“He grabbed me roughly the last time I bumped into him at Styx – he lifted me clear off the ground,” I explained. “I pleaded with him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I ended up having a panic attack right there in the club.”
“And you didn’t report this incident to the police?” Officer O’Callahan chimed in sternly, disapproval apparent in his tone.
“It’s my fault,” Finn jumped in, his face cloudy with rage and regret. “I thought I’d handled the situation. Apparently I hadn’t.”
Officer Carlson raised one eyebrow as he turned his attention to Finn. “And how exactly did you ‘handle’ the situation?”
“I punched him in the face, sir,” Finn answered, never one to beat around the bush. I actually thought I might’ve detected a note of pride in his voice.
Officer Carlson looked as if he were fighting a smile. Officer O’Callahan chuckled outright, evidently amused by Finn’s forthright nature.
After asking a few more questions I couldn’t answer, taking down all the information we knew about Gordon, and promising that they would be in touch as soon as they had any leads, the police officers left to go examine the alley more thoroughly. Apparently, as soon as they’d arrived on the scene, the officers had checked the alleyway to see if my attacker was still lurking in the shadows.
Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t been.
Now, they explained, a forensic team would comb the crime scene looking for any kind of evidence that could help them discover his identity: blood, fabric from his clothing, even finger and footprints left behind on the cobblestones. I might have to go down to the station at some point to answer more questions, but for now I was free to go.
Before I could even make a move to hop off the stretcher, Finn was once again standing in front of me. He whipped his t-shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in the crisp autumn night air.
“Arms up,” he ordered softly.
“But you’ll get cold—” I began to protest, but stopped when I saw the look on his face. Resistance was definitely futile, and truthfully I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to walk to the parking lot while exposed and indecent, with my tattered dress on display for the crowd. Obediently, I lifted my hands toward the sky and allowed him to slip the faded grey shirt over my head and arms.
Ignoring my protests, Finn swept me up into his arms and insisted on carrying me to his truck. As soon as we moved out of the protective shield of police and paramedic vehicles, we were surrounded by curious onlookers. Finn’s glare kept them at a distance and, for the most part, they gave us wide berth as we made our way to the parking lot where Finn had left his truck.
There was no keeping Lexi away, though.
She didn’t speak as she trailed us through the crowd, somehow keeping pace with Finn’s quick strides. I could see traces of tears on her face, her normally light blue eyes watery and rimmed with red. She was quiet, even when our eyes locked, but I could see the apology in her gaze.
I winked at her, to let her know that I was okay and that I didn’t blame her. If anything, I was grateful that Lexi hadn’t been in that alley with me; if she’d been hurt, I would have been devastated.
It was eerie, though – the strong sense of déjà vu that filled me as Finn cradled me in his arms, with a remorseful Lexi hovering by his elbow. Just like the first day we’d met, before I knew what a big part of my life he would become. He was just some random guy then – a jerky prick who’d insulted and angered me beyond measure.
And now I was in love with him. Life was funny that way.
The ride to Finn’s apartment was a blur. Finn was silent, lost in his own thoughts, and I kept my forehead propped against the cool glass of the passenger window, allowing my mind to blank as I watched the hazy orbs of the streetlights speed by. In seemingly no time, we’d pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story condo.
To say that this was not what I’d been expecting of Finn’s place was almost certainly the biggest understatement of the century. Semi-reformed slut that I was, I’d been in the houses, apartments, and bedrooms of more guys than I ever wanted to count. I’d been primed for the worst – beer cans littering the front lawns, overgrown hedges, chipped paint, and a stoop that was falling apart.
What I was not expecting was a beautifully tended front lawn, pristine whitewashed shingles, and a front porch complete with several flowerboxes – each of them overflowing with cheerful, multicolored blossoms.
This was Finn’s house? I actually had to pinch myself because I was nearly positive that I’d stepped into a parallel universe. Or maybe I’d hit my head so hard on those cobblestones that I was actually in the hospital experiencing some kind of weird, coma-induced hallucination.
Whatever it was, though, was no match for the shock I felt stepping inside the condo itself. Absent were the typical posters of bikini-clad girls on motorcycles and sports cars. There were no stray beer cups on the counter, nor was there a mountain of empty pizza boxes piled four feet high next to the trashcan.
“So, this is my place,” Finn explained nonchalantly, as if it were totally unsurprising that he lived in a beautiful condo with marble countertops, a kitchen island, and a refrigerator so large I could probably fit my entire body in the freezer compartment.
I continued to spin in slow circles, taking in his uncluttered, minimalist space. The couch was low-slung, elegantly crafted in black leather. Both the coffee table and entertainment system – which housed an unfathomably large flat-screen television and numerous game consoles – were constructed of a sleek, dark wood. The place screamed effortless wealth. Hell, it even smelled like cultured masculinity.
Yep, I’m definitely lying in a coma somewhere.
“Bee?” Finn’s voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous. “What do you think?”
“You have coasters.”
“So?” Finn asked, a baffled look crossing his face.
“Coasters, Finn.”
“I don’t understand,” Finn muttered, glancing from me to the coasters with a wary look in his eyes.
