by Leanne Davis
She was captivated by his intensity. Luckily, the elevator dinged and opened. She turned toward it, her breath rushing out of her in “whoosh!” of relief. God, what just happened?
They both exited, walking towards the front doors together, but not together. He paused at the entrance, and held the door for her, always polite, respectful, and courteous. She liked that about him, and missed it. Like she missed everything else about him.
“Where are you parked?”
“I’m not. I ride the bus now.” She kept her head down. She could not risk having him see her eyes. He saw too much, and knew too much… and it made her feel too much.
“And it’s where?”
“Down the block.”
Pause. “It’s raining.”
“I won’t melt.”
“No, I guess you won’t. I could give you a ride though.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t need a ride.” I need so much more. But, of course, she didn’t say that.
He hesitated, tapping his foot. Finally, he asked, “Everything going okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine,” she lied.
He stared, and she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her, seeing every lie and every mistake she ever made, while she stared down at the wet, slick pavement.
“Glad to hear it.”
He didn’t believe a word. She hated how they suddenly started to talk like she was his little sister’s, one-time, best friend. She hated they were now just acquaintances: nice, polite, banal. They were uninvolved, uncaring… nothing. She had become nothing to him.
She started walking, putting her arms around herself for warmth, and he watched her leave. The evening was bitterly cold and dark. She headed towards the bus stop, wrapping her scarf around her neck and ears, huddling into it for warmth. She thought about lying to Nick. But Nick seemed to always know the truth about her, no matter what she told him. The difference was, now she finally understood what Nick saw.
She felt miserable. Exhausted. Aching. Tired. She couldn’t shake it.
Nick was right about everything he’d ever said to her. She was a naive little girl. A stupid, blind, little girl. She was being used, and worse, she nearly invited people to use her. Rob. His friends. The band. She managed to alienate herself from the one friend she had outside of them because her intense need of his company scared her. She started missing him when she missed work. He left her with an ache she couldn’t explain. An ache she should have felt for her husband. It scared her. Confused her. Made her miserable. So she lashed out at Nick. And she succeeded in driving him away.
She was trying as hard as she could to make things better with Rob. She had sex whenever he wanted to, attended all his gigs, listened to his songs, watched him drink, and watched him party. And she never said a word about it.
Rob did get a job; she didn’t lie about that. He started working at a tattoo parlor, and was soon coming home with more money than she could reasonably see anyone getting as a new hire, an inexperienced one at that. Rob was into something bad. She just didn’t know exactly what.
She sank down onto the bus seat. How could this have become her life? A husband who drank too much, was gone too much, noticed her too little, yet compensated with his talent, his voice, and his music. And now she was convinced he was doing something bad, something illegal, and something much worse than just being too lazy to work.
She got off at the bus stop near her house, walking onto the dark, shadowed streets and waiting for a few cars to rattle past. She shivered, feeling slow, and very tired. Dreading the moment she would get home, she cursed herself for having nowhere else to go.
Things were unraveling. She felt it in her bones. Rob was coming undone.
The house came into view, and up the hill she trudged, slower than usual. All her energy seemed to have abandoned her, and even this walking, sauntering really, was becoming too much. She came to the front door, and entered quietly. Where was everyone? She was surprised to find the house empty.
No one was home! There was nothing to deal with, just herself. She started through the hallway, crossing the dirty floor. When was the last time anyone bothered sweeping? Dust balls followed her. She’d given up housecleaning months ago. She was too damned exhausted.
She stepped into their bedroom and threw her purse down on the floor next to the dresser. She started to turn when she heard a noise. Startled, she thought the flash of movement she glimpsed was Rob, and stopped dead, unmoving. There was a man standing there.
He was tall, and all of his muscles had gone to fat. He was wearing stained sweats and a dirty t-shirt, with long, stringy hair. His stink permeated the room. Holy shit. There should not be a strange man in her room. She opened her mouth to scream, but never got to.
He crossed over to her in seconds, and grabbed her, slamming her back into the door. Her neck snapped and her head banged against it. The first punch landed on her jaw, and, jerking her head back, the excruciating pain exploded in her brain as her eyes filled with tears. Holy Christ, it hurt. The unexpected, intense pain caused by someone hitting her came as a shock. She whimpered, and raised her hands to protect herself from his relentless, pummeling fists.
Was this how she would die? Sinking down to the floor, the strange man sank with her.
****
Waking up to an empty bedroom, she shook her head. Where was she? Where was he? How long had she been out? She moved her hands, and then her arms, relieved to find she could. Her head was killing her, and her face was tightly contorted with pain. She crawled out of the room, ignoring the agony in her midsection. Had he broken all her ribs?
She got to the hallway, and reached the phone, terrified, with each step that the man would come back and finish her off. She heard steps, then the front door opening. Oh God, no!
The footsteps sounded familiar and she nearly collapsed with relief. It was Rob. He stopped when he spotted her, on her hands and knees, clutching the phone.
“Joelle?” Rob hurried over. “What happened?”
“Someone was in our bedroom. He attacked me before I could get out,” she said, turning towards him, and nearly collapsing on him.
