“No! I’m going whether you are or not!” I can’t believe it, but my foot actually hits the ground. A moment of silence envelopes the both of us as I stare at my foot, and when I look up, I can see that Jonah is fighting laughter back. His lips are twitching, and his eyes are squinted a little in a way that makes him more handsome than he was a moment ago.
“Did you stomp your foot, Anastasia?” I hear his voice rise with the barely concealed laughter, and I feel my face flushing with my embarrassment.
“No, I had a spasm.” What else am I supposed to say? Yes, I stomped my foot because you made me so enraged in that moment I really wanted to stomp your face instead. Yeah, that would go over well.
“Right, well, we can go on one condition.” I give him a surely look, but he’s all business again. “You won’t leave my sight. Your father was my friend, and I won’t let his only daughter get killed over a piece of property.” I feel a twinge of disappointment that he doesn’t say he wants to keep me safe because I’m important to him.
If I don’t get myself under control over that kiss, I’m going to make a fool of myself soon.
“Fine, I won’t leave your sight. That shouldn’t be too hard. It’s just Mrs. Hash’s house. There’ll probably be ten or fifteen people there.” I look at the clothes folded on the bed and realize that my underthings are lying out for him to study. Just as I look at them, he glances down at the clothes and a hint of something I’m not sure of crosses his face. It might be interest. “I have to put my clothes away, finish my blog post, and get dressed.”
“I guess that’s my hint to get lost.” His hand makes contact with my cheek briefly and lightly, but before I can register what just happened, he’s left the room. I sit on the bed with my hand on my cheek for a few moments before I come to and put my clothes away. I hear the shower in his bathroom start, and wonder what that touch was for.
At exactly four fifteen, I’m sitting back on my bed with a dress in one hand and a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt in the other. I adore this summer dress, but it has short sleeves. The thin lines running up my arms are a testament to the fact that, at one point in my life, I was not wrapped as tight as everyone now thinks I am. Although, I suppose some of them remember those days.
I lie back on the bed with my hair strewn out behind me and close my eyes. Before I know it, I’m drifting off into memory lane where I don’t want to go.
* * *
“No one’s going to call you a slut, they won’t even know!” His hand rests on my upper arm, and I shuffle a foot as I look at the ground. Being fifteen and without a mother can be difficult sometimes. If she were around, maybe I’d ask her if giving myself to a boy I’ve only known four months is considered being a slut.
“But I’ll know. What if someone finds out and it gets around school? Most of the girls already hate me, and how do I know that you’re not one of those bragging guys? What if I’m not ready?” I look up at his dark brown eyes and search them for understanding, but instead I find a cold glare.
“If you’re not ready for sex, then I guess you’re just not ready for a relationship with me.” I feel the cold air like a slap on my arm as his hand moves away, and my young heart thinks it might be breaking in two. He’s a handsome boy two years my senior with wildly curling, dirty blonde hair and hunky brown eyes. If I don’t give him this, he’ll leave me for another girl and have her by tomorrow. Besides, it’s just sex, it’s not like I’m going to get pregnant. He’ll use a condom, right?
“Ben, wait!” I reach out a hand to grasp his hand and bring it up to my neck. The smile the curls his lips is handsome and kissable when he looks down at me. If I’m going to give myself to someone, it might as well be someone like Ben. He’s always been kind to me, understanding. I seem to have forgotten the times where he was aloof and didn’t want to hear about my problems in this moment. Love is jaded and blinds a person.
“Meet me at my father’s barn at eleven tonight.” With that said, he leans down and gives me the most heated kiss I’ve ever experienced. It makes me warm between my legs and gives me sensations I’ve never felt before. The gigantic, crushing weight of fear has turned into just a little angel on my shoulder telling me not to go through with this.
