by Brown, Tara
"So sexually you can't be with him? Is it possible you feel guilty for wanting to?" I'm up and walking for the door, "Thanks doc." I press the elevator. It opens instantly. She knows better than to chase me. The door dings. I walk across the foyer and out into the cool breeze. Michelle and Stuart are kissing in the front seat. I turn left instead of going to the car. I don’t want to disrupt them. I have my wallet and phone. If I get desperate I'll call a cab.
I stroll down the driveway and out onto the street. The air is cold and crisp, it makes me feel clean. Well clean-ish.
My phone vibrates. I pull it out and answer.
He speaks before I can, "Why did you leave the car?" He is moody.
I can be moody too, "Why did you hire Stuart for a hundred thousand a year to drive me around?"
He heaves a sigh, "He has a big mouth and my business with him is private. That just cost him his pay for a month. Why did you leave the car?"
I scream into the phone, "HOW DO YOU KNOW I LEFT THE CAR? WHERE ARE YOU? YOU FUCKING FREAK! STOP SPYING ON ME!" I'm trembling and at my breaking point.
"Are you finished?" He is calm.
I dry sob and feel badly for calling him a freak. It's a glass house moment I'm not proud of. "Yes."
"Why did you leave the car?" He is so calm it scares me.
I laugh, "Why did you hire a boxing UFC champ as my driver?"
He laughs with me but says nothing. He is silent. I wait for it and then sigh. I am defeated. "I wanted to be alone. She made me feel dirty. I didn’t want to be with them."
"Because I am a rich man and if anyone ever knew that you were my ward, they would hurt you to get to me. I need to know you're alright. At all times. Stuart can protect you. I cannot. I am busy." I am a burden suddenly.
I don’t have anything to add to that. How can I be so angry that he wants to keep me safe? At all times. And I am a burden that costs him a fortune. I pause, "What? Wait…who wants to hurt you and me?"
"My business." His tone is getting edgy. I don’t even want to know what he's talking about. I don’t need new reasons to not sleep.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. "Can you find Sebastian for me?"
"Why?"
"I need to tell him that I'm sorry. It's killing me inside that I made him feel so awful." I don’t say that he is the only normal thing in my life and I need him. That I made a terrible mistake.
His voice is dead calm again, "Do you love him?" I spin around and look for him. He must be watching me. I shake my head, "I don’t think I'm capable of that."
I hear the car. He's gone. He's hung up again.
I turn and see Stuart. He looks savagely angry. He gets out and opens the door to the car in a rough jerk. Shell is scowling at me. I sigh, and climb in defeated. They don’t speak to me, or each other. When we drive up, Stuart doesn’t get out of the car. He doesn’t move his head. He looks straight ahead. I climb out. It's the first time I've opened my own door. I feel sick. I'm a moron. I know this. I walk up the stairs to the dorm. Shell stays behind in the car. I don’t have to look back. I don’t hear her door. I walk inside and feel the lump in my throat growing.
I sit on my bed and wait for the lonely, but even it doesn’t come.
Chapter Eight
She packs the bag in a silence that feels heavier than the late August air we suffered through. She doesn’t look at me.
"You sure you don’t want to come? She is going to be pissed you're not there. She says it feels like we're missing a member of the family."
I shake my head. I'm touched but her family's Christmas is huge. Italians at Christmas equal chaos and food and red wine and kisses and hugs.
"My skin almost all peeled off last time I went. Remember, I ran out of sani and your poor dad had to go hunt for it on Christmas day?" Not to mention I felt like a Dickens character. I was the poor orphan with no one and they were the warm, friendly family with the smoking-hot sons. I think about my situation and realize it hasn’t changed much. I am still fairly Dickens, only more like a combination of Miss Havisham and Pip rolled into Oliver Twist's life.
I sigh.
She glances at me. Her face hasn’t changed much since I lost Stuart a month of pay by opening my big mouth. I knew better. Orphans always stuck together and never ratted anyone out to the nuns. No matter what. Even if it cost me ice cream.
"I'm sorry."
