingertips.
She leaned forward and kissed him again, lingering longer this time. She pulled back and kissed his jaw, nuzzling her nose along his stubble, loving its feel, inhaling his clean, manly scent. She trailed her lips to the dent just below his bottom lip and kissed him there, running her hand slowly up his chest as he jaggedly inhaled and exhaled.
Slowly, she dragged her lips down his chin to the base of his throat, planting a kiss there, letting her tongue graze his skin. He inhaled sharply, his breath coming faster when she kissed him there again, encouraged by his response. She ran her hand lightly up his chest again, enjoying its hardness even through his t-shirt. He placed his hand on top of hers, intertwining their fingers. The simple action was comforting and arousing and she trailed her lips back up to his, this time kissing him fully, tasting him with her tongue. She drank in the barely audible noises he was making, and let them become her own as she deepened the kiss.
She continued melding his lips with hers finally allowing herself to feel something other than anger and numbness for the first time in weeks and relaxed into him, kissing him languidly, leisurely, drawing out both of their responses. She pulled back again slightly and met his eyes. He was staring at her like she was as essential as the sun and the heat that spread through her body was immediate and intense and unlike anything she’d ever felt.
She leaned forward and pressed lig
ht kisses wherever her lips found skin. Their fingers were still intertwined on his chest and she pressed her weight there, swinging her leg from under her so that she could straddle him and be closer. She just wanted to be closer.
He was kissing her now, and he placed his free hand on the back of her neck deepening the kiss. She angled her head the other way and he nipped her bottom lip lightly. She was on fire, her entire body throbbing, acutely in tune to his every move. He pulled lightly at her hair as he kissed her, giving him different access to her mouth.
They were both breathing audibly now and she ran her hand under his shirt, eager to feel the smooth heat of his skin against her fingertips. He inhaled and she pushed his shirt up, helping him pull it over his head. He tossed it beside him, and she trailed her fingers down the planes of his chest, then pressed her mouth there, kissing her way back up to his mouth. The kiss was frantic, no longer controlled and he picked her up easily, repositioning them so that she was lying on her back.
He ran his hand up the underside of her thigh. “You are so sexy,” he whispered in her ear.
“…So fucking sexy,” he whispered in her ear before he licked the side of her face…. He slapped her again then pushed at her thighs, prying them apart, forcing her to open for him… she tasted the blood in her mouth and tried to close her legs, but he was too strong…
“No! No! No-no-no-no,” she heard the word being repeated over and over again but the voice was foreign to her.
He slapped her violently again, then put a hand to her throat, crushing the air out. “You know you want this… it’ll be over faster if you stop struggling…”
“No… no…. no… stop, please! Stop!” she was shaking her head, wiping his hands away from her neck, screaming the words, trying to get his face, his eyes, his smell out of her mind. But he was all she could feel, and smell and hear. She couldn’t breathe.
“Destiny! Baby…what’s wrong?” Brian was saying as he quickly sat up. His voice was panicked. “Destiny! Destiny! Breathe, baby…” He shook her shoulders, trying to bring her back.
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