by R. K. Lilley
“When I’m done, I’ll put you back in your clothes and drop you off somewhere. Maybe the apartment, or maybe I’ll sneak you back into your very own bed. Does it matter? You’re going to wake up tomorrow feeling dirtier than you ever have before, and you won’t remember why, but you’ll be too disgusting for Tristan to ever lay a finger on again, because he was in love with you, and you let his best friend use you like a dog.”
“You aren’t his best friend,” I found the voice to say. “He can’t even stand you anymore.”
That set him off, and he was practically foaming at the mouth as he whirled on me. “Fuck you! That’s your fault!”
I was watching his face when it happened. One second I was at his mercy, and the next, I was at the mercy of fate, as another vehicle crashed into his side of the car.
I remembered spinning and spinning, and when the spinning was over, the pain.
Later I would learn that we’d spun out until my side of the car made solid contact with a telephone pole, caving in my side, though Dean’s half of the car got it far worse.
I was still staring at him, at his crushed, bloody body, his blank, empty eyes, when my side hit.
No one ever had to tell me. I saw Dean die.
I never so much as asked about him after that.
I remember that my head smashed onto the dashboard. I remember the windshield breaking, bits of glass embedding itself into the skin of my face, chest, and arms, but that was but a taste as it was followed almost instantly by a burning pain in my stomach that I’d never forget, as the frame in my hands broke into pieces and stabbed into several vital parts of my belly.
I don’t know to this day if I screamed out loud, but deep down in my soul, in the place inside of me that was bursting to be a mother, that pined for it, that lived and breathed for the day that I could give birth to my own child, my own flesh and blood, that part of me screamed, “Nooooo!”
It was quite possible that, somewhere deep down, I never stopped screaming it.
That pain was profound and unforgettable, but the agony of my leg being crushed was what finally, blessedly, made me black out.
When I woke again in the hospital, recovering from multiple surgeries, I didn’t have to ask.
I knew.
I’d lost everything in that car.
Only, even I didn’t know what all that loss entailed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TRISTAN
I woke with a start. My head was killing me, bile rising in my throat before I’d even opened my eyes.
I kept those eyes closed for a moment longer, my hands reaching out to feel the naked body beside mine, and then, with something akin to horror, another one, on my other side.
I recoiled when my hand skimmed over one plump breast.
I stumbled out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom before I began to wretch.
I emptied the contents of my stomach in huge, racking heaves.
I had no idea who it was in my bed, but I knew who it wasn’t, and that was enough to scare me sober.
She can’t find out, she can’t find out, she can’t find out, ran like a mantra in my head. We’d broken up, and she’d stopped taking my calls over a month ago, had in fact divorced me without so much as a phone call, but still, I’d been faithful before this.
I knew that this was unforgivable. It felt unforgivable.
I was in the shower, washing away the night’s sins, when pieces of the evening started coming back to me.
I remembered the fucking speedballs, the shots, and a whole lot of fuzzy details in between. The fucking morbid tribute to my brother, remembered not caring what happened to me, maybe even hoping that something bad would. Maybe I’d wind up in the hospital, and she’d feel so bad for me she’d take me back, I remembered thinking.
She’d been at the apartment, I recalled, in horror. Said she’d needed to tell me something, but I couldn’t remember what it had been. Had she told me and I’d forgotten, or had she not told me at all?
Of all of the nights for her to come and see me…things couldn’t have turned out worse.
Had she come back to reconcile? I felt so sick with guilt that I couldn’t bring myself to call her with two sluts still in my bed, but I had to find out why she’d come.
When I was clean again, my body, if not my soul, I walked with dread back into my bedroom. The two naked women were awake now, one calling out my name as she sat up to lean on her elbows.
I barely saw her, barely saw either of them, my eyes fixed on the spot above my bed where a picture should have been.
My gut twisted with dread.
Had she just come to get it? If so, was that a good sign, or a bad one? Had I given it to her, or had she taken it? I needed answers, but first, I needed to empty my bed, and burn all of my sheets.
I told the girls to get dressed, visibly cringing every time they made mention of the night before. I didn’t recognize either of them, and doubted I could have picked them out of a lineup. One had dark hair, one had light brown, both had fake tits. That was about as much as I noticed.
The dark haired one approached me, trying to get close. My arm flew out, warding her off.
She smiled, unfazed. “You were amazing last night. Even with two of us, we couldn’t keep up with you. You were a fucking stud. Fucked us silly.”
I ran my hand over my face, wondering if I was going to throw up again. “Go, please. I was trashed last night, and I don’t particularly want any reminders about all of the fucked up shit I did.”
They didn’t move, just staring at me.
“Get the fuck out!” I roared at them. “Just get the fuck out of my room!”
Finally, thankfully, that got results.
I cleaned my room, top to bottom, disinfecting every surface. I gave my bathroom the same treatment, since I was fuzzy on all of the sordid details from the night before.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or further horrified when I saw that my wastebasket contained several used rubbers, but least I’d used some form of protection.
