When the Storm Ends

by Jillian Anselmi

  “Interesting choice in food,” I murmur, looking at the spread.

  “You’re in the south, darlin’. Whatdya expect?”

  Grabbing a plate, I follow the line of hungry carnival goers at the first station. There’s pulled pork, fried chicken, and macaroni and cheese, among other not so healthy choices. When in Rome. I place small amounts of each on my plate, figuring I might as well try everything. Who knows when I’ll have the chance again. It’s not like they serve some of this stuff in New York. Placing a piece of corn bread on the edge of my plate, I wander back to my seat. Brody sits beside me, his plate overflowing. “Hungry?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “I’m a growin’ boy,” he counters, and I just stare at him. I don’t know where he puts it all. He’s lean and trim, but not bony or over muscular. He’s perfect. “But I do hit the gym pretty hard,” he says with a wink.

  “When do you have time to go to the gym?” I ask between bites of mac and cheese.

  “At night, usually. Or sometimes real early if I can’t sleep.” Even though he’s not huge, his muscles are sculpted and defined. You can’t look like that without working for it. He manages to finish his plate long before I do and offers to get us refills.

  The next event is called the calf scramble. “So, what’s this event?”

  “There’s fourteen calves and twenty-eight kids who try to catch one. They need to put a halter on it and bring it back into the winner’s square in order to win.” I watch as a bunch of kids run after these cute little baby cows. “You see there,” he asks, pointing to one of the kids, “the kid holdin’ the calf by the tail? As long as a kid is actually in the act of holdin’ the calf to get the halter on, nobody else can try to get it unless the calf wiggles itself loose.”

  “Aren’t they hurting them?”

  “Nah, they’re fine.” Once all fourteen calves are caught, another event starts. This one is with sheep. “So, this is for five and six year olds. The rule is they need to stay on the sheep for eight seconds.”

  “Another eight second rule?”

  “Yeah, they seem to like that number ‘round here.”

  We continue to watch until all the events are concluded for the day. As they start setting up for the concert, Brody takes me for a walk through the Chairman’s Club, which goes around the stadium in a circle. He’s a big Houston Texans fan and boasts about them as we walk. As we finish our stroll and get back to our seats, Kenny Chesney’s voice fills the stadium.

  “He’s not bad,” I mumble to myself.

  “Country’s growin’ on ya, ain’t it?” he teases.

  “Maybe. The jury’s still out.” I say, my face twisted up into a sideways smile. As much as I hate to admit it, this country stuff is starting to grow on me—especially the country boy.

  ABOUT A WEEK after the fair, I caved and gave Brody a key to my apartment, which was probably not one of my brightest ideas. He’s been coming and going as he pleases and today is no different. The slamming of the front door alerts me to his presence. “Lani, I brought you a present.”

  Exiting the bedroom, I find him sitting on the arm of the couch. He’s holding a paper bag with a logo I’m unfamiliar with. As I walk closer, he thrusts the bag toward me. Taking it, I peek inside. “What is it?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

  “Take it out and see,” he says, his face beaming. Pulling the item out of the bag, I lay it across the table. It’s a hoop the size of a cantaloupe with interwoven leather in the shape of a spiral web slightly resembling a flower. Dangling from the bottom, attached to strands of light brown leather, are turquoise beads and long, colorful feathers. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “It’s beautiful, but what is it?”

  “It’s a dreamcatcher.” Picking it up by a piece of leather attached to the top of the ring, he holds it out in front of me.

  “What’s a dreamcatcher?”

  “In some Native American cultures, the dream catcher is believed to have the power to catch a person’s dreams and trap the bad ones, lettin’ only the good dreams pass. The feathers,” he says, using one to tickle my arm, “are meant to assist the flight of positive dreams.”

  “You bought this for me, because of my nightmares?” I ask in awe.

  Nodding, he shrugs. “I thought this might help. You’re haunted enough during the day, you shouldn’t be tormented in your dreams too.”

  I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and crushing him to me. “This has to be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you,” I mumble into his neck, a tear running down my cheek.

