My phone buzzes.
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JENNY: Done. Did you want to add some copy?
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ME: It should say: “This was recorded at the Ansted Middle School Auditorium in Ansted, West Virginia, on September 21st, 2012. The voices are those of Sadie Sparks and Donnie McGraw, Ansted’s Chief of Police.” That’s it.
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JENNY: Got it.
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ME: Thank you.
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I brush my hair out. What am I going to do? I scrub my face too hard with my beige face wash. I’m going to sleep in the same bed with the only man I’ve ever loved. The only man I haven’t been able to keep my hands off for an entire day. I’m not ready for this. I’m just going to tell him he’s being ridiculous and needs to go home. Besides, I’m safe in here.
What was that?
Outside the bathroom window, I just saw something move by the tree. Is it Donnie? He knows Dillon is in here with me. I turn off the light. Staring at that same spot for what seems like ages, I see nothing. No. I’m just imagining things. There’s no one out there. I’m just paranoid.
I tiptoe toward my room but walk past the light shining on the floor from the bottom of the door and turn the lock on the front door. I walk to the kitchen and lock the back door. No sense in making it easy on him to get in if he is out there. Daddy had a gun, didn’t he? I bet it’s up in the closet of Momma’s room.
Here goes nothing. I open the door to my room and find Dillon lying on the bed on top of the covers. He’s wearing some snug, grey boxer briefs and a white sleeveless T-shirt.
Whoa
He is a man now. His arms and chest are so powerfully built—not bulky, just defined and full of vigor. Through the thin fabric of his shirt on his stomach I can see ripples of muscles tucked under the upside down V of his chest. I don’t want to look below his waistband. I’m still too afraid. My mouth goes dry.
“Is that a wife beater?” I ask, remembering Jake calling it that yesterday.
He laughs, “Yeah, that’s another name for it, I guess.” His deep laugh makes my nerves fizzle away like bubbles in a lukewarm bath. He pats the unoccupied side of the bed. “Come here,” he says. The nerves come right back.
I drop my dress on the chair and plug my phone into the charger on the desk.
That’s when I notice on his left bicep is a huge tattoo that stretches all the way down, almost to his elbow. Part flower, part print. My name is on the top in dark black, cursive ink. Below it is a flower that has always grown wild in our yard each year. It’s a ‘great laurel,’ as Momma always called them, a long-petaled, pink-tipped flower with slight green accents. It has long tendrils that reach out to find a bee for pollination. It’s quite beautiful and makes me realize that it must remind him of me. Below the great laurel is a poem or a verse. It says,
Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot sweep it away.
“It’s pretty,” I say, rubbing my left arm and giving him a slight smile.
“It’s nothing like the original,” he says, unfaltering. I feel like swooning. How does he do this to me?
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“It means, it means that I belong to you,” he says, staring into my eyes. I look at the corner of the room to escape the overwhelming sincerity in his eyes. My heart beats like a little scared bunny.
“The poem is kind of gloomy.”
“It’s from the Bible,” he says. “Do you remember it?”
As I’m trying to remember the verse, he pats the bed again. I rub the annoying lump in my throat, and turn off the room light. The moon casts a blue hue over everything. There are little shadows flitting around coming from the wind blowing through the trees outside my room. My heartbeat staggers, then it feels as though it cannot stay in my body as fast as it is beating.
I cross my wrists in front of my body and look back to the corner of the room. He’s going to have to help me. I can’t go to him right now. I feel stuck to the ground.
“I think we need to talk about the rules again,” I admonish and peek at him through my lashes.
“Sadie, you have nothing to worry about.”
I raise an eyebrow. How can he be so sure? “After all that’s happened today,” I say under my breath.
“I want you, more than you know. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to show you how I feel about you. That’s not what I’m saying. But I want to wait to make love to you until we’re married,” he says, resolute.
“Who says I’m ever getting married?”