Instead of taking her in his arms, or rushing to her side showing worry or concern, he suddenly stiffened and got up, pulling her with him.
“What did he want?”
“I-I don’t know.”
She looked up as Rob hovered over her. Confusion kept muddling her thoughts and head. What was wrong here? Why wasn’t Rob the Cavalry? Why didn’t he save her? Or hold her? Or even care for her? Or call the police? Why wasn’t he furious to discover that someone had done this to her in their own home? Her head was throbbing with bewilderment, and she didn’t understand. Not one bit of it.
Then, Rob suddenly turned and smashed his fist through the wall, his anger nearly steaming from him. She slid to the floor, whimpering in fear. No. Oh God, no! She couldn’t take the pain of being hit again.
“God damn it! Did he find it? Did he?”
“Find what?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”
She started to get up again, but her posture was sloppy, and she had to grip the wall, clutching her side where the intruder must’ve kicked her. Oh God, what was this?
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
What she’d done? Tears filled her eyes, spilling over her eyelids. Rob pushed her into the wall, and his muscles bunched and strained.
What was happening?
Rob was strung out. She closed her swollen eyelids in defeat. Petrified, and in sudden, overpowering helplessness, she could see he was completely high. What might he do to her?
His pupils were dilated, his speech slurred, and his body wired. He didn’t seem to realize it was Joelle he was pushing, or how to restrain his own strength. He wasn’t seeing her. He wasn’t even coherent about what happened to her. She felt afraid of Rob, something she never dreamed she feel. Glancing over Rob’s shoulder, she saw she was alone. For once, there
was no one else with Rob, and no one to save her.
She was all alone, and already beaten, and now Rob was holding her against the wall, pushing his hands into her shoulders, and pinning her there. His strength was unchecked and unnoticed by him as it pushed into her. He looked at her, his face close and very harsh.
He suddenly looked at her mouth, before grinding his mouth onto hers. Hard and punishing, the pain of his teeth and lips made her groan into his mouth. Her blood covered their tongues. She pushed against him, but he merely immobilized her. She needed a doctor, the police, a hug, an ice pack. But Rob, her husband, was holding her against the wall, and nearly assaulting her with the pressure of his kiss. She tried to move her head, and shake him off, but she couldn’t.
He pushed his groin into hers. It was hard, brutal, and intense. She felt sicker than she did during the previous assault. This was humiliating, and worst of all, it was from Rob, not a barbaric stranger. She started to cry again, and the tears fell from her eyes. She screamed, but it came out only as a terrified squeak in his mouth. Finally, he lifted his mouth off hers, and blinked. He looked at her face, her neck, and her chest. Then he shook his head, and took his hands off her.
This time, a rush of adrenaline cushioned any pain, or any hesitation, and she scrambled for the front door, wrenching it open, and trying to escape her home, her husband, and her life.
It had finally turned that grave, that serious, and that horrible. She stumbled across the lawn, terrified Rob would grab her again. Terrified he would drag her back into the house and rape her, and hurt her more. She didn’t know where the intruder’s assault ended and Rob’s began just then. Or what she’d done wrong. She only knew she had to get away from there. Now.
She was on the sidewalk, running, trembling, crying, and hurting. Glancing over her shoulder, there was nothing but the empty street, garbage cans, old cars and the occasional dog barking. No one stopped her. No one asked to help her. No one came behind her. For that, she was eternally grateful.
It was pouring down a heavy, soaking rain. She wore only a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and her boots. Without a penny in her pockets, no identification, no car keys, she had nothing and no one in the world to go to. She was bleeding, bruised, gasping for breath, and praying for help. Her tears slowed, until shock numbed her. Still, she had to do something. She had to go somewhere. Where? Where could she go without any money, transportation, or even a coat?
Then her racing heart slowed down, and her blood wasn’t pumping so hard. There was only one person in the entire world she knew of who would help her. No matter what. No matter what she’d done or said. No matter what she ever did. Nick was the only safe haven she had.
Chapter Sixteen
There were a dozen or so couples milling about Nick’s condo; all young, well dressed, clones of Erica and himself in one way or another. They all enjoyed a gourmet dinner, prepared by Nick’s housekeeper. Erica chose the selection, set the elegant table, and poured the wine, ever the all-around perfect hostess. Nick was grateful for her skills, her quiet, sophisticated grace and uncanny sense of style. She was dressed in an eye-catching brown and gold dress, with her long hair cascading down one side of her head. She and Nick were entertaining a potential customer, a man with more money than some small companies earned in a lifetime, and more finicky than any man had the right to be. Nick intended for his elaborate dinner party to finally cinch an otherwise impossible deal.
He was trying to be impressive; showing his professionalism, class, intelligence and discretion; and doing a nice job of pulling it off too. Nick owed much of the success to Erica’s involvement: her clever conversation, party demeanor, and keen ability to keep everyone talking, comfortable, and happy, without seeming contrived or boring.
Halfway into the night, there was a knock at his front door. He motioned to Helen, the housekeeper on duty tonight, to answer it, and turned back to George Gunderson, the proud mayor of Seattle. A strong political presence never hurt, after all.
