“Katie,” he began. “I should take you back.”
“Okay.” I agreed. He stood up and helped me off the bed.
We walked out to his car and he took me to my house. He walked me up to the house and kissed me goodnight.
“Be mine,” he said, asking the simple question sweetly. “Please?” he added.
I nodded kissing him back.
“Oh here,” I said, not forgetting to take off his sweatshirt and handing it to him.
“No.” he wouldn’t take it back.
I frowned.
“Keep it.”
I beamed.
“Katie.”
“Yes?” I asked quietly.
“Tomorrow…” I kissed him cutting off his sentence. “Do you…” I kissed him again. “…want…” and again. “…to…” again, “…hang out…” again, “…with me?” I kissed him long this time, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I stood on my toes for better grip. By now I had completely forgotten that this was the Chris I had met in the eight mile, the one who was in the gang. He seemed too sweet, too kind to me. I had known this boy less than a week and I was already committed to him. I was falling hard too…
“Chris,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Are you in that gang?” I covered my face as if he was going to hit me.
“No, and it’s not a gang,” he replied, helping my arms down. “We’re friends.”
“That’s confusing.”
“I know, but, no, I am not associated with a gang.” He said. “Do you like horses?”
“I guess so, why?”
“I’m not telling, it’s a surprise.”
“Please?” I gave him my best puppy-dog face.
“Nope,” he smiled, got in his car and left.
Chapter Four: Horses
It was the first day since Chris and I started dating that I decided to practice.
I drug my French horn case and music folder to the practice room with the grand piano. I took out my horn and mouthpiece, gently placing them together, and opening my music studies book to the fifth lesson. I began to warm up, running through scales and chromatics, a few arpeggios and the hardest part of the first French horn solo. I got bored. I thought of Chris, how he always had the right words to entertain me.
He and I had been going at this whole bit for about a month now. We had been good at keeping it a secret from my parents and my classmates, because they thought I was dating Zack Michaels. Only Marcus and his friends knew on Chris’s end. I didn’t have friends over here, I had competition.
There was a knock on the door as I day-dreamed.
“Katie,” said the familiar voice of my Articulation Studies Professor. She popped her head through the door.
“Hi,” I said. I put my French horn down on the open case, mouth piece sticking out. I walked over to her; the slight knock of my shoes’ heals on the wood floor echoed through the hall.
“I brought you some music,” she said. “It’s just for solo study but I thought you’d like it.”
“Really? Like what?” I asked her, curiosity finding my vocal chords.
“Beethoven and Bach, a few concertos by Mozart, and Eric Whitacre, your favorite. I transposed the clarinet solo in Lincolnshire Posy to French horn for you. And the Elsa’s Processional to the Cathedral solo in B-flat for Clarinet, I also took the liberty of transposing.”
My mouth fell to the floor. This was beyond astronomical. I loved the music my conductor chose but these, so brilliant, so bright but dark at the same time. They were transposed especially for my solo study.
“This is wonderful, thank you.” I studied the music with my eyes. I needed to know the key signature, the time signature, the tempo or tempos if the music changes, the range. The inexplicable range for clarinet was indescribably difficult for French horn.
“Good, I will be eager to hear you play.”
“Thanks.”
I sat down. I could feel the music move underneath my finger tips as if I were playing it. I could hear it as if I were the greatest soloist of all time.
There was a pounding at the door. “KATIE!” sounded Zack’s high pitched and relevant voice. Without thinking obviously, Zack barged in, in the middle of my session. This was my time; he could leave and come back, or leave and not come back.
There were many things different about his appearance. His shirt was torn, his face was scratched and his eye blackened by the suspected punch of another. His hair was messy, his muscles enlarged and his nose bleeding. I could see the fracture of a bone in his face. It looked painful; I could imagine how it felt.
“Do you like Chris?” He immediately went to the point.
“Chris… who?” I played dumb.
“Why?” he asked, immediately expecting the answer ‘yes’. “What do you mean – Chris who? Don’t play dumb with me missy!” he sounded like a reprimanding father.
“Zack I…” He cut me off.
“Don’t tell me you have no idea who I’m talking about because I know you do.” Wow! He was good at this. That’s what I was going to say.
“Who is that?”
“The guy that took you on the night you were supposed to meet my parents. I told him not to get you prego, he was supposed to get a piece of ass that night, but instead he took you home. Damn Chris. Such a nice guy, well you know what? Nice guys finish last!”
“Oh no.”
“Yes and I know you’re dating him.”
“Why would I --” I began again.
“I don’t know why you would date that loser! I’m so much more rich and better looking.” He admired himself concededly.
“That’s ex--” again with cutting me off.
“I know tha--”
“Shut UP!” I fought for my right to speak.
“What did you say to me?” He walked toward me, making him look bigger than he actually was. His voice was sharper.
“I said, ‘Shut up!’” I repeated myself attempting to push him away. “That’s exactly why I don’t like you at all; you’re too into yourself to notice anyone else around you. You’re a dick Zack!”
