Transcending Nirvana (Dark Evoke #3)

by V. L. Brock

  No…I didn’t hate him, did I? I hated Liam with a passion, and that night, in my childhood bedroom with the silver coroner of the full moon spearing into my window, I thanked my lucky stars that I finally had support around me. I was thankful that unlike others who were or had been in my situation, I didn’t need to be aided in embracing female empowerment so they/I wouldn’t fall into the same cycle once again.

  Despite those thoughts revolving around my head, the hurt and wounded pride that I felt at the belief that I’d never truly meant anything to Walker killed me. Regardless of all we had been through, he let me go. He didn’t fight for me…for us…and he sure as Hell wasn’t showing me now that he cared.

  Goodbye, Gerry were the final words I’d spoken to him. I don’t know who that statement killed more: him for me calling him his given name, or me, for listening to my head instead of my heart, and taking the power to do what needed to be done, and just leave.

  Anger surged through my being as suddenly as a crash of thunder in the heart of a storm, and before I could stop myself, I hurled the phone against the wall, shouting as I did so, as though vocalizing the degree of my anger would help make the impact of the technology smashing, worse.

  Then I allowed myself to crumble, leaving what remnants of clothing the duffel held in its place on the cushion to be tackled tomorrow, and curled up into the center of the bed. Wailing into the pillow, I hugged it to my crestfallen body, imagining soothing fingers threading through my hair, and a certain Irish folk song, circling my mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Kady…Kady…KADY!”

  I woke with a start. The person screaming my name perched on the side of my bed with warm hands sitting on my shoulders. When I fluttered my eyes, tears continuing to streak down my checks and wet my lashes, I threw myself into his arms, sobbing, as he held me closely. I felt his heart thundering beneath his pajama top against my cheek as he gently rocked us.

  “It’s okay, chickpea. Daddy’s here.” The sound as he kissed the top of my head seemed so much louder than usual, before resting his chin in their place. “I’m here,” he repeated again. A few moments after I gathered my bearing, I was asked if I wanted to talk about it.

  That was the one thing Mom and Dad told us when we were kids: ‘Talking about your nightmares reminds you that they weren’t real’.

  If only they knew that the hand around my throat and the other diving under my panties, in a bid to force himself on me, wasn’t a simple nightmare…it was real. It was a living nightmare. A Hellish memory.

  Licking my lips, I shook my head and snuggled back down, wrapping the robe around myself, while Dad covered me with the satin comforter.

  His tall, slim frame halted at the doorway, his salt and pepper hair all ruffled from sleep. “No one will harm you, chickpea. We’ve just got you back, and I respect the fact that you don’t want to talk to your mom and me about what happened, and we won’t force you. But we are your parents. We love you; we would die for you and your sister.”

  “I know, Dad,” I sniveled; balling my fist under my chin, the salty residue from my wailing was more of a cold paste on the back of my hand.

  “And what’s more,” in those three words, I heard his voice change, it was determined, it was truthful…it was a parent finding the strength to lift a car off their offspring. “I would kill anyone who ever laid a hand on you. To you, I may be past my time, Kady. But if he comes here, he better have a body bag in the trunk of his car.”

  Even through everything––the sensation of the weight and sullied, tarnished hands on my body from my dream, my lashes wet, leaving the arch of my cheeks and just beneath my eyebrows damp––I still managed to crack a gratified grin.

  A few weeks ago, Liam had told me that Dad had a problem with gambling just to cover his own ass. I was ashamed with the thought of my father, Marcus Jenson, becoming such a selfish man. I was wrong. The Marcus Jenson, 6ft 2” worth of intimidating male standing in my doorway in his blue stripy pajamas with a universe of love and adoration reflecting in his eyes, was the man who would kill for his family, never risk anything to lose them.

  “I know.”

  “Good. You get some sleep; we have things to do tomorrow. I love you, chickpea.”

  “I love you, too, Dad,” I yawned.

  “Sleep sweet, half-pint.”