Eleven that night, I pull on a short skirt and a tank top. My father’s snoring in his room loudly, and I know that he will not wake to find me missing. In the hallway mirror, I apply the rouge lipstick that I bought late that afternoon and put on some of my eyeliner. I plump my budding breasts in the push-up bra and marvel at how someone like Ben Cooper could want someone like me.
I’ve barely made it past an A cup this year, and my hips have just flourished. I still have a girly look in my face, but it’s starting to change into a woman’s structure. I attempt to pep talk myself the entire trek through the woods to the Cooper’s property. I wait until I’m safely away from the house to turn on the flashlight, and scrape my leg on a picker bush.
My sneakers are covered in dirt and dust by the time I reach the barn owned by the Coopers. There isn’t a single light on inside, and the only horse they own is sleeping soundly in his stall. I almost turn around when I get to the door because I’m sure that Ben is not here, but a hand reaches out and grabs my arm.
It’s not Ben’s hand, and I don’t recognize it. My heart climbs into my throat as I feel a scream building up, but before I can a hand comes down over my lips. I attempt to bite my attacker, but it’s no use. He’s much larger than me and stronger, and I can’t seem to get my fingers into his eyes no matter how hard I try.
“Hold her down, Benny!” I freeze at the deep timbre of the voice. My flashlight rolls across the floor and I get a glimpse of his face. I recognize him as Ben’s older brother in college, and it’s not until he has his pants down around his ankles that I realize what is truly happening.
I claw at his face, but Ben Cooper grabs my wrists and holds them down to the dirt floor of the barn as his brother rips off the lacy, bikini underwear I wore. It’s the only pair I could find that I thought was suitable enough for a boy to take off. I had no idea a man would be doing it instead.
Throughout the entire moments leading up to that final event where my virginity is taken by a man in college who smells like cheap cologne, I fight. But when he’s just about to take me, my entire body goes limp, and it’s as if I floated off to somewhere else. The last words I remember from that event are “I’ll show you how to fuck a slut, Benny Boy.”
* * *
I wake up with a painful gasp and feel sweat on my forehead. My fingers come up to confirm my suspicions, and I wipe the tears away that are trailing down my face into my hair. It must be the stress from these past few events that have dredged up those old memories. May hap it’s the recent kidnapping and my fear of being raped again that has brought them to the surface, either way I need to stuff them down again before I start up old habits.
I spent two years after that event cutting up my pretty, useless arms that were held down so easily. There were other places I cut, too, but I cannot remember those places without vomiting. After I was admitted to the mental hospital the summer before my senior year and released, I took up drinking. Vodka was the best because it looked like water in the bottle, and none of my teachers suspected. Or they just didn’t want to have to deal with the crazy girl again.
Neither one of the Cooper boys told a soul about what happened, nor have I. Not once did I utter the words ‘I was raped’ in that facility I had to spend three months in. No, I played it safe and went with the usual ‘I just feel depressed’. The pills reacted with the alcohol quite nicely and put me in a stupor for a long time.
When I was eighteen and free to move away from home, I ran as far as I could from this place. For an entire year, I screwed every man I could come across and earned the right to the title slut. Then I grew up, mentally and emotionally, over a period of a few months. Eight months later my father passed away, and now I’m back in this godforsaken town.
I just hope that the few years I was gone has yielded a better crowd of people. Perhaps the Coopers are gone, I never bothered to check. I might not run into either one of those men again. Now all I have to worry about is the man who kidnapped me. Maybe I shouldn’t go to this gathering that Mrs. Hash is hosting. Jonah might be right; it would be safer to stay here.
“Anastasia?” I sit upright quickly and wipe away the remainder of the tears, wipe my nose on a tissue just before he opens the door, and wonder why he even thinks it appropriate to open the door when I haven’t invited him in! I’m feeling a bit raw from the memory that popped up during my dream, and having him in the room feels too oppressive.
“I’m almost ready, just give me a minute, and I’ll change!” The bite in my voice must snap down pretty hard on him because he just stands in the doorway with a strange look on his face. It takes me a few seconds, but I finally realize I’m wearing a tank top and the scars running up and down my arms are very visible.
