Reclaim Me

by A. O. Peart

  I stared at him, my eyes going wide. So, he thought I had sex with him to … what? Thank him for his help? The realization made me really uncomfortable and angry. I put the tea down on the end table and faced him, but the words got stuck in my throat. I was shaking, and my heart was pounding.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up, his face a mask of a sudden alertness.

  “Excuse me.” These were the only words I was able to utter. I turned away from him and walked out of the room. I ran up the stairs, tears pouring down my face. I was mad at myself, at Jack, at Seth, at the whole damn world.

  How could I be so stupid and think that any guy would just be there for me out of the goodness of his heart and not because he had some alternate motive? They all wanted something—sex, control, unattached fun. Jack wasn’t any different. He got what he wanted from me, and now he felt he had some rights to me. Why didn’t I see that before? Why was I still so naïve? So stupid?

  I shut the door to the bedroom behind me and sat on the bed, looking at my unpacked bags. My mind spun, and I knew this wasn’t a good time to make any decisions. I had to calm down first in order to think. I closed my eyes and took three long, cleansing breaths. That did nothing to help me calm down. I stood up and walked to the window, not really registering what I saw outside. Folding my arms across my chest, I paced around the small room. What was I to do? Why did I give in and have sex with Jack?

  I sat on the bed and covered my face with my hands, elbows digging into my thighs. It wasn’t shame I felt, but something else, something more disturbing. If it was shame, I would laugh at my own skittishness. After all, Jack and I used to date in high school and we would get naked at every opportunity we had back then. What bothered me now was that he had me so easily. One embrace, one kiss, and I had melted in his arms, as if we’d never been apart; as if I’d never left him.

  Didn’t I recently promise myself to be more reserved and cautious with men? I’d had enough bad experiences under my belt to warrant restraint. I collapsed onto my back and stared at the ceiling, my chest heaving angrily.

  I don’t know how long I stayed like that, fuming, but at some point I remembered another ceiling. On that was painted black, while the walls were a dark-purple. Jack’s old room. We would often lie on our backs, holding hands, and stare at the gigantic poster from Metallica’s San Jose concert. It was signed by all the members of the band and taped onto the ceiling. Jack was very proud own such a sought-after piece.

  I joked once that he should sell it on Ebay and see how much he could get for it, but that only made him mad. For a moment, I wondered how he would respond to that question now. He seemed to act so differently now compared to when he was a teen. I actually wanted to know, because I found the comparison of the old Jack to this new Jack rather fascinating.

  Then I scolded myself. Who cared how he would react to my silly Ebay question now? I had to focus on my present predicament, instead of getting nostalgic over the past. I closed my eyes, draping my arm over my face. Taking more long, cleansing breaths, I tried to focus on my options. Maybe I should call Rita and ask her to shake me out of this insanity.

  Chapter Eighteen

  What the hell just happened? I stared after her, not comprehending what transpired between us. Did I say or do something stupid? I didn’t think so, but who knew? I’d never been good at understanding women, but this was totally bizarre.

  She just stood up and left with no explanation. I immediately started to feel guilty, and then realized one thing—I wasn’t pissed off; which, in turn, puzzled me completely. Anger and frustration, not guilt, were my normal reactions. So why not now? Or rather, why not with Willow? She seemed to be the only person who kept my rage caged in.

  I had to do something, but what? Go after her to find out what was exactly happened? No, that idea didn’t feel right. Waiting to see what her next step would be? Maybe. Yeah, that’s what I was going to do. I wasn’t a mind reader, but I also wasn’t a pushover. Absentmindedly, I lifted the mug to my lips and took a sip, then another. The tea wasn’t bad at all. I could get used to it. I probably would get used to many things around Willow, because she somehow made me want to be open-minded, not stubborn. That was a weird thing to realize right after she stormed out of the room so suddenly.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was Ryley, one of my cousins. I put the phone back into my pocket and made a mental note to call him back some other time. Ryley wasn’t my favorite cousin, although he probably thought of me as the closest one in the family. The truth was, he was sometimes a dick, so I didn’t want to know what the hell he wanted; not when my plate was already full.