  Releasing him, I gaze into his eyes—the eyes that can see right through me, through all the bullshit I try to tell myself. Standing on the balls of my feet, I reach up and place a gentle kiss on his soft, delicious lips. He places his arms around my waist and pulls me close. A moan escapes his throat and his lips are on mine once again. It’s a slow, tantalizing kiss, and I know he’s holding back. His lips, so soft, caress mine with a hesitance I need to cure.

  Placing my hands on his scruffy cheeks, I cradle his face, turning his head just where I want it. His taste stirs emotions in me I’ve never felt—love and lust, desire and need. I can’t get enough. This heady combination pushes me to the brink. Forcing my tongue into his mouth, I kiss him like there’s no tomorrow, my mouth greedy for his intoxicating taste.

  Coming up for air, Brody asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  Without a second thought, I say, “Don’t get all shy on me. Do you want to fuck me or not?”

  His lips twitch into a smile. “Since the first day I laid eyes on that fine ass of yours.” Scooping me up, he carries me into the bedroom and drops me onto the bed.

  As much as I want him, something’s not right. A switch flips inside my head. The second my body hits the bed, I freeze. The vision of a man standing over me while I’m lying on a bed brings back memories I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. My body starts to shake like an uncontrollable seizure. I don’t see the wonderful and caring Brody; I see the face of every man who touched and tormented me those four days of hell. I screech, not recognizing the sound of my own voice.

  “Lani! What is it?” Brody asks, jumping back, his face frozen with terror. “What did I do? Did I do something wrong?” he pleads, his tone uneasy. His eyebrows are raised and pulled together, his eyes wide.

  Tears run unchecked down my cheeks, saturating my face. I close my eyes, trying to push the visions away, but I can’t. I sit up and shake my head no. “I’m so sorry,” I wail, covering my face with my hands.

  The bed dips behind me. “Please, Lani. What’s wrong?”

  “You won’t want me if I tell you,” I whimper, gripping my head. I’m broken. No one wants to deal with someone who’s broken.

  “Baby, there’s nothin’ you can tell me that will scare me off. I promise.” He sounds so sincere, but he doesn’t know. He can’t know.

  “No. This . . . is different. You’ll never . . . look at me . . . the same way again,” I say, still bawling. Uncovering my face, I turn and look at Brody. Fear has overtaken his features, his eyes glistening from unshed tears.

  “Please, you can tell me,” he whispers, as if he’s talking to a wounded animal. I am wounded, and I don’t know if I can be fixed. He moves closer to me on the bed. “Please,” he begs.

  I nod, trying to control the sobs that just won’t stop. I’ll tell him, but I can’t look at him. This way, when he leaves, I won’t be watching. Looking over at him one last time, the tension around his eyes portray his anxiety, but his doleful expression prompts me to continue. Crossing my legs, I place my hands in my lap and stare at my intertwined fingers. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I start to tell him my tragedy. Now, I know how much I care about him, because I’m really scared—petrified he’ll leave once he hears how damaged I am. As I speak, my body shakes with each syllable I utter. The pain of reliving my horror is almost as bad as being there. Please, don’t let him leave. Don�
�t let him see me as damaged and broken.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, if I can tell you,” I whisper in pain. Every word I speak, brings me back. Back to when I was bound on that bed. My wrists burn from where the rope tied me down. My arms ache from pulling against the bindings. My breasts throb from them yanking on my nipples. I’m dirty. Please don’t hate me.

  “I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His face is twisted with rage, but his words are calm and sincere. I know he’d never let anyone hurt me, but he can’t stop the nightmares or the pain I’ve already suffered. Looking into his eyes, I feel what he’s offering and feel safe, feel like maybe he can make this go away—that maybe if I unload my burden, he’ll hold some of that weight for me.

  Looking up into Brody’s glistening eyes, those eyes that can see right through me, I say, “Armond . . . raped me. He and his men took turns violating me, over and over.” My words are choked sobs. I watch Brody’s expression morph from caring and compassionate, to rage—pure rage. He clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. His pupils flare as his eyes widen. Anger comes off him in waves. It’s palpable and my hairs stand on end. “I totally understand if you want nothing to do with me,” I say, my voice cracking. I look back down at my fingers, wringing them together.

