by Lindsey Iler
The drive home isn’t therapeutic like I hoped it would be. Without music to distract me and the rain thundering down on my windows, my mind goes to places it’s been avoiding.
I push the gearshift into park and turn off the car. My head falls back onto the headrest. A knock on my passenger window jolts me from my misery. My mom crouches over to look inside the interior. Her eyes are sunken in and the heaviness on her shoulders is noticeable.
I swing the door open and step out. “Mom, what’s wrong?” My eyes never leave hers.
“Your father... he’s coming home,” she answers.
“He’s not supposed to be home until the end of May,” I sigh. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” I circle around her, leaving her alone in the driveway.
I walk into my room and undress. A glance out the window overlooking the driveway shows my mom inching back until she’s leaning against the hood of my car. Frustration is evident in her hands running through her shoulder length hair.
With a shake of my head, I walk into my bathroom, turn the shower to hot, and step in. The water rains down on me and I wash all my worries down the drain.
Kennedy.
Abuse.
My mother’s safety.
And I’m free to be who I’m supposed to be.
Whoever that is.
Chapter Fifteen
Kennedy
“Mark told me you’ve been dancing again,” Mrs. Whitmore says in a soft voice as she cuts up green peppers and tosses them into a large container.
Before batting practice, Mark texted, begging me to head to his house by five. Like always, I’m here, and he’s running late. There’s no complaint from me, though. Mrs. Whitmore is always good for conversation. She talks to me like I’m an equal and not some young girl who’s dating her son.
“I have. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m getting closer to where I was last year.” A bright smile lights up my face. “I think I’m ready to start classes again. My dance instructor gave me a key to use the space after hours.”
Mrs. Whitmore extends the bowl to me in a silent offering. I reach across the island and grab a couple of pepper slices.
“I don’t think you have anything to be uncomfortable about. Mark gushes about how amazing a dancer you are.” A large grin expands the width of her face. “Actually...” She snickers. “He gushes about you all the time.”
Pink creeps up my cheeks, and she smiles at my embarrassment.
When the front door opens, we turn to the sound. I have the perfect vantage point to see Mark walk down the long hallway. He’s sweaty and his shirt sticks to his chest with the dampness soaking through the light gray fabric. As he walks into the kitchen, he throws his bag on an empty barstool and stands behind me. When his broad chest bumps against my shoulder blades, a shudder runs through my body.
With his hands resting on each side of me, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Hello, gorgeous.” Mark drops a kiss on my temple. A sigh from his mother makes us laugh.
“Mom, the boys are coming over tonight for poker,” Mark announces.
“I’ll make some snacks up.” Mrs. Whitmore washes a few more peppers before she cuts them up. She turns back towards us. “Your dad’s coming home tonight. I’ll convince him to go to the club for dinner. I know how rowdy you guys can be, and he’ll be in no mood to listen to you boys hootin’ and hollerin’,” Mrs. Whitmore offers with a smirk. She winks at me.
“You’re the best.” Mark beams as he rounds the kitchen island and kisses her on the cheek. His hand reaches around her to grab a pepper, popping it into his mouth as he grins over her shoulder at me. “Shower time.” Mark claps his hands together with his usual contagious enthusiasm. “Kennedy, you coming?”
“Marcus Bartholomew Whitmore.” Diane’s voice bellows through the kitchen, her mouth open in shock.
“Bartholomew?” I laugh, straight from my gut. “Your middle name is Bartholomew?”
“Thanks a lot, mom,” Mark utters sarcastically. He comes around the island, pushing the stool beside me out of his way. His eyes focus on me. “You think that’s funny?” Mark reaches down and pulls me into his arms. Without much effort, I’m thrown over his shoulder, my ass straight in the air.
“MARK!” I squeal, slapping his damp back. “Put me down. You’re all sweaty.”
Mark laughs as he walks us down the hall.
I attempt to wiggle free, but his hold tightens around my waist. “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Whitmore.” I wave without a glance back at her.
“See you, sweetheart,” she shouts back and giggles.
Mark smacks my ass, and I yelp as he takes two steps at a time. With a kick to his door, the knob bangs against the drywall. He tosses my helpless body on his king sized bed, and I sit up to look around the room.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I state, looking for something out of place. “It’s clean.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark hisses. A smirk slides across his face. “Are you saying it should be dirty?”
His look of unexpressed promises makes me shift around on the bed. I bite my bottom lip and take inventory of the distance between us. Two, maybe three steps will close the gap.
“Kennedy.” He stands at the foot of the bed, looming over where I wait to see what he’ll do.
We’ve kept our distance. Plenty of times, I’ve thought he would lean in and kiss me, but it never happens. Mark hasn’t said it, but I know he’s afraid to overstep. He’s seen the way I retreat into myself.
If asked me three months ago if I would be desperate for Mark’s touch, I would’ve laughed. The idea of having anyone’s hands on me, other than Graham’s, pulled me into a numb panic. With Mark, it’s different.
During our therapy sessions, Jackie’s asked about the people I surround myself with. She was reluctant at first, worried that I would use Mark to replace Graham. There was a lot of anger in those sessions.