“Well, if you’re not, then I guess I’m going to be celibate the rest of my life,” he jokes as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and leans his forearms on his knees.
“I doubt it,” I pout and cross my arms across my chest. I look away. Ms. Robbins is probably ready to help him out in that department.
“I’m not going to mess this up like I did last time, Sadie,” he says, sitting upright.
“Like last time?”
“When I kissed you, touched you. You were too young. It was an accident, but you ran off because of me.”
“Dillon,” I try.
“And, if I understand this right, you’ve never been with a man,” he says, cautiously and I think for a moment.
“Technically...” I shake my head no.
“And what I want,” he says, cutting me off, “what I need, is for your first real experience to be done right. I want it to be pure and real, just like you—like us.”
“I’m hardly a virgin, Dillon. You know that only so well.”
“To me, you are.” It’s like the wind just got knocked out of me. I put my head down and bite my thumbnail so he can’t see the ugly cry face. I turn and walk toward the corner of the room. I hear the bed squeak as he gets up and walks over to stand behind me. “Sadie?”
I shake my head no.
“What happened to you is not the same thing as what’s going to happen between us, darlin’.” His voice is soft like warm butter.
That hole in my chest is throbbing. I want him to fill it up. But I’m scared as hell. If he touches me I might crumble into dust.
“I believe you,” I say, through my knotted throat.
I feel his warmth as he moves closer to me. I shakily reach behind and find his arm, pull on his tender strong hand and wrap it around my stomach. His other arm moves my hair away from my left shoulder before it meets with the first. He leans in and moves down to kiss me gently on my neck.
“I will never let you get hurt again,” he whispers into my ear. Oh, that’s it. I can’t control the profound guttural cry that comes up from the deepest part of my spirit, the most wounded part. The part where maybe a bit of the old Sadie has still lived all these years. He holds me as I lean back into him. He takes the tremors coming from my body, absorbs them like shocks.
Holding onto his hand, I turn around to face him. I take his hand and place it over my heart just at the top of my breast. He closes his eyes, his lips purse together in an expression that looks like both pain and pleasure.
God, I love this man. Before I know I’m going to say it, I do, “I want you to make love to me right now.”
He shudders, closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the ceiling. He shakes his head from side to side, softly as if he’s thinking of the right thing to do. He looks down, his jaw squared and strained and leans into me. My heart staggers and I gasp slightly.
This is it!
He wraps me up in his arms, picks me up off the floor so we’re eye to eye. He moves his left arm under my knees so that he’s holding me like his bride over the threshold. I wrap my arms around his neck as he kisses me softly. It’s a pure kiss—enduring, worshiping, cherishing. Gingerly, he places me on the bed as if I’m a fine piece of silk. He pulls away, standing at the edge of the bed and looks down at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time
.
“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you’d be all grown up,” he whispers, leans down to me and runs his long thin finger along my jaw line before he lies down along my left side. My body starts to quiver beside him as I turn to my side and wrap my arm around his waist pulling him toward me. He feels so right.
“Oh, what I could do to you right now,” he says, putting his arms on either side of my face. I feel as though I’m being cradled by him. The feeling of his body touching the full length of mine is intoxicating. He cannot hide the fact that he wants me, too. A man’s body gives everything away, I think, as I push up against his developing arousal. I’m aching for him to touch back. It hurts for him not to.
Shutting his eyes, he pulls away from me slightly, his face pained. “It’s very difficult to say no to you, baby.” His warm breath heats my cheek. “But now’s not the time. Do you understand why?”
No. Yes.
He opens his eyes. “I’ve always imagined our first time being after taking off your white wedding gown in our room in our big white house.” I smile, remembering his promise to buy me that house. He smiles back, “I’ve seen it that way since we were kids. You deserve that, Sadie—we do,” he says, looking into my eyes. His face is half in the light, half in the dark, but he’s all good.
