“I’m ready for my close-up.” I smiled at the ugly girl staring back at me. It was a brittle smile, meant to be sarcastic more than anything. I disgusted myself. Turning away, I caught Cass’s gaze. He looked torn between being angry and being sympathetic. Whatever, I thought. I didn’t care.
“You’ll be fine. The doctor said your face wasn’t damaged. You’ll be good as new in a few weeks.” He smiled, trying to encourage me.
He thought I was worried about my looks. I shrugged. Let him think what he wants. He didn’t have to know the real reason I was depressed. I should be disfigured. I deserved it. I let them kill Stewie.
“Okay then, I’ll call for pizza. You like pepperoni?” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.
“Fine.”
I went into the bathroom across the hall. I turned on the spigot and sat on the toilet. I let myself cry for a few minutes then splashed my face carefully with warm water.
After dinner we sat in the living room, watching TV. Cass was lounging in his leather recliner, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the Baltimore PD logo on it. I was wearing my own new sweatpants and sweatshirt.
Earlier, when he’d told me to get comfortable, I told him I didn’t have any other clothes. He’d smiled, leading me back into my new bedroom to the dresser, which was full of newly purchased jeans, shirts, and sweaters. In the smaller top drawers I found an embarrassing supply of bras and underwear. They were all in my size. I didn’t ask how he knew.
I wanted to thank him, but I wasn’t sure how.
What was the proper amount of gratitude for someone taking you off the street, giving you a house to live in, and a new wardrobe?
“Are you tired?” He flipped the channels absently.
“A little,” I admitted.
“The doctor sent a prescription home with you, for the pain. I’ll get it filled tomorrow.”
I nodded. The doctor had given me enough painkillers to last until then. He stopped flicking through the channels, settling on an action film. Nicholas Cage was looking quite scruffy, battling in the underbelly of a plane.
“Why me?” I asked, watching him closely.
His eyes were bright in the glare of the TV’s light. I was glad he didn’t pretend to not understand my question.
“You need someone to look out for you.”
“So this is some kind of white knight syndrome?” I picked at a piece of string hanging from my shirt sleeve.
“Call it whatever you want.” He sighed, sounding frustrated.
“Charity?” I choked on the word.
“Are you going to start in on that already?” He turned to glare at me. “We already went over this. You can take care of the house until you get a job.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Whatever you say.” He pushed out of his chair, handing me the remote on his way to the hallway. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
* * * *
The days seemed to pass slowly, one melting into the other as I forced myself to go on living. Stewie was always in my thoughts, which irritated Cass for some reason. To keep the peace I pretended to forget my friend.
I found a rhythm, a routine of my own. I made breakfast for Cass every morning. Then I cleaned the house, did the laundry, and went food shopping. I’d gotten a job as a part-time cashier at the little grocery store in the strip mall a few blocks away. I walked there, since I didn’t have a car or a license.
Most nights we watched TV or played cards. I’d gotten my GED, which I aced, and Cass encouraged me to apply for classes at Towson University.
For the most part, I managed to keep myself busy during the day. It was the nights that were hard. When my head hit the pillow and my body sighed into the mattress, safe and snug, that was when my memories haunted me.
I missed Stewie. I missed him more than I thought I could, almost as much as I missed my mother. I mourned him the only way I could, the only way Cass would let me. I grieved alone, in secret. I cried myself to sleep every night.
I didn’t even have anything to remember him by. I’d asked Cass for his backpack, but Cass had said the jerks must have stolen it because it wasn’t recovered at the scene. It made me sick to think of them touching his things.
By the end of the third month, I was looking very healthy. My body and face filled out, making all the sharp angles and hollows from my starvation days disappear. I settled into Cass’s home much easier than I ever expected to. The first time I realized I’d called his house my home, Cass had called to ask if I wanted him to pick up something for dinner.
“No, I already have chicken in the oven. Just come home,” I’d said.
Home.
It was a loaded word. But it was true. I couldn’t deny it now. I felt more relaxed here than I had anywhere else in the last year. I took long hot showers and wore soft cotton pajamas. I enjoyed the regular routine of getting up in the morning and sleeping at night. Like a normal person. My world was peaceful again.
And Cass treated me really well. There were a few lingering looks now and then, but for the most part he behaved. Just as I was starting to think I might’ve been wrong about him, the boom fell. Yesterday afternoon I came home from work to find him pacing in the living room. He wasn’t supposed to be home for at least another hour.
“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me. I had a bag of groceries cradled in my arms as I walked past him toward the kitchen.
“Where were you?” His voice was quiet.
“At work,” I sat the bag on the counter and started putting the items away. Cass came in behind me.
“I called for you. They said you weren’t there.” He stood in the doorway. Smoke curled upward from the cigarette he was holding. He never smoked in the house. I looked at him for signs of something wrong. He looked the same as always: wind-whipped blond hair and sleepy blue eyes.
“They were wrong. I switched with Leah. I worked her afternoon shift. Maybe the person didn’t see the new schedule?” I shrugged.
“Leah who?” he asked, laying the cigarette on the lip of the sink.