  My thoughts returned to Willow. I hoped she wasn’t leaving and going back to Rita’s. I couldn’t allow her to do that. She would be alone there most of the time with both Rita and me at work, and she knew that. Damn. I couldn’t tie her up and make her stay here, either. This had to be her decision.

  I listened for footsteps, or any noise from upstairs, but heard nothing. Willow was probably in her bedroom, quietly crying or fuming. I didn’t want to deal with either. Or maybe she’d fallen asleep. I figured that would best—for her and, selfishly, for me too.

  I knew I shouldn’t judge her, because she’d gone through a lot lately, and she had the right to be out of sorts. Anyone who’d been mentally and physically abused, like her, would have their nerves fried. Now I was getting pissed, but only because I thought about that little fucker, Seth. I wanted to get my hands on him, and if I could Shit, it didn’t matter now since I wouldn’t be able to get to him anyway, unless I got myself arrested and thrown in the same jail cell with him. That didn’t quite appeal to me. I was a Marine at heart and a firefighter, and my job required me act with honor. There was no other way anymore.

  I put the mug down and collapsed backwards, folding my arms under my head. I stared at the ceiling, thinking that she was right there, almost directly above me. It would be so much better if she was lying next to me. With that single wish in mind, I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  PLEASE CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE A MOMENT, I texted Rita. She was at work, so I didn’t want to call and bug her. I knew she would call me as soon as she was able to.

  Her text came in immediately, ON MY BREAK IN 20. WILL CALL THEN.

  I drummed my fingers on the coverlet, trying to decide what to tell Rita. Everything? I didn’t think she would jump to any conclusions or judge me. But would she really understand my dilemma? What really was my dilemma?

  Now that I had cooled down a bit, I decided to logically go over everything that transpired between me and Jack; and not only today, but since he first showed up at Rita’s apartment. At first, I was doubtful that he really didn’t know who he was sent to help. However, I’d had enough time to mull it over and realize that Jack had simply responded to Rita’s request to check on her nameless friend. Rita told me the same thing and I knew she wouldn’t lie to me.

  The real reassurance came from Jack’s expression when he’d seen me. There were so many conflicting emotions displayed on his face—shock, confusion, pure joy, anger, surprise, but mostly sadness and tenderness. It all happened in a flash and he’d never tried to hide his reaction, which spoke volumes. I couldn’t disregard any of them. I knew they were genuine, and that became my first solid building block to sorting out the confusing mess I’d landed in.

  The battery icon on my phone showed it was about to die. I rummaged in my purse and pulled out a charger. Plugging it into the outlet by the bed, I looked around to see if I could locate a piece of paper and a pen. No such luck, but at least I should have a pen in my purse. What could I use to jot down a few notes? Writing down the facts, questions, and answers was my usual way of solving problems. Some might think I was too analytical, but it worked for me.

  I walked around the room, hoping to find something to write on. There wasn’t much in there, so I searched my luggage. I had quite
a few books but no notepads. Thumbing through one of the books I picked up at the consignment store a while ago, I noticed four blank pages in the back. I felt like I’d hit a goldmine!

  First, I made a note of all the emotions I remembered playing on Jack’s face when I opened Rita’s apartment door. Under that note I wrote a single word: GENUINE. I stared at it for a moment, feeling weird and guilty as if giving some secret testimony against Jack; so far, it played in his favor.

  I made a list of everything that happened that evening, using single words or phrases for each and not dwelling on any one thing in particular. The plan was to get everything down first and then analyze it. My handwriting was neat, and I kept the letters small to make sure I didn’t run out of space. To save on time, and room, I used first name initials, instead of full names. But when it came to the police officers responding to my call that first night, I just labeled them as P1 and P2.

