Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  When she pulls away, her face lights up with cute smile, and yet she looks shy and a little embarrassed at the same time. I know exactly how to—ah—break the ice. “My ass is freezing,” I tell her.

  She bursts with laughter, pulling herself up without holding onto anything. Impressive. She digs her blade into the ice and reaches out for me. Embarrassed as I am that I can’t get up without help, I give her my hand. She uses all of her strength to help me up and I try my damnedest not to topple over her. “Better?” she asks, her fingers lacing back in with mine as she pulls me across the ice. She’s skating backward and I’m facing her, letting her do most of the work. I’ve never felt so out of control before, and I kind of love it.

  “What was that song…the one just playing? It was—I’ve never really felt a song in my chest before. I don’t usually listen to classical music though.” I had all intentions of showing her what she’s been missing out on, but all she’s done today is show me what I’ve been missing out on.

  “That was Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe, the music I was telling you about in the Jeep.” We’ve now made five laps around the rink and my legs are still not exactly moving. Skating may not be my thing, but she sure as hell is.

  “You’re named after the song, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “You’re pretty smart, Kemper,” she says, squeezing my hands.

  “Well then. It’s my new favorite song.”

  “My mom was a figure skater. She was headed to the Olympics when she found out she was pregnant with me. Daphnis and Chloe was the music she used to make it to the top. She would tell me how she felt it deep within her soul. The music took over her body, allowing her to skate freely as she became one with it. It sounds crazy, but I feel it too. I think it might be the only thing my mom and I have in common, so I hold onto it. When I need a hug or someone to tell me everything will be okay, I’ve always listened to this music. I know that probably sounds funny, but everyone needs some kind of comfort in their life I guess.” She pulls me to the open door and helps me off the ice to the bleachers where we drop down. I hardly did any work and I feel like I just went through an hour of physical training. “My mom tried to force me into competitive skating because she wanted to live through me. It wasn’t what I wanted, though. Skating was a hobby, not my life. I didn’t want to compete when I heard Ravel’s music, I wanted to feel the music and surrender to it. I crushed my mom’s hopes and dreams when I told her, but it was the right decision. It’s there when I need it. It’s my outlet and my release. If I had made it a career, I would have needed an outlet and a release from skating.”

  “I get it.” I pull the skates off, feeling my feet expand. How does anyone do this every day? “I think you’re smart for making the decision you did.”

  “So now what? How are things with your apartment?” she asks.

  Fucking fantastic. “I hope you don’t mind if I change the subject because I’m embarrassed to tell you where I’ve been staying for the past three days. Is that cool?” Breaking down in front of her the other day was beyond humiliating. Here I am, this supposed war hero, as civilians call us, and I can’t walk into my own goddamn apartment without losing it. Before that day, I don’t think I had cried since I was five.

  I realized way back then that crying doesn’t fix problems; it just makes it all hurt worse. It was the day stepdaddy-dearest told me I wasn’t his kid. It was also the same day I found out my actual dad died three years earlier. I just couldn’t remember him, and I wanted to more than anything. Talk about ripping the rug out from under an innocent child. I cried all night long until a piece of sense popped into my head. What was crying going to do to bring my dad back? Nothing.

  I don’t know why I lost it the other day. Crying sure as hell won’t bring Rex back.

  “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she says, looking down at her red feet—she has cute feet—perfect toes all aligned in a slight angle from largest to smallest. Her toenails are painted pink and she has a little four-leaf clover on the top center of her right foot.

  “Nice tattoo. Are you Irish?”

  “Nope. I just love good luck charms.” A small smile tugs stretches over her cheeks, and I’m pretty sure I’m officially mesmerized by that smile.

  “Well, lucky for you, I’m Irish.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CURRENT DAY

  Dear Journal,

  Just when everything becomes perfect…

  It all goes to hell.

  Why does hitting rock bottom have to hurt so badly?

  - Daphne

  DAPHNE

  KEMPER ASKED ME to meet him at the park the next day. I envisioned mindless kisses and whispers, and a new beginning, but that’s not real life, at least not my real life. When he pulled up, I could already see he had this unsettled look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look I wanted to see, especially after the week I had with Trent and the break-up. He couldn’t make eye contact, and he gave me this hug that told me things were going to be over before they started.

  “We need to talk,” he said. Yup. Even used that dreaded line.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about you and our kiss non stop since yesterday,” he sighed. “I can’t do this to you. I’ll just end up hurting you, Daphne, and that’s the last thing you need right now. If I were selfish, I wouldn’t be doing this. You have to understand that.” Selfish is okay with me. He should have been selfish.

  “I don’t understand anything,” I told him.

  “I know, but you have to trust me on this,” he said, trying to reassure me. I just looked at him with what must have been the blankest of blank looks. It’s all I could do. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? “If you need anything—if that asshole comes after you, or you just need to talk, you call me right away. Okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me,” I said softly. He pulled me in against him and placed a kiss on my forehead. Then he took a deep breath and turned away, leaving me there as I stared aimlessly into the sky, wondering why life has to be so damn cruel sometimes.