“Leah Nelson. Her kid had a doctor’s appointment. What’s with the third degree?” I opened the fridge to put the eggs and milk inside. Cass liked Eggs Benedict every morning. The fridge door slammed shut. I barely had time to move my hand out of the way.
“What the—?” I turned around to confront Cass. His face was a blank mask.
“If you ever lie to me, I’ll make you regret it.” His voice was stiff as he delivered his threat.
“Why would I lie to you? What’s wrong with you? Did you have to chase a perp in your expensive Italian loafers?” I laughed.
With speed and agility I had only guessed he possessed, he snatched me up by the front of my coat and pushed me up against the wall of cabinets; the knobs dug painfully into my back. His hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes were now flashing with tightly leashed anger. Fear crept into my chest.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he gritted out between his clenched teeth.
“I’m not. I was just joking.” I made my lips curl up into a forced smile, trying not to lick my lips.
I don’t know how long we stood there, with him gripping my coat and me trying to breathe. Finally, something clicked for him. I literally saw the sanity return to his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said, letting me go, helping me take off my coat like nothing had happened. “It was a rough day. What’s for dinner?”
I turned away from him, pretending to look through the cupboards. “I was thinking about making chicken and penne pasta in a cream sauce.”
“Sounds great. Did you get fresh bread?” He pulled a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and took a sip.
“No. I, uh... you said you liked garlic toast with the chicken.” I was nervous all of a sudden. I hated this feeling. It was all too familiar.
“Yeah, you remembered.” He flashed that megawatt grin of his and went into the living room. I hea
rd the TV come to life and knew Cass wouldn’t come into the kitchen until I called him for dinner. My shaky legs gave way under me and I slid to the floor, huddling on the linoleum with my arms wrapped around my waist. The tears came quietly.
Chapter Nine
“Look out!”
A grape hit me in the forehead. I blinked. Kirk McGowan loped through the produce section over to where I stood counting out my drawer. He was a college student working on a teaching degree at Towson. Kirk was tall and athletic with a great sense of humor.
“It was a grape and run!” His partner in crime, Junior Freeling, howled with laughter.
“I’m so sorry, Arden. Are you okay?” He gently touched his fingers to my brow.
“I think I’m okay. I’ve never been assaulted with a grape before.”
“It was the Grape of Wrath!” Junior doubled over.
“Shut up, Junior,” Kirk ordered, trying not to laugh. Junior was a real goofball. Junior’s comments weren’t that funny, but he thought they were, and that was funny. I was laughing while Kirk inspected my head for injuries, which I seriously doubted I had. It was only a grape.
“What’s going on here?”
I turned to see Cass scowling at Kirk, who quickly removed his hand from my face.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation before it developed into something bad.
“It didn’t look like nothing.” Cass maneuvered his hands on his hips, pushing back his suit jacket to reveal his badge and his gun. Junior turned tail, running to the back room. Kirk raised his eyebrows in appreciation.
“Wow. Are you a cop?” he asked.
Cass relaxed, looking flattered by Kirk’s interest. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Yeah, I am. Detective Cassel Bateman.” He held out a hand. “And you are?”
“I’m Kirk,” he said, grasping Cass’s hand. “I was just making sure Arden was okay.”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Cass went back to frowning.
“Oh, Junior and I were having a fruit war. Arden accidently got beaned by a grape.”
“I see,” Cass chuckled. “Who knew grocery stores were so dangerous.”
“Yeah... well, I better get back to work. It was nice to meet you. See ya, Arden.” He waved, walking back to the produce department.
I glanced at Cass and continued counting my drawer out.
“Almost done?” he asked, flashing his prettiest smile.
“Almost, gimme ten minutes.” I hurried to finish and went into the back for my coat.
Cass was waiting in the car. He didn’t say anything to me as I got in and buckled up. It took less than five minutes for us to get home. We shuffled into the living room single file, me first. I heard the click of the lock just as Cass grabbed my arm and whirled me around.
He slapped me hard. If he hadn’t been holding onto me I’d have fallen to the floor. Instinctively, I covered my face with my hands.
“Don’t ever let me see another man touching you!” he raged.
“He was only making sure I was okay.” I offered the explanation again.
“I don’t care if you’re on the ground with a gunshot wound! He doesn’t need to touch you!”
“What’s wrong with you?” I wrenched out of his grasp. I had to make myself stand my ground and not run or show any fear.
“You’re mine, Arden. You got that?” He clutched my forearms in a bruising grip, and gave me a teeth-rattling shake. “Mine. No other man is ever going to touch you.”
“Cass, you’re talking crazy! We’re just friends.” I licked my lips nervously. I should have seen this coming. I had plenty of life experience in this area.
“Well, you tell Kirk,” he said, sneering, “that friends keep their hands to themselves.”
My temper flared over my fear. “You’re acting crazy!”
Cass’s surprised eyes glazed over like shards of ice. He stood there, motionless. Uneasiness folded around me. Cass leaned in, his face so close to mine that I could see the tiny lines around his eyes.