  “No, baby. No,” he says, touching my shoulder. I flinch as his finger grazes my skin. Glancing up, the expression that crosses his face will haunt me forever. A single tear runs down the bridge of his nose, dripping off the tip and landing on the bed. The bed where, under any other circumstances, he would have had his way with me—probably more than once. But not today. “Are you scared of me?” he whispers in horror.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I say, still tugging at my fingers. “No.”

  “How, baby . . . how can I help you?” I think about that for a moment. His pained expression tears my heart out of my chest. This shouldn’t be his pain to endure and I don’t like seeing him this exposed.

  There’s nothing I want more than for him to hold me, but I don’t want to freak him out if I react badly toward him again. God, why is this so hard? I need to fix this. “Touch me again.”

  “What?” he asks, confused.

  “Touch me,” I plead. “Anywhere. Please.”

  Scooting closer to me on the bed, he reaches out, but doesn’t touch me. “Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. I nod, my gaze never leaving his. Inhaling through his nose, he grazes the tops of my fingers with his. Closing my eyes, I try to envision him and no one else.

  “Again,” I say, my eyes still shut. Slow and concise, he runs the tips of his fingers up my arm toward my shoulder. Inch by inch, the visions of Armond retreat to the back of my mind. After each gentle touch, I stack the boxes back up, placing them just out of reach.

  Opening my eyes, I turn to Brody. He’s watching me close, waiting for that switch to flip again. “Again,” I whisper. His lips twitch as he runs his fingers across my shoulders and down my other arm.

  “You okay?” he asks, the tension slowly lifting from his eyes.

  “I think I will be. Would you just lie with me and hold me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  Turning toward him, I crawl on his lap. Placing my head on his chest, I answer, “I’ve never been more sure.”

  WAKING FULLY RESTED, I realize today is the first morning since my ordeal I’ve slept without nightmares plaguing me. Turning my head, I watch Brody snoring softly. I feel safe when he’s near, and my subconscious agrees. Unless it’s the dreamcatcher he hung in the window last night before we went to bed. Or my midnight confessions. Regardless, he’s good for me. The problem now is what to do when this is all over. I’m starting to really like him, but what about New York? Pushing these thoughts aside, I decide to focus on the here and now.

  As I turn to roll out of bed, an arm curls over my waist. Tugging me from behind, Brody pulls me close, his head in the crook of my neck. “Good mornin’, darlin’. How’d you sleep?” he murmurs as he places a soft kiss on my shoulder.

  “Really well,” I answer back.

  “No nightmares?”

  “I don’t think so. Did I wake you at all last night?”

  “No, ma’am,” he says, releasing me.

  “Good.”

  “What do you want to do today?” he asks as he sits up.

  “I have an idea, but I need to use Google to see if it’s even possible,” I murmur as I slide off the bed.

  “Really?” he says, intrigued.

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Brody lies back down, his hands entwined underneath his head. “This sounds like it could be fun.”

  BRODY HAD TO go in to the station for a couple hours, so I do some straightening up around the apartment while I wait for him to get back so we can leave. I hear the click of the front door opening from my bedroom and shout, “In here.” Continuing to make the bed, I wait for him to come find me. As I’m putting the last pillow in its place, I yell, “Stop being lazy and get in here!” No answer. “Brody?” I shout again, grabbing my phone and heading out of the bedroom, “What are you—” my words choke off in my throat as my blood freezes in my veins. My heart thunders in my chest and I take a step back, feeling for the wall behind me.

  “Hello, Delani,” Cole says as he stands. His stance is defensive, but his demeanor doesn’t match. The impassiveness of his face is forced. This doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. His eyes are hollow and empty, not at all like I remember them.

  “What are you doing here?” I force out past the lump in my throat, my eyes darting from him to the exit as a hollow pit forms in my stomach. My shaky hands connect with the wall and I brace myself against it, needing the stability to gain some semblance of control.