  The house was very quiet, and I started to wonder if Jack was still at home. I felt stupid for storming off the way I did. It seemed rather immature now; but, in my defense, I needed the space. Leaving his bedroom was better than getting in a fight with him.

  I made myself get back to the task at hand. Soon, I was close to being done with my list. The last few items to add were the toughest: sex with Jack, and its aftermath that led to me sitting here by myself.

  I sighed and closed my eyes. Why was my life so screwed up? Maybe I should concentrate on what I was doing wrong and start with fixing that step-by-step. That called for a whole different list and was for some other time. At the moment, my most pressing issue was to figure out my best options going forward.

  My pen was poised above the page. Being methodical was usually easy for me, but not when it came to analyzing what happened between me and Jack right after my conversation with Mom. To do that right, I needed to stay objective and only see the facts. But how could I ignore my emotions?

  I groaned and rubbed my hands over my face. Okay, facts only. First of all: Why didn’t I stop Jack? Why did it feel so natural to be in his arms and let things progress? I suspected I was really vulnerable because of talking with Mom and hiding the truth from her. To some people lying was not a big deal. To me, it was like breaking an oath. That sounded quite melodramatic for sure, but it was a fact, and the facts went onto the page of my makeshift notepad. So I wrote down: VULNERABLE AFTER LYING TO MOM. SAD BECAUSE I CAN’T VISIT HER.

  I stared at the words. They stared right back at me, like a challenge. I was taking the blame. Yes, I was the one to blame. At the very least, I had to take most of the responsibility for what happened with Jack. I kind of lead him on, clinging to him, allowing him to trail kisses over my skin. But how could I possibly have stopped him? It felt good in the most basic, primal way. Heck, it felt phenomenal, because it was Jack and not anyone else. I could no longer deny that I still had feelings for him. They had been buried deep inside, but were quickly resurfacing and getting dangerously stronger.

  I jotted another note on the page: ATTRACTED TO JACK. MY OLD FEELINGS ARE RISING.

  But what about Jack? What did he really feel? I thought about the reason I fled from him and into this bedroom, and I had to admit, that reason still held its value. It didn’t matter that I was blamed myself for what happened. The truth was, Jack was guilty too, although of a completely different transgression: he used my vulnerability to get what he wanted. And that made me mad all over again. No matter how I tried to spin it, I came across stupidly naïve!

  I picked up the pen and wrote, STUPID, WILLOW. Boy, that was really mature of me.

  I had to refocus, so I flipped the page and read my notes from the beginning. My anger incrementally dissipated, and I was finally breathing slower and deeper. When I got to those last two words I’d written, I added in front of them, SOMETIMES YOU ARE REALLY, and so it read now, SOMETIMES YOU ARE REALLY STUPID, WILLOW.

  That made me think … I finally decided how best to determine a solution to my situation: by compartmentalizing it all into certain categories and then comparing which category was the largest. My categories: Stupid Willow, Scared Willow, Strong Willow, and Happy Willow. I suspected the last one wouldn’t have a lot of entries on my list, but I could focus on ways to change that another time.

  I asked myself again what my goals were now. The most pressing one was to figure out what to do next without screwing things up even more with Jack. I also had no idea what was going on with Seth. Was I in any danger from him? If so, I needed Jack’s protection. Of course Seth was back in jail, and, most likely, staying there for a long while because he broke a no-contact rule. But to know for sure, I would have to talk with a lawyer. That went onto my list as well: SETH ISSUE - FIND A LAWYER.

  I didn’t have a lawyer, but I could Google one easily enough. It was just a matter of money, which I didn’t have. I could borrow from Mom, but then she’d have questions. No. So that was not an option, after all. Rita didn’t have two pennies to rub together, either. The only solution I saw at this point was my credit card. I wasn’t a big spender, and thankfully my balance was at zero right now. Maybe I could find one to take my case Pro Bono. That made me feel more secure. Having options was a definite mood booster.