I threw up again.
I threw out my sheets. I only had one other set, but I didn’t care. I took them out to the dumpster like the trash they were.
I showered again, brushed my teeth, then went to work some more with the disinfectant wipes.
It was three in the afternoon when I called her.
It went directly to voicemail.
I took another shower.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Would she ever forgive me? Was there any way I could keep it from her? I hadn’t been unfaithful. Not technically, since we’d been very clearly broken up, but a technicality did not alter the way I felt, and the way I felt was wretched. In my heart, I was still married to her.
Would I be able to forgive myself if she’d come here to reconcile, to give me another chance, and I’d trampled over it in my hell-bent path of self-destruction?
That answer was easy to find. No.
I called her, got her voicemail, and cleaned my room again.
This went on for days.
Five days later, I got a phone call from Dean’s mother with news that would change my life.
She threw the details at me too fast for me to understand, her tone almost blank.
“Dead?” I repeated back to her. I hadn’t seen him in days, but that was hardly unusual. I was shocked beyond all comprehension.
Even so, I was not prepared for what came next.
“He had a passenger in the car, too,” she continued, and I thought she must truly be in shock to be acting so calm when her son had just died. “Some girl that worked for your manager, Jerry.”
I was in my room, back to the wall, and I fell against it, sliding to the floor, nearly dropping the phone. “Wh-what did you say?” I asked her, my voice a terrified croak.
“There was a girl in the car with him. The car is totaled, by the way. He’d have had a serious drunk driving charge on his hands, if he’d survived.”
“The girl? Oh…did you know her? I’m not sure what happened to her. I didn’t ask.”
I hung up, calling Jerry.
Thankfully, he answered on the third ring.
He answered with, “She’s okay, Tristan.”
Following panic came fury. “Why didn’t you tell me? This was days ago! How could you keep this from me?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Listen…Tristan…she doesn’t want to see you.”
My free hand reached over to my arm and began to scratch mindlessly at the skin of my other forearm.
Gut roiling, heart twisting, I asked, “She said that?”
“I’m sorry, man. Have to respect her wishes. She seems very resolute.”
“What hospital, Jerry?”
He sighed audibly. “You don’t want to come here, Tristan. It’ll be better if you don’t.”
“Tell me!”
“St. Rose.”
“You said she’s okay, but, was she hurt?”
“She got banged up pretty bad.”
“Tell me.”
“She hit her head pretty hard, got a concussion. She’s still in the hospital, but she should be fine.”
I swallowed hard, still scratching away at my arm. “Anything else?”
“She got cut up on impact some by the debris, but she’ll heal.”
Scratch.
Gouge.
Claw.
“Anything else?”
“Her knee was crushed. She should be able to walk again, eventually, but she’ll have a substantial limp. She won’t be dancing anymore, Tristan.”
My hand moved to my chest, right over my heart.
Scratch.
Gouge.
Claw.
The phone dropped from my hand, but not before the sound of my own sobs bled through to Jerry’s end.
I didn’t last three hours.
I was in my car before I realized that my hand was bloody. I glanced down at my arm and chest, genuinely surprised that I’d scratched myself that badly. I hadn’t felt a thing.
I went back up to my apartment, showered, changed, and headed out again.
It was only on my second run that I saw Danika’s car parked at the curb. I hadn’t left the apartment in days, but it must have been there from the time of the accident.
DANIKA
The news came at me in twisted waves. They gave it to me all wrong, making it hard for me process or understand. It was only as I heard Bev chewing out the doctor that I put some of the pieces together in order.
“That is not how you tell that to someone. If a woman just lost her baby, you do not start by telling her she can’t have any more. I’m a lawyer, you ass, so watch what you say to her, or I’ll sue you for emotional distress.”
That got the doctor the hell out of the room, and Bev was at my ear, stroking my hair, a comfort in a moment where that should have been impossible.
“I can’t really sue him for that, sweetheart. I just lost my temper, and that’s my go-to scare tactic. I would in a heartbeat though, if I thought we could win. That bastard deserves worse.”
I tried to pay attention, but my mind was just circling back to what I’d learned. “I lost my baby,” I whispered.
“I’m so, so sorry, Danika. I didn’t know you were pregnant, but I know you, and I know that, since you were, you wanted that baby. I’m so sorry.”
“And I can’t have any more.”
“No, my dear. I’m so sorry, and I know this is hard to think of now, but someday, when you’ve met the right man, and you’re at the right point in your life, you can adopt. You can still be a mother, Danika, just not in the way that you’d hoped for.”
I barely heard her, only focused on my pain, only focused on my loss.
I laid there, and felt as though my very soul seeped out of me with that loss.
I’d thought I was numb. Head to toe, heart and soul, numb. But alas, no, there was something left, something awful that fired up in my chest as Tristan walked into my hospital room, his face ashen.
I’d seen him heartbroken. I’d seen him reeling from loss. I’d seen him strung out, high, drunk, devastated, and out of his mind enraged.