“You also have copper sink faucets,” I pointed out.
“I guess?” Finn shrugged, looking at the sink like he’d never even noticed it before.
“You’re rich,” I said accusingly.
“And that’s a problem because…?” Finn asked. His eyebrows were raised so high on his forehead they’d nearly disappeared beneath his messy hair.
Abruptly, I collapsed onto his leather couch. It was obscenely comfortable. Of course it is, I thought bitterly. It probably cost more than my rent.
“Bee, you’ve got this scary look in your eyes right now,” Finn said, kneeling in front of me so he could look into my eyes. “What is this about? Why does it matter that I have money?”
“It doesn’t,” I snapped.
“Is this about your father?” Finn asked quietly.
“No!” I practically yelled in his face.
Defensive much? Way to play it cool, Brooklyn.
Finn looked at me skeptically.
“Fine. Maybe it’s a little bit about him,” I sheepishly admitted. I squeezed my eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m already so emotional from earlier, and then I walked in here and it was just…not what I was expecting, I guess. I felt like I was back at my Dad’s house, and that place…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s the last place I ever want to be when I’m feeling vulnerable.”
“That’s understandable,” Finn said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “But don’t take it out on Henry.”
“Henry?”
“My couch,” Finn said, lovingly petting the leather next to my thigh.
“You named your couch?” I snorted. “That’s sad.”
“Don’t disrespect Henry like that,” Finn glared at me with mock-indignation.
“You are way too attached to an inanimate object,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Just wait till you meet Betty,” Finn said, pulling me to my feet.
I raised
one eyebrow in question.
“My bed,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows at me in return.
“You wish!” I smacked him playfully on the arm. “As if I’d get into bed with some weirdo who names his furniture.”
“You don’t like my jokes, you don’t like my condo…Is there anything you do like about me?” he said, laughing.
“Nope!” I giggled.
With a fake-angry growl, Finn lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom, careful not to put pressure on any of my injuries. It felt blessedly normal to simply laugh after a night like tonight. For that brief moment in time, I was free, buoyant with laughter and able to forget the fear and uncertainty. It was good to know I even still possessed the ability to laugh, after what had happened.
Our playful mood again turned somber once Finn set me down, the bathroom tiles cool beneath my bare feet. I’d abandoned Finn’s grey t-shirt along with my stilettos earlier in his truck and I never wanted to look at the damn shoes again, if I could help it. I couldn’t decide if they’d been my salvation or my downfall in the alley, and thinking about it too much made my head spin.
I barely had time to take in the beautiful bathroom, with its recessed cabinetry, pedestal sink, and sunken tub, because my eyes glided over the mirror and caught on the image of the tattered, war-worn girl reflected back at me.
The Dress was ruined – stripped of its intricate beading, the once-flowing skirt now a shredded rag, the bodice torn and dirty. Angry purple bruises already darkened the skin of my bare shoulders, where my attacker’s hands had gripped so tightly. The skin of my palms, elbows, knees, and thighs had been rubbed raw, leaving throbbing, gaping red wounds behind.
But it was my eyes that fixated me the most. They looked huge, far too large for my face. Owl-like emerald orbs, glassy with shock, fear, and, worst of all, recognition.
Because I knew this girl in the mirror – this broken-down shadow, full of terror and uncertainty. I’d been her once before, seen this look gazing back at me from her deep green eyes. Years may have gone by, but I’d know her in a heartbeat, no matter how much time passed.
Scared. Traumatized. Alone.
There was one crucial difference, now, though.
This time, there was a boy reflected in the mirror too, standing behind the girl with his hands wrapped lightly around her waist. His steadfast blue gaze held trust, protection, and something that looked a lot like love.
I wasn’t alone anymore. Not this time.
Leaning back into Finn’s chest, I closed my eyes and felt the tears finally gather in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them; I didn’t even try. I just let Finn hold me as I wept for the horrible thing that had happened to me, and for all the other even more terrible things that so easily could have.
When the tears slowed, I opened my eyes and once again met the gaze of the girl in the mirror. Now, her face was splotchy, her makeup was running down her face in black smears, and her eyes were red-rimmed – but at least most of that haunted look had faded from her expression.
“What are you thinking about?” Finn asked gently, his gaze finding mine as I stared at our entwined reflection.
“How much I hate pretty criers. Seriously, those girls just release one glistening tear without ever smudging their mascara or getting all red-faced? Utter bullshit,” I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“Come on,” Finn said, rolling his eyes as he guided me toward his walk-in shower. It was large enough for at least four people, enclosed by a wall of opaque glass blocks. After turning on the water, Finn returned to me and carefully unzipped The Dress. Letting it fall to my feet, he knelt down in front of me and I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as I stepped out of the pooled fabric. Finn tossed it into a nearby trashcan without a second glance.
Bye, bye, pretty dress.
Still kneeling at my feet, Finn pressed a soft, warm kiss to my belly button. His hands moved lightly over my ravaged skin as they tugged down my underwear and unclasped my bra, leaving me naked before him. I felt ugly, exposed – bruised, broken, and laid bare in a way I’d never been.