  It’s been two weeks since then, and I still don’t think I understand. It sucks.

  ***

  I unlock the front door of Beer Bellies and flip on the switches, attempting to bring the place to life, although nothing really brings this place to life unless there’s a drunken brawl…or a nightmare…like the one I see in front of me right now.

  How the hell did he get in here with the doors locked? This is exactly what I was afraid of. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve called out of work way too many times, and I’ve spent too much time trying to hide my Jeep any time I go somewhere. I ended up getting that small apartment I found in the paper, and even there, I’ve had to do my best to conceal the Jeep behind various dumpsters. I’m sick of hiding. I’ve even considered the thought of running away from this state, but I have no money and no other job…not to mention, nowhere else to go. I’m essentially a prisoner, and everywhere I turn there’s another cement wall blocking me in.

  I think about running for the door, but I’ve already walked past the table he’s sitting at. There’s no way to ignore him.

  “Have you gone crazy?” I ask. Not that I remember a time where he’s been sane.

  “I saw you walk out of here a few weeks ago with your big tough Marine. I saw you get on the back of his bike and wrap your arms around him. You whoring yourself out now?” It’s been weeks. Why did he wait until now to confront me? I haven’t heard a peep from Trent since the night I ended things. I was actually starting to think I was freed from him. “Are you annoying the shit out of someone else already?”

  “Trent, you need to leave before I call the cops and have you arrested for breaking and entering.” My chest is aching to the point of numbness. I know what this man is capable of. I know what he couldn’t stop himself from doing when we were together.

  “I’m asking you nicely to leave,” I say again, trying my hardest to hide my fea
r. He slides his chair backwards a couple of feet, causing a horrible groaning noise between the legs of the chair and the floor. As he stands up quickly, I’m hoping he might just do as I ask.

  I’m not so lucky, though. His white-knuckled hands are clenched in his hair, and he’s pacing back and forth with a heavy foot. I debate my options. I can try to run, but when he gets like this, I know I won’t get far. I can dial 9-1-1, but he wouldn’t let me get a word out. I know that much. He can’t control himself or his actions. I reach into my back pocket for my phone. Keeping my eyes focused on Trent pivoting his pace away from me, I send Kemper a quick text. The last time we spoke, he reminded me that if I need anything at all to let him know. I don’t know who else to turn to.

  ME: 9-1-1. At bar. Help!

  By the time I finish typing, which is probably less than five seconds after I pulled the phone out, Trent’s eyes focus on me and my phone. I drop it into my back pocket and silently swallow my worst fear. “I heard you’re with that asshole now. Kemper, right?” Who would he hear that from?

  “I think you’ve been given some false information,“ I say, hugging my arms around my chest. How does he know of Kemper? “And if I were seeing someone, it’s none of your business.”

  “Oh please, Daphne, this town ain’t that big. People talk. I know you’re fucking that asshole,” he scoffs and pushes his fingers through the sides of his hair.

  “I’m not ‘fucking’ Kemper, who isn’t an asshole, for your information. You don’t even know him.” He just laughs at me, a crazy, “I’m-going-to-kill-you” kind of laugh. “You should leave.” I’m trying to stay calm and keep my voice soft since trying to reason with crazy, is crazy itself.

  “Look,” he says, making his way over to me, cornering me between the bar and the wall. He takes my hands, gripping them firmly while holding them up to his chest. “I want you back, Daph. I want you to myself. I want to get married and have kids with you.” What the heck is he talking about? Has he gone mad? “I promise things will be different. Okay? Just give me another chance. Please, babe. I’ll be good to you.” I’m scared to say no to him. “Say something, goddammit!” he demands, throwing my arms down. “Say you want me.” His nose is less than an inch from mine and I can feel each one of his heavy, erratic breaths hit my face. I hope Kemper got my text. He could be re-deployed again for all I know.

  “Leave here, now. I don’t want to ever see you again,” I grit out.

  As always, my words are soundless to him. Trent pushes me up against the wall, grabbing my breasts and grinding his hardness into my stomach. “Tell me you want this.” His lips are on my neck, his teeth are pressing into my skin, and I’m pushing against his chest.

  “Stop, Trent! Get off of me!” I continue pushing at him, but his strength is overwhelming. “Get off!” I scream. In response, he bites my neck and his hands continue squeezing my breasts to the point of pain. I grunt, jerking my knee up into his balls, forcing him to stumble backward and grab himself.

  He growls, then screams a string of obscenities as I run toward the door, but his hand catches the back of my shirt and he flings me around. Pushing me up against the wall, he slams my forehead against a beam. He fights to pull my pants down and his fingernails scratch against the small of my back as I continue to fight, trying to kick behind me, but I can’t reach him. I’m losing the struggle as his hand slips down the front of my pants. I scream as he goes too far. “Shut the fuck up,” he yells back. With his free hand, he jerks my head forward again, slamming it back into the wall. “You fucking little cunt.” His fingers are inside of me, clawing at my insides. Please stop. Please. God, help me. My pulse is racing and my insides are screaming. I try to scream again, but nothing comes out because I’m crying so hard. Why does he want to hurt me so badly?