  I smiled, “Sleep sweet, Daddy.”

  I awoke to the smell of bacon, and instead of my mouth watering from the heavenly scent, it was my eyes which were left to water. Why did everything remind me of Walker? I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  The comforter was kicked off my body, only to find my lilac robe which I’d slipped on after my shower, and slept in all night, disheveled and gaping open. My hair, having renounced blow-drying it last night, was wavy and a little frizzy, still, nothing which couldn’t be easily fixed into place with a few clips and a hair elastic.

  After taking care of my morning routine, I sauntered back into the bedroom from the en-suite, that damn bag mocking me once more. But I had no choice. I couldn’t refuse to touch or open the thing simply because of one person. For the first time in so many years, I had my family around me, and no man was going to stand between us, and if he did, I knew they would catch me when I fell.

  Hastily swapping the robe for the black fitted shirt with faded jeans, I made myself presentable, before pulling my hair back into a messy bun. Dusting on some make-up to make me feel a little more alive, I then made my way down the stairs.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom greeted, standing over the range, the sound of grease spitting away in the pan making my flesh raise in goose bumps.

  “Morning,” I smiled.

  “Bacon?”

  “Pass. Have you got any granola and yogurt?” All three sets of incredulous eyes turned to me, silently gauging an explanation. “What?”––I raised my shoulders––“I want to start eating healthy.” I answered, uncaring of any opinions my loved ones may had been telepathically conversing.

  My healthy breakfast choice was placed in front of me when Dad muttered around his eggs, “Your mother’s working today, Brittany’s busy, so I’m taking the day off work and we’re going to buy you some proper clothes.”

  “Proper clothes?” I asked, affronted, my gaze skimming leisurely down my attire.

  “Yes, we can’t have you always in jeans. Where did you get them from? Wal-Mart?”

  “Umm…” I scoffed. “Excuse me, but I have lived for eight years without you, your money, or this house. I provided for myself…” Wrong––Liam had always provided for me, but still…

  “And look where that got you.” I simply gaped with tears burning my eyes. Noting my reaction, his fork was instantly set on his plate, before shifting his chair over the limestone flooring of the integrated kitchen and dining room. The warmth of his aged hands scooping mine up and holding them apologetically had me blinking back my blurry vision. “Chickpea, I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean it. I’m angry at myself. I want to make it right, please. Forgive me.”

  “You want to make it right?”

  “Yes,” he muttered instantaneously.

  “Then don’t judge me by my mistakes,” my voice broke. “Do you know how much courage it took to finally leave and then come here and ask to come home after everything that happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Kady. You’re right. I won’t say anything that debasing again, I swear, but I do want us to go and get you a new wardrobe of clothes. Okay.”

  Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I refused to answer and mulled it over. It was when he cocked his head into my peripheral vision, his graying hair flopping over his brow slightly, and his laugh lines refusing to stay dormant as his aged flesh began sagging, that broke through my resolve. His lips curled. “And when we come back, we can have a quick game of basketball like years ago…deal?”

  “Deal,” I grinned. “But your ass is going down old man.”
>
  “I can assure you,” Mom lifted her fork and pointed at us from across the table, “your father still has the stamina he had in our twenties…” she winked in his direction.

  “EW, EW, EW…” Brittany and I heaved in unison. “Too much info, Mom, too much info…”

  With Brittany occupied with her voluntary work at the care home, reading to the elderly, and Mom in work, Dad and I were left alone to do what my dad did best…flash his credit card in department stores.

  I was in the changing room, trying on yet another fitted cocktail dress with red suede heels, when, “I’m so proud of you,” emanated through the white paneled, barn-like, changing room door.

  I was tackling the zipper up the side of my body when I asked, “Why?”

  “Because you’re strong…”

  Stepping out to the large room with a couch in the center, the surrounding walls covered with mirrors, Dad gasped before setting his hands on his knees and pushed himself up from the lavish couch.