She shakes her head, "I don’t blame you. He freaks me out." She kneels in front of my bed and grabs my hands. She doesn’t do that much. Her eyes twinkle with fear and worry. "I just thought that maybe this would be a new start for you. No more nuns telling you to clean and hitting you with branches. No more scripture and religious shit. I know you never believed so it was easy to walk away from the church." She squeezes and her voice wavers, "But Em, you haven’t left. Not really. You're still in that damned orphanage. You're still alone in the world. You don’t let me in. You ran off the most perfect guy in the world. You're running my perfect guy off. You clean when you don’t have to and you have meltdowns in the cafeteria, because the guy next to you has bad teeth and chews with his mouth open."
I look down. Shame and sadness are creeping around in my mind, bringing up old shit and bad memories.
She lifts my chin, I wish I could cry. I feel the tears there. I feel the pressure in my throat. But nothing comes out. "Em, I'm not saying you don’t have a right. You do. You have every right to be the way you are. You're doing well." Those words sting more than anything she has ever said to me. It's the Band-Aid I get slapped with all the time. The 'doing well' Band-Aid that’s actually made at the 'I hate to tell you how shitty you are doing' factory.
"Don’t say that." I mumble. She flinches, she hears herself. She knows how those words feel.
"Sorry."
I shake my head, "I think it's good you're going for the three weeks. We need some time apart."
She backs up, "What? Don’t say that."
I pull back too and look at my feet, "It's true. This is harder than I imagined it would be. Living together has been kind of horrible."
She scoffs, "You are ungrateful. Holy shit. I moved here for you. I'm in a city I don’t like, going to a school I never ever dreamed of and living with a girl who is a frightened little kid, trapped in an orphanage she never left."
My throat burns. My heart rate picks up.
She throws a bottle of hand sani at me, "Don’t forget to wash up." She grabs her bag and leaves, slamming the door. I still don’t cry. It's amazing but I don’t. I wash my hands. The smell of the coconut almond alcohol doesn’t make me feel better. It smells like his ice cream. Dry sobs rip from my throat.
I stare at the wall for a long time. I snap out of it when my phone vibrates and I realize I'm sitting in the dark. I answer, "Hi."
"You okay?" He cares. I can hear it in his voice.
I shake my head, making an ugly cry face. It doesn’t feel genuine though without the waterworks. "No."
"Get dressed and go downstairs. Look nice. I have something for you."
I shake my head, "No thanks. I'm going to order pizza and hang here."
He sighs, "Don’t try my patience. Outside in half an hour." He hangs up. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to face Stuart. I've managed to not get a ride since I last saw him at the doctor's office. I've walked for everything I had to do. As penance. I'm good at penance.
I watch the clock, feeling the nerves building inside of me. I'm taking a stand. I'm not going. I've had the worst couple weeks ever. I don’t have to do everything he says.
My indignant attitude lasts twenty-three-minutes. Then I jump up, rip a brush through my hair and pull on dress pants and a pale-blue sweater. I smear lipgloss on my lips and wash my hands three times. I race out the door, pulling on my parka. I make it to the front door in exactly thirty-minutes. I'm huffing from not running at all in weeks.
Stuart looks sad when he sees me. He's sad for me. He feels sorry for me. His pity burns a hole in my alre
ady battered chest.
I climb into the backseat. He closes the door softly. It hurts more that he's not being an ass. I'm not worthy or strong enough for him to treat me like shit.
I keep my eyes down.
My phone vibrates. I answer, "Hi."
"I'm running late. The limo is stuck behind an accident. Tell Stuart not to take you to the place until I message him." He hangs up.
I frown and look up at Stuart. I clear my throat, "Uhm he just called. He wants us to just drive around until he messages you." I barely finish the sentence when Stuart's phone plays a song. He looks at it and answers, "Hello?" He makes a weird face and nods, "Yes sir." He hangs up and shrugs, "Guess he was ready now."
I point, "Has he ever called you before?"
He shakes his head. "No."
I can't help but feel weird. But the look on Stuart's face catches my eye in the mirror, "I'm so sorry." My words are soft. They have no strength.