As he stands in front of me now, I look at him, and I don’t think that’s a possibility.
“Kennedy, you need to stop.” Mark brings one knee up on the end of the bed. The second follows close behind. His sweatpants stretch over his strong thighs, and my eyes move up his muscular form. I scoot back until I hit the headboard. “Ken, I know I’ve been a good boy lately, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but seeing you in my bed, like this—” He gestures to my still body. “You’re driving me insane.”
Anticipation burns in my eyes. Before I can say anything, he splays me out beneath him. His strong body feels as if it floats above mine. Our eyes lock as his hand brushes loose hair out of my face. Desperate, my body wiggles beneath him, and I run my fingers through his hair.
“Remember that day we skipped school and you told me you weren’t going to kiss me until I couldn’t stand it?” I trail my hands through his hair one more time, ghost them down his shoulders and sides, and rest them on his trim waist.
“What about it?” Mark’s breath grows shallow.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” I beg through the release of a long, hot pant.
Mark sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed. I miss his warmth the moment it’s gone. He leans forward, his hands resting on his forehead. “Can we talk for a second?” Mark’s eyes cast down at his hands rubbing along his thighs.
I straighten my shirt and take a spot next to him. “Mark, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
“I just need to talk for a second, and being that close to you clouds my mind. What I want to talk about is going to make you uncomfortable, though, but it’s important.” Mark’s normal smile is gone, replaced with a scowl.
We’ve never talked about that night, for a good reason. Jackie has made it clear that those close to me will want to discuss it to ease their own minds, and I need to be sensitive to their uneasiness. Craig may have raped me, but they went through it at my side.
Mark shakes his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through. As a g
uy, that’s not something I can do, but what I want to understand is you. I googled rape victim.” Mark confesses.
“You did what?” I cut him off. My hands push my body up from the bed.
“Please, don’t get mad. I wanted to know how you should be feeling or to try to put myself in the mindset of what you went through. I know it was stupid and I’m sorry.”
“That’s like reading my diary without asking permission,” I shout. “What I went through, what he did to me, is hard enough to comprehend in my own head and to know that you attempted to dive into my psyche without permission isn’t fair.” My voice starts out loud, but ends in a whisper.
“I never thought of it that way. I swear my only intention is to make you more comfortable.” Mark stands and reaches for my hand. As his fingers mingle with my own, I take a deep breath.
His willingness to understand softens the stone wrapped around my heart.
“You won’t find that stuff on the internet. Everyone reacts different. At least that’s what my therapist keeps reminding me.” I shift until our hips touch. My arm links through his to pull him closer, and my head falls softly on his shoulder.
Mark sighs loudly. His large hand wraps around my petite fingers. “I get that. I just don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Besides Graham, no one else had ever touched me. What Craig did, what he forced on me, makes me feel uneasy around people, men mostly, naturally.” I explain how I’ve been feeling.
Mark can hear the hesitancy in my voice. “We don’t have to do this,” Mark pleads as he slides off the bed to kneel in front of me.
I ignore him and continue. “My therapist says it’s normal after a traumatic event, to see his face in others.”
Mark nods his head, trying to understand. “Is it like that when I touch you?” Mark’s eyes widen in panic. “Do you see his face?” His blue irises shine through his thick eyelashes, and the fear in his eyes screams at me.
“Is that why you’ve been hesitant to touch me?”
“Sort of.”
“When you touch me, it’s different. When you touch me, all I want to do is melt into you. You help me to forget, and I never thought I would get to that point.”
Mark stands to his full height. “I don’t want to be your escape, Ken.”
“You’re my refuge.” I shrug and shake my head. This type of honesty is what I’ve been afraid of.
No more words need to be spoken between us. Mark stretches his hand out, and I place mine in his. He pulls me to my feet, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Kiss me,” I plead.
Mark smiles, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “I told you I wouldn’t kiss you until you begged me.”
“Well, I’m begging, and if you don’t kiss me, I’m leaving because you can’t look at me like that and not do anything about it.”
“And how exactly am I looking at you?” Mark challenges. His smirk makes me sigh in pleasure.
“Like you want to take my clothes off.” My answer is blunt, and a pink hue creeps onto my cheeks.
“That’s a whole different kind of beg you’ll be doing. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Mark winks. “We’ll get there.”
A playful smirk forms on my lips. “You’re so cocky.” I shake my head.
“Graham’s cocky. I’m confident,” Mark affirms. His lip curls at the mention of Graham.
I force myself back into the moment. When our lips come together, kissing someone other than Graham sends a shock through me. Mark’s tongue glides over my bottom lip, begging for entrance, and all negative thoughts slip away long enough for me to be with him.
“Ken, we need to stop.” Mark pulls away and sighs in frustration.
I reach around his neck to pull him in closer. “I don’t think we do.” My lips find his again, and he obliges by kissing me back.
Mark backs away from me, but I follow in perfect harmony with him, not allowing our lips to break apart. There’s an urgency in the kiss. His hands reach up the back of my blouse and his fingers linger on the hooks of my bra.
My breaths grow uneven, and I feel my world closing in on me. The beginning of a panic attack has me pushing on Mark’s chest to put distance between us.