“You’ll tell me about that someday.” Jonah whispers to me, and I feel a chill go down my spine as he closes the door. What’s that supposed to mean? I think to myself as I grab the long sleeved shirt off the bed. It’s a peasant top with billowing sleeves that will keep me cool while it covers my arms, and I pull on the jeans because, as Jonah pointed out a few days ago, wearing a long sleeved shirt with a skirt or shorts is just strange.
I apply my makeup all again and decide on putting my hair up in a ponytail. Then I take a long look at myself in the mirror, and assure myself mentally that I am capable of defending myself against another human being. I am not the weak fifteen year old that a boy and a man took advantage of anymore.
Chapter Eight
Jonah
I’m driving today, but I can’t stop glancing over at her playing with a strand of hair from her ponytail over her shoulder. She’s been in a different world ever since her encounter with Mr. Taylor this early afternoon, and it seemed to have gotten worse after she took a short nap. I checked in on her once because she had groaned pretty loud, but other than that she was fine.
Then the look on her face when I had gone in her room to her wake her had completely changed. There’s a lot I don’t know about Anastasia, but I have a feeling that, by the end of this week, I’ll get to hear it whether I want to or not. If she doesn’t tell me, some of the busybodies at this gathering will.
I roll down my window to let in some fresh air, and remember the days when May would hang her head out the truck window at the farm. A lump forms in my throat at the fresh memory of her death and I have to turn my gaze out the window for an instant to correct my expression. When I look back, Anastasia is staring at me with knowledge. We’ll both miss that dog.
“Turn up here.” She points to a small road with a mailbox at the end of it that has cardinals painted all over it. I get a sinking feeling in my gut as someone turns behind us into the same driveway, and then as another person turns behind them.
When we are in sight of the actual house, there have to be at least twenty cars parked outside, and a very nicely dressed Mrs. Hash standing on the porch playing the perfect host. I feel my nerves start to light on fire all over my flesh, and sweat pops out on my brow. Before Anastasia can notice, I wipe it away and turn to give her a reassuring smile. But she’s already starting to breathe funny.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll go eat, show our faces, and then we’ll go back to the hotel room. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” While I’m giving her a pep talk, Tom sits in the back seat trying to give me one of my own.
“You’re going to end up in the bathroom screaming your head off like a lunatic, you dumbass. This is never going to work out for you! NEVER!” His loud shout makes me jump, and the knowing look on Anastasia’s face has me curling my left hand into a fist at my side. I’m going to make this work.
“Let’s just go have a few drinks and maybe everyone will ignore us, right?” She starts out strong, and her sentence ends in a squeaky question. I try for a reassuring nod, and she opens up her car door first. Tom disappears from my mind and my sight as we near the front porch steps.
Mrs. Hash is a beautiful woman in her late thirties or early forties. I can’t tell. Her auburn hair shines several different shades in the sunlight, and her skin looks flawless. When I hold out a hand, she doesn’t hesitate to take it, and there is no sign of flinching when I tell her my name. Instead, she welcomes me into her home and greets Anastasia.
“Now, honey, I know that everyone is going to attempt to tell you how sorry they are about, well, you know.” I wish someone would just have the guts to say it out loud, but they only do when they’re standing on the farmhouse doorsteps as if they finally have permission to say it. “I’m going to have a moment of silence in about half an hour, and then for your sanity I’ll forbid anyone from giving you their condolences. When my mother died, it was like the entire town lit up again with life and they all were on my doorstep for over a month! A month!” She throws her hands up in the air which is a contrast to the prim and proper attire she’s wearing. At least the woman has some life in her.
“I think the casseroles are the worst.” Anastasia blurts out, and then she puts a hand over her mouth and looks at Mrs. Hash apologetically.