  Dropping my focus and hanging my head was an instant reaction. I watched in my peripheral vision as his black Italian leather shoes gradually came into focus. His finger coaxed my chin upward. “You’re beautiful and strong, Kady McKay…”

  “No,” I blinked, forcing the lump in my throat back down to where it came from, while my head shook. “I’m not. I was––”

  “Was?”

  Sighing, I rounded the man before me and lowered myself onto the spiral couch in the heart of the room, where he was once sitting. My fingers were knitted in my lap. “Walker was the one who made me stronger. We were both damaged, both shattered, but somehow, those pieces slotted together.”

  “Wait, Walker? Who…I thought it was Liam…”

  The look of sheer confusion on his face had me sniggering inwardly. The situation was one huge, hot mess. I wriggled my toes in the heeled sandals, checking them out again. They really were pretty. “You have no idea how confusing it is, Dad. You really have no idea––”

  “Then tell me. Let me in, chickpea.”

  I wasn’t ready to let anyone in. The person I’d let in had torn my heart from my chest, and concealed the true knowledge of what I thought I possessed, in the shadows. “Don’t rush me, Dad, please. I will in time. Now,”––the lavishness of the sofa left my behind when I shunted myself up and press my hands to my hips––“What do you think?” I gave a small twirl.

  “As gorgeous as ever,” was his answer. “So we have four cocktail dresses, four daytime dresses, pants, blouses, sweaters, skirts, shoes…anything else my daughter needs?”

  Walker…

  “No, we’re done. Thank you, Daddy.”

  It felt odd driving back to the house with the top down, the breeze blowing through my hair and my dad waving or offering a nod of acknowledgement to runners, dog walkers, and even simple people on their lawn watering their shrubs. He was an upstanding man of the community, one who had a horrific childhood, yet refused to reiterate the same pattern. He made damn sure that he was the complete opposite of his father, by providing his family with a good future and stability, not taking every penny to spend it on alcohol, only to return and beat on his wife and children afterwards.

  As soon as the convertible was parked in the garage, and the ignition was switched off, I was asked if I wanted any lunch. Involuntarily, I shook my head, my earrings jangling against one another as I did so. When I saw his once smiling face fall and his head drop along with a sigh at my answer, my system was inundated with a form of guilt. I pressed my hand against his forearm. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate today, Dad. I did and I do. I just want to be on my own now.”

  His arm draped over my shoulders, pulling me into his side as we strolled into the driveway. The mechanical sound of the double garage door closing narrowly drowned-out a handful of his words. “I’m here when you want to talk, okay. All you have to do is say so.”

  “I know,” I muttered, and as the front door was unlocked, I rearranged the generous amount of bags in my hands, then headed straight up the stairs in front of me to unpack and have some alone time. I needed to learn how to tackle my own demons and fast. Unfortunately, that was a journey that only I could travel.

  Placing each article of clothing on hangers and organizing them in the closet was a tiring job. I can’t even remember falling asleep; all I remember was gasping and waking to a cold sweat sheening my flesh as the vivid image was embedded in my mind.

  The way I screamed his name as he turned his back on me and walked away with his hands loosely in his pockets, his head down just displaying the back of his flat-cap, was torture.

  “Please, don’t leave me. Come back, I’ll change, I’m sorry,” I called out to him. Finally, my words struck a nerve and he halted mid-stride. Turning on his heel sluggishly, his head lulled back. I was practically running towards him as he began prowling towards me.

  When we met, my hands caressed at the bulging muscle framed in ink at the top of his arms. I breathed him in as deeply as I could––so deep in fact, that the bridge of my nose began to sting. When his knuckles trailed down the side of my face, eradicating the tears which fell upon them, a warming shudder escaped me.

  “When will you learn, darlin’? You never need to change.”

  Then he was gone, and I was left sitting in the heart of a Queen-size bed all alone, with my knees pulled into my chest, rocking as further tears fell, without the familiar, gentle touch brushing them away.