When I moved my hands to cover myself, Finn stopped me. Interlocking our fingers, he began the painstaking process of kissing every scrape and bruise on my body, as he’d done with the scar on my collarbone the first time we’d slept together – as if his mouth could take away some of the hurt that had been inflicted.
He might not have been able to remove my injuries, but he did eventually erase any insecurities I’d felt. After he’d attended to each cut, he stripped off his own clothes and guided us inside the shower. The warm water was soothing against my skin, the dirt and grime that had coated me rushing off in brown-black torrents.
Finn poured some of his body wash onto a wet washcloth and carefully scrubbed my skin clean. He took his time, insuring that no traces of the alley were left behind on my body. Afterward, he shampooed my hair and the sensation of his strong fingers massaging my scalp was so relaxing it nearly put me to sleep. With each passing second, I could feel fatigue creeping into my bones, the weariness from my physical injuries as well as the mental strain of the night threatening to overtake me.
I was utterly wrung out – exhausted and in need of at least a full day of rest. Finn, perceptive as usual, seemed to sense my impending collapse. Just as my knees began to buckle, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders to take most of my weight and used his other hand to shut off the water.
Grabbing two large fluffy black towels from a rack on the wall, he wrapped me in one and looped the other around his own waist. He held my hand and led me, stumbling and bleary-eyed, from the bathroom and into his bedroom – which, under normal circumstances, I would have been beyond curious to examine.
Right now, however, I didn’t even glance around as I followed Finn to the massive bed that dominated the room. Collapsing onto a plush grey down comforter, I vaguely registered Finn climbing in next to me and pulling the sheets up around our bodies.
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Chapter Fifteen
Mission Accomplished
“See that star, Bee?” the boy asked, pointing at an especially bright one in the night sky above our heads. My gaze followed the direction of his finger. When I found it, I smiled; I was getting better at picking out constellations every night.
We were sitting on the stoop again, and the night was colder than usual. It was well into November, now. I’d been here at the foster home for nearly three months, and winter was coming fast. I had to bring the thin blanket from my bed with me when I came out onto the back porch each night.
I hoped I wouldn’t still be here at Christmas time.
“It’s pretty,” I whispered, my lips forming the words but barely any sound escaping. The boy heard me though, looking away from his star to stare over at me. Though nearly a month had passed since that first night I’d told him my name, he still always looked happily surprised whenever I spoke to him, like he’d just opened a really awesome Christmas present or gotten a triple fudge sundae with his favorite ice cream flavors.
Maybe it was because I still wasn’t talking to anyone else.
“That star is part of a constellation called Cassiopeia,” the boy said. “See those four stars, shaped like a sloppy W?” He pointed from one star to another, tracing a map of the constellation with his finger.
I squinted, at first unable to see it. To me, the stars looked like a glowing, jumbled mess – sort of like the tangled strands of Christmas lights Mommy pulled down from the boxes in the attic when it was time to decorate the tree each year. It was hard to imagine ever picking out a pattern from within the chaos.
But then, as if something clicked in my mind, I did see it.
Cassiopeia: a lopsided, w-shaped mess of stars, shining so brightly I wondered how I’d never noticed it before.
“Remember the legend of Princess Andromeda?” the boy asked.
I nodded. I’d loved that story – it was th
e first one he’d ever told me.
“Cassiopeia was the queen – Andromeda’s mother. All the characters from that story have their own constellation: Pegasus, Perseus, Andromeda, Cassiopeia… They’re all up there.”
I watched, fascinated, as the boy pointed out cluster after cluster of stars.
“Show me another one,” I demanded quietly, enthralled.
“Okay,” the boy said, a look of concentration crossing his face. “See that one? That’s Pisces. It’s supposed to look like two fish swimming but I think it looks more like the letter V.”
My eyes followed the direction he was pointing and, though this one was harder, I eventually found it. When it popped into focus I smiled a real grin for the first time in months.
“How do you know about these?” I asked, my voice filled with awe.
“My dad taught me about them.” The boy’s voice was sad.
I decided I wouldn’t ask him to show me any more tonight, not when he sounded so upset. But I knew tomorrow night, I’d ask again. And the next. And the one after that.
I’d ask until he ran out of stars.
My fascination wasn’t exactly new– I’d always loved to look at the sky, especially after Mommy had painted stars on my ceiling. But now, they seemed enchanting, mysterious, and nearly irresistible. It was like he’d opened up a whole new world to explore, and I wanted – needed – to learn everything about the constellations floating in the darkness far above me.
“Bee, can I ask you something?” The boy’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I nodded, tearing my eyes from the stars to look at his face.
“Why me?” he asked, his voice quiet and his eyes turned away from mine.
“What do you mean?”
The boy swallowed roughly, his small Adam’s apple jumping in his throat like he had a gumball stuck down there. I almost giggled as I watched it bob up and down but his voice had sounded so serious, I held it in.
“Why do you talk to me and no one else?”
I was silent for a while, thinking about his question. The truth was, I didn’t even fully know why I felt so comfortable with him and not the doctors or psychiatrists or the other the foster kids.
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