“I know, that’s why I sent you the pie. Who wants to eat casserole when they’re upset? I’d rather eat pie.” The warm smile the middle aged woman bestows upon Anastasia has me feeling the muscles in my bunched back loosening. If she’s the host of this party, it might actually be a good one.
I hold out a hand to the woman I drove here, and it feels too right when she slips her fingers between mine. Mrs. Hash has many other guests to greet, and I don’t want to be the talk of the party. I’d rather we were able to disappear into a corner and enjoy the food. But as soon as we enter through the doorway, I realize that’s not going to happen.
The first person to greet Anastasia grips her free hand between his gnarled fingers and smiles at her sadly. It’s as if she’s at her father’s wake and everyone is paying their respects without saying a word. They’re honoring the vow of silence on the matter, but a look can speak volumes. Poor Anastasia takes it with grace but by the time the last person releases her hand I can see the toll it’s taking on her.
“Let’s find those drinks.” I tell her quietly as I drag her away from yet another consolent.
“I really shouldn’t.” She tells me as we near the small table set up in the dining room with glasses and a few bottles of different wines and champagnes. Mrs. Hash really knows how to throw a spontaneous get-together.
“Just a few sips of champagne, and then you’ll have to let me have the rest.” My lip tugs up at the corner, and she returns my half smile. We’re standing at the small table when a teenage boy puts a hand on Anastasia’s shoulder, and she visibly tenses.
“Ana! I’m so glad you came. Who’s this?” He asks about me as if I’m just a side item, and he’s the main course. I feel a smile coming onto my face as I reach out a hand in a friendly gesture, but when the young man slides his hand into mine I make sure my grasp is firm.
“I’m Jonah Quinton.” I don’t offer up an explanation as to why I’m here with Anastasia, and I believe the young man understands my point by the time he pulls his hand away. While the gesture with her may have been friendly, if he truly knew her he would have known better.
“Lee Hash, Anastasia’s friend.” I glance to her face to make sure that he’s telling the truth, and a shred of shock shimmers through her eyes before she smiles coldly. I don’t believe Lee understands that smile, but he understands the warning look in my eyes.
I watch as he retreats after a quick farewell and well-wishes to Anastasia. His mass of friends accepts him back into the group with a few pats on the back, and I quickly hand over the glass of champagne. I’ve added an extra dash just to be on the safe side.
“He’s brazen, that one.” I say to her warmly as I put a hand on the small of her back and lead her to a mo
re quiet spot on the other end of the room. The roaming eyes over Anastasia and the startled glances don’t go unnoticed, but there’s nothing about it I can do at this point. She’s rigid under my touch, and I wonder why we’re putting ourselves through this. To prove we’re normal?
“He reminds me of my childhood too much. But he is a nice boy.” The way she says it sparks my curiosity, but now is not the time to ask.
“You know most of these people?” I watch her take a rather large gulp of champagne, and take the glass from her to steal a sip of my own.
“I remember most of them from when I was a kid, but the last few years of school are kind of a blur. I was just trying to get by. You know?” Oh, how I know all too well about just trying to get by. I don’t tell her that. Neither one of us speak for a long time, and then Mrs. Hash walks into her home and gently closes the door halfway.
“Everyone!” She calls out over the mulling crowd, but no one looks up. So she raises her voice. “Excuse me! Hey!” The loud, strong tone gets everyone to turn around abruptly and look at her. She smiles into the crowd gently as if she didn’t just shriek, and someone hands her a champagne glass. Is that a hint?
“I would like to first thank everyone to coming out to my small, informal party. Henry is home from his rounds in Florida and Cassandra was just dying to see her friends and family again! Besides, who wouldn’t want to show off their adorable son, and my grandson, Geoffrey! Tomorrow is his third birthday, and I just wanted to have a little grown up celebration before the kiddy party tomorrow.” She raises her glass and everyone wishes Geoffrey good health and a happy third birthday celebration. Then Mrs. Hash clears her throat to gather the attention back to her.
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