But never had I seen him like this. He looked like a man who had lost his whole world.
It took every ounce of willpower I had not to cave at the sight of him.
Outwardly, I was calm, but my insides had become a tempest, a great storm that I wouldn’t let Tristan close to. He couldn’t be allowed even a glimpse of it. I had to at least appear composed and resolved if I had any hope, any prayer, of making it through this.
“I just now heard about the accident,” he croaked out. “How are-er-are you doing okay?”
I shrugged, having the hardest time meeting his bright, shiny eyes set in his haggard face. I couldn’t meet them for more than milliseconds at a time, or I knew I’d be exposed. There was just no escaping his eyes for long. “I’ll live.”
“Are you in pain?”
I shrugged again. “I’ll live. I don’t really want to talk about it.” My tone brooked no refusal.
“That’s fine, that’s fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
I thought that okay was a pretty generous term, but I held my tongue.
“Jerry told me that you didn’t want to see me. Is that true?”
It was difficult to get the word out. “Yes.”
He staggered back, visibly upset. His hand shot to his arm and began to scratch at a spot under his T-shirt. It took him a very long time to find his voice again.
Finally, the waiting was too much, and I closed my eyes, turning my face away.
“Did something happen that night? You were coming to see me. Did we have a fight? I saw that our picture was missing from my wall, but I don’t remember what happened. What did you come there to say to me?”
My mouth hardened. “Nothing important.”
“Danika, please—“
“Please, Tristan, please just go. We aren’t good for each other. Can’t you see that? After all that’s happened, isn’t that finally clear? I need to move on from you, and the only way that’s going to happen is if we stay clear of each other.”
“You’re wrong, Danika.”
“Listen to me, Tristan. You are bad for me. I am done.”
Horrible noises were leaving his throat.
I finally looked up to see him staring at me, the most devastated look on his face. He was scratching at his chest now, those low, harsh groans still coming out of him, as though escaping from deep in his chest. “Done, Tristan. Please go.”
I had to look away again, closing my eyes. I’d break for sure, if he didn’t leave soon.
I felt him watching me for a while before he spoke, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Can I please have the picture back?”
“It didn’t survive the crash.” Like so many things.
Finally, mercifully, he left.
TRISTAN
Bev came at me like a Tasmanian devil. I’d never seen anything like it. A skinny white woman in her forties trying to take on a huge motherfucker like me.
I just let her abuse me, holding still as she pounded on my chest and slapped my face. She was panting and crying by the time she finally got it out of her system, glaring at me, the wrath in her eyes daunting. This was a formidable woman, not in size, but in will. I had no doubt that if she wanted a thing done, it would happen just how she wanted it to. I wouldn’t have been all that surprised if she put a hit out on me.
She poked a finger in my chest, her voice very quiet, but shaking with fury. “You need to leave. She’s asked you to go, and so that’s what needs to happen. Before you go, though, I have a few things to say. Did you know that guy Dean was giving her a ride home? Did that happen with your knowledge?”
I grimaced. So much of the night was a blur to me, but I did recall screaming something along those lines to her. I was almost positi
ve that had been my idea. “I did. I’m sure you know that Dean was my roommate.”
“Danika was dosed with Rohypnol. Do you know what that is?”
My entire body stilled.
He wouldn’t have, I thought, my mind racing.
He’d never dare, I told myself.
“She was dosed at your place. The only thing she drank was half a glass of orange juice that your buddy Dean served to her. You brought that into her life.” She was screaming by the end, her voice cracking.
Her mouth hardened as she regained her composure, and her hand shot up, slapping me again.
I took the abuse. I knew I deserved it. I didn’t think there was any way even Bev could have hated me more than I hated myself right then.
“You put her into a car with a rapist motherfucker who was high as a kite. You did this to her. You. Now get out of my sight. If I see your face again, I will make you pay.”
I left, my mind still reeling with the information she’d given me. I believed her that she’d find some way to make me pay if she saw me again, but that wasn’t why I left. If Danika had wanted me there, I would have stayed with her, not matter what. No one could have kept me away this side of death. But that was the problem. She didn’t want me there. She’d been very clear about that. I wasn’t good for her. She could do better, and she finally saw it that way.
I went to Dean’s funeral. I seethed through the entire thing. I’d lost people, close people, but never had I lost someone and realized that I loathed them. I should have felt bad, but I wasn’t even sorry he was dead. In fact, the only use I would have for an alive Dean after what I knew he’d done was to kill him with my own hands.
Even when he’d pissed me off, I’d still trusted him not to do something like that. It was a hard pill to swallow; how misplaced my trust had been.
If he was capable of drugging Danika and doing God knows whatever he’d been planning, what else had he done? It was downright devious, outright evil, what he’d done. If it had been anyone but an incensed Bev who had told me about it, I wouldn’t have believed them. She had no reason to make a thing like that up, and she was not a woman that dealt in misinformation.