“Maybe we should stop,” I whisper through harsh pants.
Mark looks down at me. I know what he sees. There’s apprehension on my face.
“Kennedy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” he begins to apologize.
My hand comes up to stop his words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mark. I’m just trying to figure things out. I’m fine until I’m not, if that makes any sense.” I pinch the bridge of my nose from not explaining myself well enough for him to understand. “If this is too much, Mark, if this becomes too much for you, I’ll understand if you want to bail.”
“No one’s bailing, Kennedy. I’m not spending time with you just to get in your pants. I like you because of what’s in here.” Mark leans down and points to my heart. “And only because of what’s in there. Don’t ever think anything differently.”
Mark walks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt. Nodding towards the bathroom, he says, “I’m going to take a cold shower.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I say under my breath.
Mark turns to face me. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything. Go take a shower,” I demand. “I’ll just wait here.”
Mark winks at me as he closes the bathroom door. I sit in his spotless room, my head a complete mess. Just keep breathing, I remind myself. One of the easiest, thoughtless tasks human beings do has become a chore for me.
“You’re in deep thought,” Mark’s voice startles me. “You okay?” He crouches down to look me in the eyes.
I start at his feet and rake my stare to his bare legs. My eyes reach the bottom of the towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets slide down his naked chest, and his fingers run through the disheveled, wet strands of his hair.
A headshake clears the thoughts rattling around in my brain. One moment my body is screaming for his touch. The next, it tells me to back away, put distance between us because mentally, I won’t be able to stomach having someone buried deep inside me again.
“I’m okay,” I lie as I slide to the end of the bed and stand. “Let’s go watch a movie.”
“Ken, I refuse to watch Dirty Dancing again. Pick something different.”
I laugh.
“Now, get out, because if you don’t, I’m dropping this towel.”
I cover my eyes. “Get dressed. I’ll be downstairs.”
Mark’s fingers trap my arm just as my hand reaches the door. My body is pulled back, and his arms wrap around my waist. The warmth of his shower soaks through the back of my shirt. I twist until I see the intense stare in his eyes.
“You’re going to be okay,” Mark whispers, adamant to keep his hold on me when I squirm in his arms.
“I am okay,” I lie again.
“Don’t lie to me,” Mark demands. “Say it, please.”
“Say what?” I question his orders.
“Say ‘I’m going to be okay’.” Mark’s eyes are tight as he waits for my response.
A smile pops onto my lips as I speak. “I’m going to be okay.”
I head to the basement in a mild haze. How is it he knows what I need without me having to ask? He sees when my mind is in a panic, so he takes my feelings into his own hands, guiding me to a place of safety.
What I’m figuring out is I can’t rely on Mark to be my crutch, as Jackie has said before. He’s allowed to lift me up, but it’s unacceptable to let him hold me there.
I need to learn to stand on my own.
To be strong with others on my side, but not to be reliant on them.
I need to be strong and fight back.
I’m going to be okay, I repeat to myself.
Mark walks through the door and stops in his tracks. He watches me. I’m not sur
e what he’s looking for, but I know he’s searching for something.
“That didn’t take long.” I point out the obvious.
“Figured you’d want to watch Dirty Dancing before the guys get here.” He grins.
I know why he’s relenting on his original protest of the movie. It’s an insignificant gesture, but I can’t stop the smile that mirrors his.
“You’re a good guy, aren’t you?” I question, my eyes narrowed. He’s a mystery to me still.
“I haven’t always been a good guy, but you make me want to be better,” he answers with an honesty that makes my eyes widen.
No more words are exchanged as Mark pulls out the DVD and pops it into the player. He sits next to me, pulling me into his side. His warmth envelopes me and I welcome the contact. Halfway through the movie, Mark grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it over our legs. I twist to smile at him, but remain silent. My head finds comfort on his shoulder as he tightens his arm around me.
Mark’s fingertips caress my arm in hypnotizing circles. His anticipation radiates through him, into me.
Our eyes lock and the softness behind his excite me. He skims his free hand over my cheek until his fingers reach my lips. He’s gentle. On instinct, I wet the flesh. My tongue touches his fingers and a spark runs through my body.
“Oh, god.” My heart pounds in my chest. I turn my body towards him, tucking my legs beneath me. His fingers feather my lips. “Just kiss me,” I beg, shaking my head at my own stupidity. One minute, I’m asking him to kiss me, then the next I’m pushing him away.
“Only if you really want me to.” Mark leans closer.
“Maybe just this once.” I nod in encouragement.
Mark’s smile lights up his face. “Just this once then.” His lips press against mine and I feel that feeling, the one that tells you, as confusing as it is, it’s the right thing to do.
I’ve read my fair share of pamphlets to know that I should be reluctant. Everyone is different, and our coping mechanisms vary. I’ve learned mine. Mark isn’t one of them. He’s a guilty pleasure.
Our bodies are a mixed bag of limbs, allowing the kiss to consume us. Mark’s hands find their way to my hips. I take the driver’s seat and swing my leg over to straddle his lap. His attraction presses me through his gym shorts.