I heard the slap before I felt the hot sting across my cheek. He left a Zack-sized hand print on my face. Hot tears spilled over my eyelids and onto the red blemish Zack had placed on my skin. It stung.
“DON’T YOU EVER SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!” he shouted. I thought of someone coming to save me, but no one could hear. The room was sound-proof. “You know what else?”
“What?” He didn’t slap me this time; he punched me, literally right in the kisser. I felt and tasted hot blood trickle out of my lip and onto my school sweater.
“DON’T SPEAK UNLESS YOU’RE SPOKEN TO!” Then he went from raging to horny all in the same minute. “I want some ass.”
Good luck with that. I said inside my head, for fear of getting yet another pound to the head. I didn’t want to become unconscious like I had so many times before.
“Katie, I want you.” His mood went from one end of the spectrum to the other. He kissed me. “Ew…” I managed to squeak out.
His face came to my jaw, expected. I also tried to scurry away and when I was lifted off the floor of the practice room, I swung my elbow back to hit him. I missed.
This day will never end. I thought, hoping and praying for a savior. I was hoping that Chris got my text saying where I was and worried that I didn’t text him back, or coming to the school to surprise me.
After a month and a half of receiving this beating regularly, I was left to lie on the floor crying my eyes out usually, because Zack had a temper like a light switch. Say one wrong thing and he switched to the dark side. Never once had he tried to rape me before because he knew I wasn’t the type. The down side was that everyone made it a big deal at Lightstaff that I was a virgin. He pinned me to the floor.
He sucked at my neck, attempting to turn me on. It did nothing; Zack revolted me. He began to strip me; he tore the left shoulder of my school sweater and hiked up
my skirt.
“Zack get off me!” I screamed and kneed him in the ribs. I knocked the wind out of him long enough to get for the door and crack it open.
He pushed his body harder on my abdomen so I couldn’t breathe.
“No! Zack get off!” I attempted to push him off me. It was no use.
His hands moved from the buttons of my sweater to the clasp of my bra.
“Zack stop!” I shouted, making another attempt at trying to get him off me.
“Shut up, you little bitch. I’m going to get what I want! And I want you! That damn cousin of mine can’t have it.” There was nothing right with his voice. “I’m going to fuck you and there’s nothing you can do about it! You’re too weak to overthrow me.” There was nothing right with his voice at all. I attempted to keep my legs closed so he couldn’t get at me. I wasn’t going to let him inject me with the needle that I didn’t want from him of all people. I wondered if this is what those girls who actually got raped felt like, even if it hadn’t happened to me yet. I didn’t think it could happen to me, yet it was happening.
I lie on the floor, looking at the ceiling, pleading with God. Please help, Lord!
“Get off!” shouted my savior’s voice. Then there was nothing on top of me. I pulled down my skirt and searched for my sweater through a translucent shield of tears. I wanted to die. This was beyond the worst day of my life. I didn’t want to move, too exhausted to even think about this day, this hour, and this minute. All he had left to do was to get through the tiny piece of fabric I called underwear. He had been so close. I only thanked my savior. But what if he wasn’t a savior at all; I couldn’t see. What if he was after me too? What if my savior turned out to be a psychopathic stalker that wanted exactly what Zack wanted? What if after Zack he came back to finish me?
I whipped my tears with the sleeve of my sweater and heard Zack screaming and begging for mercy. I dared to look over at Zack’s unconscious body lying on the floor beside the piano. Where was the guardian? Then I saw his feet in front of me. He bent down. I shook with fear.
“Baby,” he sat down next to me. “Are you OK? Did he hurt you in any way?” Chris’s arms out stretched towards me. All I could do was just cry. I couldn’t find my words, there were none, accept three.
“I love you.” I said, for the first time to anyone besides my mom and dad.
“I love you too, Katie.” He said. “It’s OK. I’m here now.”
And all the while I wondered where he came from.
It was that Saturday Chris came to dorm room 401B to get me.
“I’m sorry Katie,” he said, sitting on my bed. Ella was out somewhere, a normal thing. We just left each other notes. That way when the dorm advisor came we had reliable excuses of where we were, but she didn’t really care where we were, just that we were safe.
Safe. I thought. A big word for only four letters. I looked out the window; the autumn sun was rising on the east still. I pulled a Hollister sweatshirt over my head, pulled on the jeans I kept in the closet in case I went out, and nodded my head hard so my sunglasses would fall onto the bridge of my nose.
For what? I wondered. But I knew I hadn’t been as talkative as I normally was lately.
I was trailing out the door and on my way down the stairs; he jumped in front of me to open the door. I loved this, he was very thoughtful.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Oh that. If I talked about it, I would easily relive the event, and we didn’t want that.
“Say something.”
“Something.”
“Smartass.” He smiled the perfect smile I knew to be mine. I smiled too.
“See, you smiled too.” He drove out of the parking lot where he was parked beside my Bentley. He drove nicely with me compared to with his friends because he knew I hadn’t done much wrong since, well a long time ago. I was five.
I had brought my dad’s pocket knife to school, by accident. I didn’t know much then. I was just a kid and I didn’t know that bringing a knife to school was bad.