He shakes his head, "I know you didn’t mean to." His eyes narrow, "He's just a weird rich guy. He messes with people. He likes controlling us. We gotta play the game, Em."
I swallow, "Is she very mad at me?"
He smirks, "She's sick right now. She almost didn’t get in the cab. She hates herself for what she said."
I clench my jaw. "Me too." I whisper and look out the window.
"As soon as she lands you know she'll be messaging you."
I nod and fight the feelings roaming my insides, making them cramp up.
He drives into an old part of town where we sit in a parking lot. He waits a minute and then climbs out. I get out and hug my parka. Mid December is cold. The wind is bitter and the snow is annoying. Boston is not my favorite place to be for winter. Stuart walks with me toward an old brick building. He looks around. He's never walked with me before.
"Do we go inside?" I ask.
He shakes his head, "He was supposed to meet us in the parking lot. He said he was taking us somewhere. We were going to like it." He looks around and hugs his pea coat to himself. My stomach hurts. I've felt this pain before. It reminds me of something.
Stuart must feel it too. He stands really close to me. He pulls out his phone.
"Was this the address?" I ask. My nerves are on high alert.
He nods, "This is where he said on the phone."
I think about what he's said to me about Stuart protecting me. I stand closer. The parking lot is bare, beyond the dried crusty snowdrifts. The snow is barely covering the ground. We crunch around, walking and waiting. Stuart dials. He holds his phone out, "Crap. No service."
An SUV pulls into the driveway. It's not a limo. I look at Stuart, "He said he was in a limo. What if that’s not him?"
Stuart looks at me, "Stand behind me." His face is tense and angry. I don’t know what's going on. We both feel the tension. Everything feels out of place. I glance at my phone but there is no service. I shove it down the back of my dress pants and into my underwear. I remember the talk from eighth grade. If anyone ever snatched you, you were to press nine-one-one and then shove the phone down your pants. Wherever they were taking you, they weren’t taking your pants off till they got there. I never had a phone before. I honestly never imagined I would need to do it.
"I wish we never got out of the car." I mutter.
Stuart steps forward when a man steps out of the back seat of the grey SUV. He has on a huge fluffy coat and sunglasses. It's dark and it's clearly still winter, well as far as I have seen, hence the snow and my frozen ass. Boston winters feel like they will never end.
This guy is a douche.
Sunglasses.
I know it isn’t him. Uncle Daddy Weirdo is way too cool to wear sunglasses in the winter, like this douche. Sunglasses or no, he freaks me out. I step closer to Stuart. I look down at my Ugg boots and grimace. I wish I wore my runners. I start tensing my legs as two more men get out of the car.
"Who are you?" Stuart asks.
The man laughs, "Just give us the girl. That’s all we want."
I take a step back. Stuart looks back at me but doesn’t take his eyes off of the men, "Run." He says flatly. I don’t need to be told twice. I turn and bolt. I hear men grunt and slapping sounds. I leap at the chain link fence. My fingers claw at it, dragging myself up it in frenzied panic. I reach the top but my boot is grabbed. I jerk and kick but I'm pulled hard. I kick again and get loose. I pull myself up again and scramble up to the top. I swing over and start to scramble down the other side. My assailant's sunglasses meet my eyes mid fence. He smiles, "I like when you run little girl." I gag. His voice is creepy and sadistic. I jump, feeling something pull in my ankle. I run hard. I hear him land with a grunt. I push my legs harder. They are just starting to warm up. I dig in. There is no way he will catch me. No way. I run around a building and though a parking lot. I round another building and push it down an alley. I'm completely lost. I end up in another parking area. I slide between two vehicles and catch my breath. My ankle burns and my lungs hate me.
I almost cough but I hold my breath. I hear his footsteps. He's still running. My back is against the cold hard car. My muscles are trembling from the crouched position and my vision is fuzzy. Lack of oxygen and too much adrenaline.
"I know you're here. I'm tracking your cell phone." He has an accent. It's English. No Australian. I glance around and think of what to do. If I pull the phone from my pants he won't be able to find me. But then neither will Stuart. I decide to risk it. I fish my phone out of my pants and check the signal. I have a bar. I text as fast as I can.