  I’m scared.

  He spins me around, throwing my head backwards into the beam this time. He shoves me down to my knees as he frees himself from his pants. I look up, trying to see through my filming tears, but all I can see are his bulging eyes as he grabs the back of my head, forcing my face toward his dick. I keep my mouth shut, clamping my lips together as tightly as I can. I will not give in. Tears fight their way out through the corners of my eyes, tickling their way down over my nose and onto my lips. “You’re a little whore. You cheated on me, didn’t you?”

  He’s asking me if I cheated on him? He’s the one who cheated on me, God knows how many times. He didn’t even try to hide it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TWO YEARS AGO

  DAPHNE

  THE PARTY IS AT TRENT’S tonight, and everyone is wasted and passed out—everyone but me. It’s three in the morning and I’m dragging Trent up the stairs so we can go to bed. He wanted to wait until everyone was out before we called it a night, and I’m pretty much the last person standing.

  The only good part of Trent being so wasted is that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, which means I have a chance at sleeping in his bed rather than the stupid floor. He probably won’t even notice.

  I push him down onto his bed since he’s seconds from falling over, and I pull his shoes and socks off before pulling the covers up and over him. After he’s settled, I slip in beside him, trying not to make the bed move.

  “Get out,” he grumbles, “you’re making me feel sick.” I didn’t say a word as I started to get up, but as soon as I had both feet on the ground he grabbed my arm. “Wait, make me feel better first.” God, is this for real? He pulls his dick out and folds his arms behind his neck. “Any time now.” His words slur into heavy breaths as he closes his eyes.

  “I don’t want to,” I tell him. “I want to leave.”

  “We both know you don’t want to leave, and I don’t think either of us wants to see what happens if you try.” He smiles through his words, trying to make it look like he’s joking, but we both know he’s not. His hand cups around the back of my head and he pulls me down until my mouth makes contact. Feeling trapped, I heed Trent’s warning, complying with his demands as I cringe inside.

  It’s only been a couple minutes of trying to get him off, and I think he’s passed out since his ass isn’t arching off the bed anymore. I pull away carefully, in hopes of not waking him back up.

  Silently, I curl up on the floor with my sheet, doing my best to block everything out of my mind as I fall asleep.

  I wake up in a haze, feeling like I only slept for an hour, but as I sit up the sun is already leaking in under the blinds. When my eyes focus, I immediately wish I could unsee the scene in front of me. I know I fell asleep quickly, but I must have slept like a rock because I didn’t hear another girl come in and climb into Trent’s bed.

  For a moment, I can’t help but just watch the two of them snoring away with his hand cupped over her large, naked breast, which is covered with fresh bite marks. I look past her, noticing that Trent is naked, with a sheet only partially covering his hairy ass. I know he fell asleep with his clothes on because he was too tired to take his shorts off when he needed me to “take care” of him. “That’s what flies are for,” he always says. Seeing that her panties are lying inches from my face, I can assume she’s completely naked too. At least she’s decent enough to cover part of herself with his bed sheet.

  Once I totally piece together what I’m looking at, my heart drops into my stomach. I stand up and throw a bunch of shit I find lying around his room at them. After they’re hit with the third or fourth item, their eyes pop open, and they’re looking at me like I’m the intruder. “What the hell?” the girl yaps. “Trent, baby, tell this girl to go downstairs with everyone else.” I can’t even comprehend what’s going on, but Trent does. Oh, he knows exactly what’s going on.

  “Candie, what the fuck are you doing in my bed? Were you that screwed up last night?” he asks her. All the while he’s talking to her, he’s looking at me, as if he’s putting on a show.

  “No, Dumbass, I left my shirt up here the other afternoon and I came up looking for it. Your bed just look
ed so comfy and I figured you wouldn’t mind after—well—ya know.” She giggles through a hoarse voice, giving me a look of disgust. “Oh my God. Is this her? The girl with the old lady name?” She snorts this time and looks me up and down. “No wonder you needed—“ I don’t know what she’s doing during her pause in words, but her arm moves under the sheet and Trent’s eyes perk open wide. The amount of times Trent has caused me to throw up, you’d think I was allergic to him. I run to the bathroom, vomiting three times before I fall limp against the toilet. I let him do this to me. It’s my fault. After I flush the toilet again, the door of the bathroom creaks open with Trent’s hand curled around the edge as he pokes his head in. The look of sympathy on his face makes me want to hurl again.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Go away,” I yell, gripping my hands around the grimy toilet seat. Spit is dripping from my lips and burning tears are pouring from my eyes. “What is wrong with you? Why won’t you let me go? Clearly, you have many other options and don’t need me.”

  “Shh.” He walks in closer and kneels down beside me, combing his fingers through my hair. It’s probably the most affectionate gesture he’s ever shown me. “She’s high on something, Daph. None of it happened. You know I love you. You know that’s why I don’t want you to leave me.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” I shout at him. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”