by Haley Pierce
She’s babbling now. I draw her into a hug, and her skin is like ice, her body heaving and trembling against mine.
“And I realized something on the way over here, Cain,” she breathes into my shirt as I stroke her hair. “I don’t want to be a doctor. Not at all. Not even a little bit. It’s all her.”
I have to laugh at that. “No kidding.”
She pulls away and looks at me. “You knew?”
“I had an idea.” I inspect her face. The blood from her nose has stopped, but the welt on her cheek is bright raspberry, blotched with purple. “Let me get my keys. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
She shakes her head furiously. “What? No! It’s nothing really. Just a bloody nose.”
I give her a thorough inspection. Nothing else appears to be ailing her, but I still think we should go to the hospital. If nothing else, we might be able to report her mother’s abuse. Because this can’t continue. “You need to leave there. Right now. If you stay, one day, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a bloody nose.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she says, and I realize it’s more tears spilling over her cheeks than rainwater.
“Stay here,” I tell her. “With me.”
And when it’s out, I’m surprised at how much I want it. I’ve lived alone all my adult life, but right now, the thought of sharing my apartment with her doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. It feels right, like fate, every single thing on this earth guiding me to this very decision.
So I’m disappointed when she says, “I can’t.”
The disappointment quickly transforms to anger. Everything Addison’s done with me was for the purpose of getting free of her mother. But she’s still under her mom’s thumb, too afraid to make the move that will finally get her safe. “Eventually, she’ll kill you.”
“No.” She says it automatically, but I can see her resolve crumble before my eyes. “Maybe,” she admits. “But I have no money. What am I supposed to do?”
I push her drying hair out of my face. “Stay with me.”
She shakes her head. “What, so I can be your charity case?”
“Addison—“ I start.
She cuts me off. “That’s the only way me staying here won’t result in you losing your job.”
I ponder that, trying to make sense of it. “It doesn’t matter why you’re here. You’re an adult. And fuck my job. You need a place to stay, and I have one.”
She snorts. “That’s more commitment than you’re used to, Dr. Hill,” she says, bitterness in her tone.
“What?”
“Meaning that sooner or later you’ll get sick of me. You’ll want me out, and I’ll have to go crawling back to her.”
“I won’t get sick of you, Addison. You can stay as long as you want.”
“Or until your book is finished, you mean.”
That bitter tone is enough to wound me. How did I become the bad guy, here? Something inside me bubbles up, feeling like rage. I’ve never begged a woman in my life, but I’m feeling so out of control right now that I might. Squeezing my head between my hands, I say, “I want you. Not for your body. Not for the sex. Certainly not for the conversation, because I have to say, Addison, what you’re saying is making no sense.”
Again, she shakes her head, then immediately jumps to standing. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have come here. She knows where I am. When she finds I’m here, you really will get fired.”
I grab her arm before she can reach the front door, whirling her around to face me. “I don’t give a shit, Addison. Do you understand that? Let them fire me. I want you safe.”
She opens her mouth, but just then, there’s another rap on the door. The Chinese food. “Stay,” I tell her, my grip hard on her shoulders, as if I can root her to this spot. “As my student. As my lover. It doesn’t matter what they do to us. Just stay so I know you’re safe right now.”
I stare at her, breathing hard, for an eternity, but she doesn’t speak.
Finally, I pull away from her and retreat to the kitchen, where I’d left the money to pay for my dinner. I pick up the twenty dollar bill and race back to the foyer in mere seconds. But when I get there, the front door is open, and a man in a baseball cap is standing there with the paper bag of food.
Addison is gone.
Addison
Carol hands me a cold washcloth for my cheek. I press it to the sore spot, which has swollen like a balloon, and finish writing the email.
Thank you for accepting my late application. I’ve attached the missing recommendation.
I stare at the words. My mother, saving the day again, had called her “friend” on the admissions board, and they’d made an exception for me. No, problem, right? Not worth breaking someone’s face over.
But my mother doesn’t like to ask favors of people. She doesn’t like to be in the position of weakness. And I’d put her there.
I shudder, thinking of the way she’d stormed into my room and grabbed me by the hair again, tearing it from my scalp as she landed her right hook. I’d just taken it, like her punching bag.
And I’ll have to take it, again and again, while I’m living in Boston with her. There will be no end. And Cain is right. Maybe, one day, she’ll go too far, and I’ll be dead. I can’t put it past her, because she seems to get moodier and more erratic every day.
Carol is flitting around the room, cleaning the kitchen, but I can sense her worried eyes on me. As much as she cares about me, my mother signs her paycheck, and I’ve never fully trusted her to act in my best interest. I snap my laptop shut and hurry upstairs, where I can be alone. When I get to my bed, I check the module online, and there’s a message from Cain. You should’ve stayed. I’m worried about you.
As much as I yearn to, I can’t rely on Cain. He might want me to stay now, but he’s already made it clear that he doesn’t do relationships, or the love thing. What had he said? That’s brutal. And I refuse to stay there when I’m not completely wanted. When I’m just a chore he needs to take on. I can’t rely on him—or anyone—to save me.