He’s right. I only said that because I just want him to make me feel better, take the other memory—the bad one—and replace it with him; but that’s not how it really works. I’m not ready. He knows me better than I know myself.
This should happen when we’re both in a clear state of mind and I know nothing right now except that I love him and I always have. I don’t know about marriage, about staying here. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or two weeks from now. So, now’s not the time. He’s teaching me, again. I don’t think it’ll ever get old. I nod my head yes and he smiles, amorously.
“I can’t believe you’re here feeling so perfect,” he says, as he pushes his body even more snuggly into mine, “wanting me back,” he says, putting his right leg over top of mine, as his eyes move around my face and back to my gaze. He grasps my chin, runs his nose the full length of mine, and takes my lips between his, gracefully, gently, asking for nothing. Just showing how he feels for me. “I want it to be perfect for you,” he whispers up to my lips, tickling them.
He has incredible self-control not to just seize what I was willing to give. It, literally, takes my breath away for a moment. He kisses my forehead and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.
He pulls the covers over us and draws me up so that my back is molded into his chest. Our legs cross over one another’s. His arms cradle me and our hands become one over my heart. “Sleep, baby,” he says, as he breathes me in.
And I do.
Chapter Fifteen—Between Awake and Asleep
I’m warm and wrapped up tight with the quilt and Dillon’s arms. I want to feel content, but something feels off in the room. It’s still dark out when my eyes flicker open. The room is illuminated by the slight glow of the moon; tree shadows dance about as my eyes begin to focus.
This has happened to me so many times. It’s as if being asleep and being awake overlap for a brief moment and my dream manifests itself into the air. Sometimes it will be a gigantic spider posturing above me or walking along the wall; more often, it will be a butterfly, a large one that flits around the very top of my canopy bed at home.
Very rarely, I will see what looks like a man. Not his features or his clothes—just his shape leering from the corner of the room. I don’t jump, ever, anymore because I know what this is. Dr. Amy has explained it to me so many times. It happens when I’m stressed and sleep deprived. Like now, I think to console myself.
It used to happen all the time after...and it used to dump me right out of my bed and push me, full of tremors and fright, into Aunt Lotty’s in the middle of the night. It’s called Hypnagogic Hallucination and it will be over in a minute. I blink.
It’s still there.
I blink again, and a quake runs through my nervous system. There is a black figure in the corner of the room farthest from the door. This one’s not going away like they usually do. I close my eyes as tight as they will go and pinch Dillon’s fleshy arm between my thumb and forefinger. He jerks his arm away and bolts suddenly upright.
It all happens so fast. As the shape in the corner darts toward my side of the bed, I scream from the deepest part of my psyche and charge backwards slamming my skull into the headboard. The pain is nothing compared to the fear. A monstrous fear that comes from the past slamming into the present all at once.
He got in.
Dillon puts his arm over me and pulls me behind him on the bed.
“Run!” Dillon shouts, as he darts up and pushes Donnie, slamming his back into the other corner of the room. But Donnie shoves back and Dillon has to step backward with his right leg to stabilize himself. Donnie tramples into the light from the window and the two men wrestle to get the upper hand. I realize then that he’s wearing a dark facemask and midnight-stalker clothes.
Dillon swings first, striking Donnie in the nose, it crunches and his head snaps back.
When Donnie’s head comes back to center, he thrusts his fist into Dillon’s gut once so hard that it sounds like thunder clapping in the sky and then punches him in the eye hard enough that even I see stars.
Dillon moans in pain and then Donnie takes advantage by holding his head in place so he can beat him over and over in the face. The sound of Dillon being punched, an empty sound like a watermelon falling to the floor, makes me cringe and roll up into a ball.
“Stop!” I yell, helplessly, frantic. This is all my fault. He’s going to kill him. I never should have come here. I can’t call Donnie’s name or else he’ll kill us now for sure. How can I distract him?