  My phone played a catchy tune, announcing an incoming call. I looked at the cracked screen, remembering how I dropped it onto the pavement this morning. It was Rita.

  “Hey. How much time do you have?” I put the phone to my ear.

  “About ten minutes or so. I’m in the employee break room. So, what’s going on?” she said in a rush.

  I gave her the short version of what happened after I arrived at Jack’s house.

  She whistled and hooted. “Girlfriend, I’m not surprised at all. I didn’t want to say this before, but the way you both look at each other melts everything within a ten foot radius.”

  “What? You can’t be serious, Rita. I … I don’t …” Why was I trying to deny my attraction to Jack? Yes, I knew for sure I was attracted to him, but hearing it from Rita made it more valid. “Okay, I guess you’re right. So, now what?”

  “You straighten things up and set up some ground rules,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my knuckles. “I just … well, the truth is, I’m not sure what to do now. Look, he wanted to get in my pants and he succeeded. I let him. I made it really easy for him. That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “So, you think he simply wanted to fuck you and then move on?”

  My eyes scanned the room as if looking for something. “I honestly don’t know, but that’s how I feel at this moment. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Maybe you can help me see it for what it really is.”

  There was silence on the line, and I was about to see if I’d lost the connection, but then Rita said in her soothing Texan drawl, “Baby girl, Jack is a solid guy. He doesn’t screw around like some of the guys in that crazy McCoy clan of theirs. Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen him with any woman. And believe me when I tell you this—he attracts a lot of attention in my bar. Girls always try to go home with him, often more than one at once. Nuh uh, has never happened. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s never hooked up with anyone at the Black Pelican.”

  “That can also mean he keeps it to himself, but actually has commitment issues,” I argued. Why was I so adamant about this?

  “Oh, I see. So what you’re really worried about is that he won’t commit to you. The issue isn’t entirely with the fact he grabbed the opportunity to nail you. We are finally getting somewhere,” she sounded pleased with herself.

  “Rita, what are you trying to say? That’s such nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. Listen, you two should sit down and have an honest heart to heart. No games, no hiding shit, no circling one another from a safe distance. Talk about the past, what bothered you, and why you broke up with him. Let him talk. too. Oh, but listen, really listen to what he says, because that’s the only way to get to the bottom of this. Nobody w
ill do that for you two. Only you and Jack can set things right. By the way, he ain’t a talker, but you must know that from back in the day.”

  I groaned. I could see she had a point. “Okay, so let’s just say you’re right. How do you think I should proceed? Go downstairs and say, ‘Hey, big guy, we need to talk’? Something like that? Ugh. I can’t believe this is so hard.”

  “Yeah, something like that. Don’t complicate things, and keep your mind open, honey. Remember, guys are not like us, girls. They don’t see things the same way. They don’t talk, hell, they don’t usually even know how to talk, especially that one. You’ll have to drag things out of him.”

  “This is like high school all over again,” I grumbled.

  “It actually is, ‘cause you need to go back to how things were back then, and what exactly didn’t work out for you and him, to avoid the same mess this time around. Just give him a chance. And remember, he’s been through a lot in his life too. Four years in Afghanistan with the Marines and shit. That must’ve left a lot of scars, and I’m not talking about physical scarring.”

  Rita’s last comment made my brows draw together. My hands shook, and I felt terribly selfish. She was right again.

  I was restless. I sat down for a moment, then stood up, paced around, and stopped at the window. It was automatic, as if I was on autopilot. My body took the lead while my mind was preoccupied with the conversation with my best friend. At some point I found myself pressing my back against the shower door, and I had no idea how I even got into the bathroom.

  “Okay, baby girl, I need to go back to that shithole called work,” Rita announced, snorting.

  “Is it bad tonight?” I knew her boss made her life miserable from time to time.

  “Nah. You know I like to exaggerate.” She laughed. “It’s fine.” She stretched fine in her adorable drawl, making is sound like fun.