Only I can do that.
I don’t respond to him. Instead, I look at the twelve texts Zoe has sent my phone, and type in a, Sorry I missed you today, busy! My mother has access to my phone account, and I know she reads every text, so I’ve always been careful with my phone, which was why I never gave my number to Cain. Whenever I type any messages to people in there, though, it’s always a lie. Zoe asks me how I am, I say I’m great. She asks me if I want to go out somewhere, and I tell her I have to study. My texts are not me, not by a long shot. But who knows who I am, anymore? I’m so good at interpreting how my mother would answer, I don’t even know how I would answer.
It was only with Cain that I could almost see the real me, coming through. And the funny thing is, the little I’d seen of her, I’d liked that person so much better.
If only my mother would agree.
I read the email over again, and again, my finger cursor hovering over the send button. But I can’t do it. Sending this email isn’t just sending a recommendation to complete my application. No, it’s more than that. If I press send, I’m waving the white flag, giving my permission to let this keep happening.
I take a deep breath. Then another.
Maybe I just have to take a breath and jump, and show her exactly who I am.
Even if it’s not good enough for her. Even if it kills me. It’s better than living in this cage.
Then I move to the X and close it out, without sending.
Oh, my God. I’m doing this.
I push away from my computer, find a bag at the bottom of my closet and start wildly throwing things inside. My mother left an hour ago for a client dinner and I know she won’t be home for hours; otherwise, the lump in my throat would be a bowling ball. I alternate between strength and cowardice as I reach into my underwear drawer and pull out ten crisp hundred dollar bills, ones I’d received from my mother for every birthday since I became a teenager. Back when I was thirteen,
I thought I’d use it to buy an Xbox, or a computer, or a car. But my mother always just gave those things to me.
No, I need to use this money to buy the one thing she will never give me.
I tuck it into the pocket of my bag, then pull out my phone and set it on the night table. Then I rush out to my Jeep, get inside, and kiss it all goodbye.
Cain
Fuck the writing.
I haven’t been able to get shit done. Not since Addison went out of my apartment. She’d looked wild, like she might do something crazy.
And I should’ve kept her here. The more I think about it, the more I should’ve done anything to keep her.
I need her. I’m lying in bed, listening to icy pellets of rain hit my window outside when I get a text from an unknown number. Come to 110 at the Patio Court Motel.
I study it for a minute, coming up blank. I know the Patio Court Motel only because it’s a fleabag hotel right outside the main intersection before the college comes into view. Respectable people don’t go there. I’ve never seen any cars in the parking lot, so whenever I’m sitting at the red light on Main, I always imagine the type of clientele. Prostitutes, addicts, that sort of thing. It has a sign outside that offers hourly rates.
Addison couldn’t have . . .
But then again, who else could it be? I type in, Addison?
Just meet me.
I don’t ask. I just do. If this is Addison, I’m not missing the chance to be with her. It’s in a haze that I get myself ready, throwing on jeans and a sweatshirt and racing through driving rain the three miles to the hotel. When I get there, the entire hotel is dark, except for the glowing red VACANCY sign and the glow of a television set coming from the rental office. I strain through the rain-studded windshield, finding 110 at the very end of a strip of 10 doors.
I step outside and into the overhang. Before I can knock, I notice the door is open. “Come in,” a voice calls.
I push the door open into a darkened room, wondering what I’m getting myself into when she launches herself into my arms. She’s naked, her skin warm and soft against mine. Her mouth is open and ravenous on mine.
“Fuck me,” she says. “Fuck me for the first time, as a free woman.”
“What?” I ask. “What are you—“
“I’m running away. Leaving school. I wanted to see you, though, first. Before—“
“What?” I repeat. Every inch of me wants to feel her, touch her, bathe in her, but this is wrong. “You can’t do that, Addison. You have to finish school.”
“I will. Eventually. Not now.”
She kisses me again, and before I can get lost in it, I hold her back. “How are you going to—“
“I got a new phone. I have my car. I have almost a thousand dollars. I’ll go to the city and get a job.”
Her eyes are so wild, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this. Hell, I know I’ve never seen her like this. Where did this come from? And why the hell does it make me feel so angry? I should be glad she’s finally got the nerve to leave her mother. “You’re leaving here?”
She nods, and I realize what it is.
I wanted to be the one she needed. I wanted her to need me the way I . . .
The way I need her. “Don’t,” I say into her hair, inhaling that strawberry scent as she lifts my sweatshirt and delves her warm hands over my torso. I help her take it off me, and hold her to me, savoring the feeling of her skin against mine. I guess it never occurred to me, or I thought I would be the one to go first, because I keep repeating it. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”
She doesn’t. And I make love to her, again and again, holding in my arms the entire time, as if even an inch of separation will mean the end. In the morning, when I wake up with her tucked under the crook of my arm, she says, innocently, “Why don’t you want me to go?”
“I’m not inspired by the sex,” I tell her. “I’m inspired by you, Addison. And love might be brutal, but what’s more brutal is thinking about you, in another city, without me.”