I bolt up to my feet on the bed as Dillon staggers and falls to one knee. Donnie looks at me wild eyed and evil as he walks around and purposefully kicks Dillon in the back, knocking him face down on the floor. Dillon rocks back and forth as if his mind says to get up but his body won’t respond.
Donnie moves away from Dillon and stands wide-legged at the edge of the bed. His eyes stab through mine in the night like bullets.
My eyes flit back and forth between the two brothers. One who would do anything to protect me, and the other who has hurt me more than should be humanly possible.
He says nothing. I say nothing as I stand here vulnerably, shaking so hard the bed feels like an earthquake.
“Just do it!” I taunt him. “Everyone will know the truth,” I whisper, in a low warning. “I have proof,” I state, full of rage and fright. Dillon gets to his knees, finds his balance and reaches out, getting between Donnie and me.
Sounding like a siren, the baby starts to cry from upstairs. Donnie’s knees bend and his arms go up in shock. It’s as if he hadn’t realized there were others in the house with us.
Getting a little reckless?
“Sadie!” Dillon shouts, as he scurries up, in front of the bed, blocking me from his brother like a human shield.
Donnie walks past him, slowly, methodically as if he’s not sure he’s really going to leave us alive. He passes through the doorframe like a phantom. We both jump as we hear the front door slam into the wall next to it as it’s opened so fast and with such force.
Dillon is breathing fiercely as he bellows, “We have to call 911!”
Yeah, like that’s going to help!
Because sometimes when I’m scared it looks like I’m angry, I push away from him and stomp up the stairs.
Missy, holding little Joe, wide-mouthed and loud, opens the door before I reach it.
“What’s going on down there?” Missy says, with squinting eyes.
“He’s here!” is all I can manage, as I push her out of the way, run past Momma’s bed and pull on the closet door handle. “Where’s Daddy’s gun?” I say, my voice audibly shaky. Missy turns on the light as Dillon bursts into the roo
m.
“Dillon? What are you doing here!” Missy cries, shocked most likely by the fact that Dillon is in his underwear.
“Someone was in the house,” Dillon says. I’m pulling down boxes in the closet, searching. Frantic to find what I need—Where’s the gun? Daddy’s gun? He will not hurt me again.
I hear Dillon pick up the phone on Momma’s nightstand and tap the buttons.
“We’ve had a break-in...Yes, that’s the correct address. It was a man...all black, yes...black mask. Tall...muscular build. No...okay, yes...No, I have to go. Just get here fast,” he says, before walking into the closet with me. I stop to take in what’s happened to his face. His nose is bleeding and the soft skin under his left eye is turning a light purple.
The baby is still crying and Missy is humming a lullaby. I rub my knotty throat.
“Momma, just go back ta sleep. Everything’s fine,” Missy says, as little Joe starts to lower his cry to a whine.
“Sadie.” His voice is shaky. “What are you looking for?”
“Daddy’s gun—the hand gun he taught me with,” I assert, as I pull on a box and another one falls above it. Dillon has to jump in front to keep it from hitting me on the forehead. He grabs it with both hands and puts it on the floor as I look down at my feet. “I need the gun!” I declare.
I’m shaking so hard that my teeth begin to chatter. “Baby. You’re safe now. He’s gone,” he says, as he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. He feels jittery, warm. His skin is soft, but moist with that quick-sweat that rises on the skin during times of fear. The hairs on his arm prickle the top of mine as he consoles me. His heart is beating like the sound of the railway as he runs the tips of his fingers up and down my trembling back. I want to let go. Let him take over for me. Give up. But I can’t. I won’t.
“Did he touch you?” he asks, as he pulls me away from him for an inspection.
“No, I just banged my head, that’s all. You should go get some ice for your face, though,” I say, as I pick up a towel from the shelf and wipe his bloody nose with it. The under part of his eye is a deep grey and puffed up now, and a bruise on his jaw is coloring in front of me as I watch. Gently, he starts to check my head for a bump. When he touches it, I wince and his hand stops.
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