'HELP! BAD GUYS! PLEASE COME FIND ME!'
It delivers. I hear a ping in the parking lot. My stomach sinks. I close my eyes and wonder if he IS the bad guy or dead at the hands of the bad guy.
My breath is gone. My legs become concrete. His footsteps get closer. I slowly place the phone on the ground. I back up silently, fighting it as it starts to over. His feet crunch the old dry snow. I'm trembling. I back up. My exhale makes mist in the air. I try not to breathe. I hold my mitten over my mouth. It makes me sick, but I don’t have any other choice. It all feels familiar. The mitten and hiding amongst the cars. I start getting lightheaded.
I lean into the car more, needing the support.
I need to keep backing up.
"Emalyn Spicer. Such an odd name for a girl who was adopted into a Catholic church. Don’t they usually name you after a saint?" His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It burns and hurts. He isn’t my benefactor. I would know his voice anywhere. This is a bad man, who wants to hurt me to get at my benefactor. Just like he said they would. I was foolish. Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I stay with the car? I had to walk and be stubborn because I didn’t want to see Stuart. Stuart who is now fighting for me. No doubt out numbered and hurt. My heart is aching.
I'm panicking, as his steps get closer. I can hear him stepping in between the cars next to me. I look around. There is nothing. Nothing I can see. I count to three and jump up. I sprint behind the cars and jump over a small barricade. His shoes slap the hard road behind me. It's the moment I've trained for.
What I haven’t trained for hits me in the butt cheek with a stabbing pain. I slam into a building. The lonely comes fast and hard. My feet won't move. They're concrete boots. It's like I'm wading through the water, clutching the side of a building. His feet are crunching on the crusty ground behind me. I fall into the cold snow. My knees scrape on the hard crust. I'm still dragging myself when I see dark-brown shiny leather shoes walking up to me. I see his shoe come back, like he's going to kick me. I blink but my eyes don’t open. The shoe connects with my stomach. I grunt and cry out. I hear it but it doesn’t feel like it comes from me.
I feel something woolen pull down over my face. And then I'm out.
Chapter Nine
The dark is a quiet place. Reflection and contemplation are the only things to do in it. Well that, and imagine the worst things possible.
I don’t have to reflect or contemplate or any of those thi
ngs. I know what the worst things possible are. I know about the things that hide in the dark. Insanity is the least of them.
I am curled in a ball in the back corner of the room.
It's stressing me out that I don’t know where he is.
Him or Stuart.
I don’t have my phone. The thing I never imagined loving, now feels as if an appendage is missing. I miss the feel of it when it vibrated and I knew he was there. He was always there for me. I pray they're both okay.
I hear a scream cut through the silence. My heartbeat quickens. It sounds like Stuart. He screams again. My back is pressing harder into the concrete. His screams worsen. He is brought closer to my door. He is sobbing. I cannot imagine the horrors he has seen, or the pain he has experienced, to make him sob. But he sounds like a child. Weak and fragile. They have hurt him badly.
My jaw is trembling. The sounds are gone again. It is my heartbeat and exhaling breaths that keep me company in the dark.
The darkness keeps me awake.
My butt hurts, my heart hurts, my throat burns from the tears in there and my eyes burn from the lack of sleep. The door opens. The light is harsh and white. I squint to see a hand rise in the open space. A gun is lifted. I don’t have time to flinch or cry out. The dart is sticking out of my arm and I am sliding down the wall. The door is closed again. My throat gets thick and my limbs feel like they're getting fatter. When I hit the floor I cannot move. My eyes flutter and then close.
When they open again I am alone in the dark. I put a hand down on the cold concrete floor and rub it back and forth. I dreamt I was back in my dorm. The cold hard floor tells me otherwise.
I push and lift myself up. My arms tremble and shake. I'm weak. Hunger and thirst are brutal. I push myself back into the corner again. I hate how dark it is. It feels like a vast empty space.
When I rub my eyes I feel like my hands are bonier than they were. I don’t know how many days have past. My stomach is pulled in and I can feel my ribs when my arms sit on my belly.