  “I needed to find you, see for myself you’re okay.” He takes a few steps closer and I press my back into the wall.

  “How did you find me?” I whisper, choking on my words. Warning bells go off in my head. If Cole can find me . . .

  “Dominic.”

  “He told you where I was?” I ask, horrified.

  “Not exactly. I overheard him talking to Taryn and put two and two together.”

  “You’ve made contact with Taryn?” The more he talks, the angrier I become. Remembering why I’m here in the first place, I step toward him.

  “Not exactly,” he admits, shuffling his feet.

  “Good fucking lord with the not exactlys, and that doesn’t explain how you knew where I was staying!” I raise my voice a bit, my temper getting the better of me.

  He smiles as he shrugs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been watching you for a few days.”

  “Oh my God! You’ve been stalking me?” My heart pounds against my ribcage, but not from fear—from rage. How did I not know he’s been watching me? I’m furious at my stupidity. I fist my hands into balls, getting ready to throw down.

  “Delani, calm down. It’s not like that,” he says, putting his hands up in defense.

  “Then what’s it like? I’m pretty sure watching someone without their knowledge is the definition of stalking!” My voice rises with every syllable spoken.

  “I needed to make sure Armond didn’t hurt you.”

  “Jesus, Cole! Did you ever think if you could find me, Armond could too? Maybe he followed you down here!” Peeking out the front window, I draw the curtains, paranoid.

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “I didn’t think about that.” Running his fingers through his hair, he paces the room, adding to my anxiety.

  “No, you don’t fucking think. You never did!” I scream, throwing my arms up.

  “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stay away,” he whimpers, his face paling.

  “Stay away? After what you did, why did you think you could ever come back? I want nothing to do with you,” I blurt, stomping my feet on the floor.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I’m pretty sure she does,” Brody says from the doorway, his
hands gripping the top molding. His words startle me, and I jump. How long has he been standing there?

  “I was wondering if I’d get to meet you,” Cole says to Brody.

  “Says the stalker,” I murmur under my breath.

  “It doesn’t appear as if she’s happy to see you,” Brody says, walking toward me.

  “You stay away from her, she’s mine,” Cole growls low in his throat.

  A maniacal laugh comes from deep within Brody and goosebumps rise across my entire body. “Yours? It’s your fault she’s even here,” he snarls. “I’m protectin’ her, somethin’ you couldn’t do.” Brody smirks as he drags his hand through his hair. “Although, I should probably thank you for being a pussy, it brought Lani into my life.”

  “Lani?” Cole asks, choking on his words.

  “Yeah, I call her Lani, and she loves it,” Brody taunts, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s now standing between Cole and I, taking a protective stance.

  “I need to talk to Delani,” Cole says, emphasizing the D.

  “You’ll need to get through me first.”

  “Brody, let him say what he needs to say, then he can get the fuck out of here,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine,” I insist. “He won’t hurt me.”

  Brody throws up his hands. “Fine, but I’m fuckin’ leavin’. I can’t be here while y’all discuss whatever it is you’re discussin’,” he says, scowling. Turning on his heel, Brody stomps out the front door and I push the curtain aside, watching him continue down the driveway until he disappears around the corner.

  Spinning to glare at Cole, my anger gets the better of me. “You have no idea the hell I’ve been through. If you did, you wouldn’t be here,” I snarl.

  “I came here to try to make it right.” His voice is quiet and contrite, but I’m not having any of it.

  “Make it right? You can’t make it right! It’ll never be right again!”

  “Delani—”

  “Don’t you Delani me! Don’t you understand? They took something away from me that wasn’t theirs to take. Something I’ll never get back. They broke me, Cole! Strangers tied me to the bed and repeatedly raped me, and not just one at a time,” I scream as a sob escapes me. “No. While one of them had their cock in my ass, the other was thrusting it in my mouth! And it wouldn’t be the perfect rape unless someone was watching, waiting for their turn. There isn’t a minute I don’t see their faces.”