“Don’t ever call me that again.” His voice was deceptively soft.
“I won’t.” Tread carefully. I could sense the tight rope by which he was balancing on.
“You need to watch that smart mouth of yours a little better now that we’re together.” He stepped back, trailing his hands up to my shoulders carefully, as if I was made of glass.
I did my best not to flinch under the touch of his fingers as they slid to my neck and up my throat, caressing. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. It was a light, unassuming kiss. Cass eased back looking very pleased. He didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t reciprocated. He patted my head, like I was a good little girl.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, stepping back and taking off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch.
“Peppered pork chops,” I mumbled as I shuffled into the kitchen. My hands were shaking as I opened a drawer, took out the potato peeler, and pulled a bag of potatoes from the lower cabinet. Cass came in to get a beer. He paused behind me to plant a kiss on my still-stinging cheek.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean it,” he whispered in my ear. “It was a bad day. When I saw that boy touching you... I just snapped. It won’t happen again.”
I didn’t trust my voice, so I nodded. He went back into the living room.
It won’t happen again.
Hollow words in a sentence I’d heard many times growing up. I couldn’t count the times I heard my father tell my mother the same thing. I swore I would never be in the same situation. Yet here I was.
I took a deep breath and thought of the money I was stashing in a shoe in the back of my closet. When I had enough saved I was going to leave. Leave this house. Leave this man. Leave this life.
* * * *
The storm gray sky hovered ominously above me. The forecast was calling for snow. I shifted the weight of the bags in my mittened hands as I trudged down the sidewalk. Cass hadn’t picked me up from work. He hadn’t called either. I made a quick decision not to wait for him. I bought what I needed to make dinner and walked home. It was only a few blocks.
I was halfway home when the sound of tearing plastic preceded one of the bags breaking open, spilling everything onto the sidewalk. I groaned, setting the rest of the bags down.
“Arden?”
I looked up. Kirk had pulled up to the curb beside me, his beat-up car burping fumes.
“Hey, Kirk.” I put on a brave face as I glanced around to see who might be watching. He hopped out of the car and started scooping up a few oranges that were making a break for the road.
“Thanks,” I said when he handed them to me.
“You’re welcome.”
My eyes darted around again, making sure we were alone. I knew Cass had eyes everywhere.
“Are you going to work?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m working extra shifts. I need the cash.”
“Oh.” Didn’t we all? Cass didn’t like me working too much. I had to be careful with my schedule.
“Are you going to the Leah’s party?” Kirk asked, kneeling to redistribute the groceries into the rest of the bags.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Your boyfriend not into parties?” he joked.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, gritting my teeth.
“Oh,” Kirk flashed a shy grin. “Well, maybe you’d like to go with me.”
I looked at him, surprised. I reached down to grab a few bags as Kirk stood to hand the others to me. His hand brushed over my wrist. I flinched, hissing through my teeth.
“Sorry,” he said pulling his hand back, still holding the bags.
“It’s okay,” I said, giving him a weak smile. I wasn’t prepared for what he did next. Kirk set the bags down and took my hand, gently sliding off the mitten. His eyes bulged when he pushed the cuff of my coat up over my wrist. It was black and blue and swollen.
“Arden, w
hat happened?”
“I fell.” I couldn’t look at him as I told him the most used excuse for all abused people in the world. I fell. I walked into the door. I tripped.
“Fell? Onto what, someone’s hand?” He traced the finger shaped bruise with a feathery touch of his fingertip. I snatched my arm away.
“It’s none of your business,” I bit out. I hated to act like that with him, but I couldn’t afford someone butting in right now. I would handle it on my own.
“I’m sorry. You’re right... but I... Arden you need help.” I looked down at my feet, unable to meet Kirk’s pitying gaze.
“I’m fine,” I said, carefully putting on my mitten and picking up the rest of the bags.
“No you aren’t. You think we don’t notice the bruises? Or how you almost pee your pants when that guy comes in the store? If he isn’t your boyfriend then who is he?” He blocked my path forcing me to look at him.
He was such a nice boy. In a different life I could have seen us dating. Like all the other kids my age. We might’ve gone to a movie, grabbed a pizza, or maybe even tried midnight bowling.
“You don’t understand—” I started.
“Then help me understand,” he leaned down until our noses were almost touching. “I want to help you.”
Why was everyone always wanting to help me? I was getting tired of being helped. Help usually turned out to be code for let me control you.
“Kirk, I don’t need your help. I need to get home. Please, just leave it alone.” I pushed past him and didn’t look back.
Cass was waiting for me when I struggled through the front door. He was sitting in his recliner. I knew the look on his face: pinched lips, narrowed eyes, time for me to tiptoe.
“Hey, Cass,” I said, absently licking my lips. “I figured you might have been stuck at work so I decided to walk home so you wouldn’t have to worry about picking me up.” I always needed an explanation.
He didn’t say a word. He just sat there watching me.
“Um. I’m going to put the food away.” I edged toward the dining room, glancing back at him. “I bought you some ice cream, peanut butter ripple, your favorite.”
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