She blinks, studying my face, as if wondering whether I’m telling the truth. But she doesn’t say anything.
“I want you in my class,” I tell her. “But more than that, I want you. Any way I can get you. You got that?”
She swallows and looks away. “I’m scared to death of going to the city, actually. I don’t think I was actually going to go through with it. But I know I can’t stay with my mother. I didn’t complete the application. When she finds out, I’m dead.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t stay with me, because?”
“Because your meeting is tomorrow. If they know I’m staying in your apartment, you’re as good as fired.”
“Let them fire me,” I mutter. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“How can I, if you don’t have a means to support yourself?” she asks. “Have you finished the book?”
“Fuck the deadline,” I tell her. “You’re a priority right now. I’ll deal with that once I know you’re taken care of.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not going to be the one who brings you down, Cain. Even if you hate it, you’re a great teacher. Almost as good a teacher as you are a writer.” She smiles. “I’m giving you all the inspiration you need to finish your book. But I also want you to go into that meeting tomorrow and show my mother that she can’t push everyone around. Can you do that?”
I kiss her. “Yeah. I’ll do that. On one condition.”
She nods, already understanding. “That I stay?”
I smile as I roll onto her, pinning her against the bed. “You’re not my favorite student for nothing.”
Addison
Pure bliss.
That’s all I feel as I lie on my stomach, staring at my newest Creative Writing assignment. I’m on the lumpy mattress in a dank, dark motel room that smells weirdly like stale cigarettes, old Doritos, and mold, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
It’s not though my assignment is good, though it is, I think, the best thing I’ve written. It’s that Cain came in and fucked me senseless, before announcing he was going to the donut shop around the corner to get me breakfast.
I think I’m in love. I should be scared out of my mind. After all, Cain Hill doesn’t do love anymore. But last night, he’d said some things that made me think he’s ready to give it another try. Maybe his doting on me for the past few days is the best I’m going to get out of him, but I can’t help it. I’m completely, hopelessly drowning in him, and maybe I’ll only be content for this moment and the rest of my life will be misery. But right now?
I don’t care.
It’s enough.
I stretch my toes out to the headboard as my fingers work the keys on the assignment. Every so often, I stop to sniff the sleeves of the enormous white dress shirt of Cain’s that I’d put on, which smells deliciously like him. When I think about him coming back, taking me in his arms and touching me again, I’m practically giddy.
When there’s a knock at the door, I realize Cain must’ve forgotten the key. I hop off the bed, smiling as I swing open the door. “What are you—“
I stop.
There are two police officers standing outside my door.
I don’t need to think hard to know that my mother is behind this. But I’m an adult. She can’t possibly think that calling out the police to search for me is a sane thing to do. I’m about to tell them that when they say something that throws me totally off-guard.
“Ms. Wilkinson?”
I stare at them for a full ten seconds, confused, until I remember the false name I’d given the hotel manager when I’d rented the room. I wasn’t sure exactly why, just that I thought it would be safer should my mother call around to find me or report me missing. “Yes?”
The short, stocky man with a graying moustache points into the parking lot, past the police cruiser, to my red Jeep. “Is that your vehicle?”
I nod, pulling at the hem of Cain’s shirt,
even though it covers more than enough, nearly hitting my knees.
The tall one advances on me, reaching for his belt. He pulls out handcuffs, and before I can think to take a step backward, he says, “That vehicle was reported stolen last night. You’re under arrest.”
I shake my head as he takes my wrists and snap the metal cuffs on. “No, that’s my car . . .” I start to explain when I trail off. Actually, it’s my mother’s car. And I’m not even a McBride now, I’m a Wilkinson. “I can explain.”
“You can do so at the station,” the officer grumbles, leading me outside and into the bright sun of early morning, reciting my Miranda rights in a monotone. We only manage two steps before Cain’s car pulls up into the lot, screeching to a stop beside the cruiser. He hops out, his eyes ablaze.
“What the fuck is this?”
He races over to us but the officer holds out his palm and says, “Stay back, sir. This woman is under arrest.”
“They think I stole my mother’s car,” I say to him as I’m jostled into the back of the patrol car.
“That’s ridiculous. It’s her car,” he tries to explain to them, but it quickly becomes clear by the way they move around him like he’s invisible that it’s not happening. When the officer slams the door, I can still hear Cain’s voice, loud and forceful, like gunfire. His eyes flash to mine. “Listen. Addison. I’ll get this sorted out. I promise.”
I’m going to jail. The realization hits as the officers get into the car and I start to pull away, leaving Cain alone in the parking lot. As I watch him, he bangs the top of his car with his fist and shakes his head. I don’t know how things could’ve gone from so perfect to pure hell in the matter of minutes.
I watch his form get smaller and smaller as we drive away from the hotel, and I realize that today’s the meeting with the Dean and my mother. She seems to delight in messing with my life, and I’m her own daughter. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t deserve what she’s going to do to him. She’s not going to stop until she’s completely, totally destroyed him.