I imagined that day on the way to our date. He refused to tell me where we were going. I gazed out the window, almost freezing at the thought of stepping foot in the evil snow in two weeks when we were supposed to get it.
Forty-five minutes later Chris’s Neon pulled up in Lon Black’s Horse Ranch.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“We’re going riding today.”
“Really?”
He just nodded, searching the country land for a stable.
I didn’t remember the last time I’d been riding. I had met my friend Kyle there. I met him before I went to Lightstaff my first year. He was the head trumpet player and his dad was a cop in downtown Detroit.
“Chris,” I said, getting his attention. He pulled up to the farthest stable. “How much is this costing you?”
“Nothing.” He opened his door and got out.
I tilted my head in disbelief. “Really?”
He was already on my side to open the door for me. “Yes really.”
“But I thought that riding horses was expensive.”
“It is.” He walked up to the stable gates and he unlatched it going inside. I followed.
“Then how are you getting the money to do this?” I asked, immediately realizing that I had insulted him. Well his way of life, I knew that he couldn’t afford it. I knew that it would be bad to say such a thing. And I felt bad for even mentioning the subject.
“I have a job, and I’m not broke.” He said. “Plus it helps if you know the owner.”
“Who are they?”
“My dad and step-mom.” He pulled out a horse and put a saddle on it. I stopped dead in my tracks. “Like your real dad?” He handed me the reigns.
“Yeah, but for now my step-mom and my uncle are helping take care of them.”
“Why?” I waited for him to get his horse saddled before I mounted mine.
“My dad is in Afghanistan,” he said quietly.
“He’s a soldier in the war?” I was fascinated now. There was no taking my mind off this subject. My dad had always wanted me to go into the military. I wasn’t so sure.
“Yes,” he said. I mounted the ginger-haired horse he gave me. He followed my lead then caught up with me when we got to the pasture.
“So what does he do exactly?”
“I don’t know; he can’t really talk about it over the phone.”
“How often do you talk to him?
“Not often.”
“How often is that?”
“Every other month,” he said.
“I remember when my dad went to Iraq – he…” he cut me off.
“Your dad’s a veteran?” The look on his face was MasterCard commercial priceless.
“Yep,”
“Which branch?”
“Army- National Guard.”
“What did he do?”
“He was an engineer.” I questioned my thinking. My dad didn’t really talk about the war that much. He mostly just yelled at me as if I was one of his soldiers. Since I moved to Lightstaff, it was different. I never really saw much of my father then.
We rode around the bend in the ranch pasture and I stopped in front of the wide open range to admire the scenery. I could feel his eyes on me when we stopped. I just looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He said. He stopped looking at me and gazed back out at the sunset.
I sat gazed at him right then. His face was perfect, his upper body muscular, his skin toned and the sun shown perfectly so you could see his “five o’clock shadow”. I smiled at him.
“What?”
“Did I ever thank you for saving me? From Zack I mean.”
“No, that was a given. But it’s nice to hear just the same.” He smiled the smile that made me melt. Not the one he gave me right after a smartass remark.
“Katie,” he said his voice sadder now. He followed the path with his horse. “When am I going to meet your parents?”
I hesitated. �
��Umm….”
“Babe,” his voice was that warning tone. “When am I going to meet your parents?” It was as if he was saying, ‘Am I ever going to meet them?’
I hadn’t even thought about it. They still thought I was attempting to date Zack even though I did tell my mom to keep him as far away from me as possible. Should I tell him that? I’m not good with this relationship stuff.
“To tell you the truth, I hadn’t even thought about it,” I said waiting for a swing. Chris wasn’t like that though, even though I’d spent numerous hours with Zack and was used to being hit when I wasn’t sure of something he asked me. I frequently had a bloody lip or a black eye.
“Katie,” he said, whining.
“Baby, I’m sorry but they still think I’m dating Zack. It I bring you up they’ll think I’m cheating on Zack. And my parents would pull me from Lightstaff for that.”
He was quiet a moment but seemed to accept the inevitable.
“When are you—watch your head…” I ducked for cover. “going to tell them you’re not with Zack?”
“I think I already told them. It’s not like they’ll remember anyway.”
He laughed. “You promise?” he asked.
“I promise.” I nodded. I didn’t really want to tell them. But still I felt bad for not already bringing him up to my parents.
It was quiet a little while and then I said, “What are you thinking?”
“I feel bad; I have to be a secret in your life and that I can rant and rave to my friends about you as often as I want to.”
“You have friends.”
“Haha very funny.”
“Why feel bad? Why not angry or sad or something?”
“Because it’s just…” He stopped. As I listened I could hear his horse’s hooves on the pavement. “—I don’t know,” he continued. “All of my friends love you. They think you’re perfect, that you’re rich and smart. You care so much; you put passion into your music, that’s all you think of—“ I cut him off, in the middle of his rave.
“You’re my only friend.” I pointed out.
“True,” he said. “All that and you’re hot.”
“You don’t think I’m hot?” I asked. Trick question.
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