Nick frowned when, moments later, Helen softly touched his arm inconspicuously to get his attention. He tilted his head back so she could quietly speak to him.
“When I answered the door, there was a young girl there. I think she’s in trouble. I thought I’d better tell you. She saw me, and I seemed to frighten her. She turned to leave without a word.”
Nick sat still for a full ten seconds before putting down his wine glass, and, without another word, leaving the mayor, who was mid-sentence in their discussion. There could only be one young girl that Nick knew who would be so scared of Helen answering the door, she would turn and leave without a word. And it sure as hell wasn’t one of his sisters.
Nick strode quickly through the living room, past his guests, to the front door, which he yanked open and slammed behind him. A small, slight figure, waiting by the elevator at the end of the elegant hallway, was visible in the recessed lighting. She was huddled on the beige carpet against the pale green wall. Joelle. She nearly faced the wall with her head bent, and a hood up over her hair. She was also soaking wet. Water dropped off her, pooling into the tightly woven, pristine carpet.
He walked closer to her, but stopped several feet away, and waited a moment. She didn’t raise her head or acknowledge him, but jammed her hands deeper into her pockets. “What are you doing here?” Nick asked her. “And why didn’t you wait to see me?”
She didn’t turn, but he saw her back stiffen as she huddled deeper into her sweatshirt. “Forget it,” she whispered in a voice so quiet, he had to step closer to hear her. “I didn’t know you were having a dinner party. I’ll just see you at work.”
The elevator doors opened and she started to step in.
He grabbed her arm. She tensed up unnaturally as she tried to yank her arm from his fingers.
“Hold it a second,” he said as he pulled her towards him, letting the elevator doors shut as it descended. “What’s going on?”
The hood began to shake and he sighed. “Why do you always have to be so damned difficult?”
Reaching a hand under her chin, he raised her face towards the light. She strained her head back, and tried to shrug him off, turning her chin to escape him, but not before he glimpsed her face: one swollen eye, a split lip, and bruised, puffy cheeks. He cursed out loud, never expecting to find her like that.
Just then, the door down the hall opened. A well-dressed, older couple emerged and started walking towards them. They were chatting, and talking happily to each other. The couple stopped beside them at the elevators, and Joelle shrunk into herself. Nick put his hand on the wall over Joelle’s head, blocking her from the couple’s view. She finally, painfully, raised her face ever so slightly up to his. Tears brimmed on her eyelids and her lips trembled. She was scared… freezing… and completely desperate.
A thick silence descended into the hallway as the couple sensed something was awry. When the elevator came, they got in, but not before giving Nick an odd look. He let out a long breath when the doors finally closed and his stomach cramped. God. Damn. What did Rob do to her?
How could he not know right off? It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and raining. Joelle wouldn’t show up for no reason. It had to be something major and life-shattering for Joelle. She turned into the wall. “I don’t want to interrupt your party. I have to go.”
“Where? Where are you going to go?”
“You’re hosting a party.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about that stupid party in there. What did he do to you?”
She trembled at his threatening tone. Her body jerked almost as if his words, themselves, were striking her. He shut his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out. Fuck. He was scaring her. Everything would scare her now. He had to calm down. If only for her sake.
“It’s not like that. He didn’t do all of this,” Joelle answered softly.
“Then who did?” Nick kept his voice even, quiet, and tried to sound soothing.
“Please. Just forget I came by here. It wa
s a mistake.”
His jaw ached from clenching it. Was she for fucking real? Did she really think he’d let her leave like this? Without helping her? After her wounds were healed, he vowed to someday convince her that she was worth far more than any stupid dinner party, or client.
His insides ached for her, but he should have expected it all along, shouldn’t he? He realized Joelle lived in a bad place, and at some point, something would happen because in a lifestyle such as hers, something had to blow. He backed off from rescuing her at the hospital because she wasn’t ready to hear him, and he didn’t want to push her. He was afraid it wasn’t his place, but mostly feared his own reasons for pushing her so much.
Nick felt responsible for leaving her at the mercy of Rob, his lifestyle, his friends and groupies. Joelle was shaking. Freezing. Wet. Beaten up. His heart could break for her. She was so small, huddling against the wall, as though she were trying to hide herself from him.
He swore he’d kill Rob Williams someday for doing this to her.
“Stop it, Joelle. And shut up about leaving. About being sorry to me. Don’t ever be sorry to me. Not for this.”
She finally, hesitantly, looked up, and stole barely a glance at him, almost invisible beneath the deep shade of her hood.
Softening his tone, now that he had her attention, Nick said, “Come on, Joelle. You need to get dry, and sit down. I’m going to put my arms around you and I want you to lean all your weight onto me. Okay? That’s it… that’s my girl,” he said in a soothing tone, coaxing her before approaching her. Putting his arm around her, he tucked her under his armpit, as he wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s okay. See? I’m just going to help you inside to dry off.”
She let him touch her through the multiple layers of wet clothes. His suit was instantly soaked at every point of contact that she had with him. Her legs almost buckled, they were quivering so much. He walked her slowly and steadily to his door, which he opened before gently bringing her inside with him.