  When I thought I purged one batch of sobs, I glanced at the digital clock on the white bedside unit. It was almost midnight, and I was beyond grateful that my family hadn’t disturbed me, most probably because Brittany talked them out of it.

  Each time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Each time I found myself drowning in the silence of oblivion, his voice would pierce through like the first rays of light after a storm. In that moment, I wished that I could’ve gone back a few weeks and relive those moments where it was Liam standing in front of my face as I closed my eyes. At least I would feel hatred, resent and disgust at the man in front of me. But seeing the man I love so desperately…each time it killed me a little more. And I already had very little left to keep alive.

  Deciding to take a shower to eliminate the sheen of sweat from my body, I stripped from my clothing which I fell asleep in, and stepped into the shower, the heat of each tiny droplet lancing my flesh as though trying to scald the emotional pain from my bones…

  I wished it could.

  Ten minutes later I was hastily toweling my body. I stepped into my fresh mint green satin pajamas with K.M.J embroidered on the left pocket, then my slippers. The fluffy robe was wrapped and tied around my body before I headed down the corridor on my tiptoes, avoiding the usual creaking boards like I did as a child.

  The lights were off. Everyone was in bed, so I made extra care not to make too much noise as I threaded the chain through the front door track to unlock it. The moment I pulled that door open, the cool night, D.C air hit me like driving seventy miles into a brick wall.

  Down the driveway, the sound of my slippers shuffling reminded me of a certain nosey-neighbor as it pierced through the night. Bending to collect the basketball which remained where it was always kept, between the metal pole and the gerberas, I smiled. The firmness between my hands, the ridges against my fingertips and the rubbery smell travelling to my sinuses, I bounced it on the driveway before taking four steps backwards. Bouncing it twice more before aiming up to the basket, I hurled it through the air, and was answered by the chain jangling as the sphere fell through it with ease. It bounced and rolled its way back and I collected it again in my hands, repeating the process.

  Time escaped me as I methodically bounced, tossed and collected that ball. The sounds surrounding me transported me back to an easier time in my life––a time where I was young and naïve, a time where the only man in my life was my first hero. Now, that title had been passed on to two other men in my life, and both had damaged me beyond repair.

&
nbsp; The inner light from the foyer hadn’t even been noticed as I hurled that ball once again, the jangling of the chain hanging from the hoop, and the vibrations of the pole, filling me with a form of comfort.

  “What are you doing up?”

  Collecting the sphere, I took another step back, looking at my dad in his thick, silver robe, his hands in the pockets. “I had a bad dream. I didn’t want to go back to sleep,” I muttered, unfazed. Sighing, my words were cut by the impact, as for the first time, the ball hit and rebounded from the wood beyond the hoop.

  Dad’s hands were soon hauled out of the deep pockets. Recovering the ball, he sauntered to where I was standing. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, bouncing the ball before lining it up with the hoop and outstretching his arm. It fell through the chain effortlessly.

  The process was repeated: my shot, Dad’s shot, then my shot again, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball, a lot like my emotions. How ironic.

  He wasn’t stupid, and neither was I. The amount of problems throughout my life that I faced, refusing to tell anyone about, was immense. The only way I’d open up to him, was via distraction. The amount of secrets I’d made known to him just by simply tossing a ball into a hoop, was ridiculous. But he was still my daddy, and deep down, beneath all the shit I had burdened on me with Liam, I was still that naïve girl wanting and needing her father’s guidance.

  “Liam was an ass. He molded me into what he wanted me to be, and then cheated on me with the person who I thought was my best friend. I lost myself, completely and utterly, but because of the accident, I couldn’t remember.”

  Dad tossed the ball into the hoop before snuggling his hands back into his fluffy pockets, while I retrieved the ball. The fact that he was letting me talk openly without interrupting helped me to open up more. It was the worry of my family’s derision at my predicament which stopped me from being honest with them in the first place. Regardless of his silence, I still noted his jaw setting and his shallow breaths escalating into heavy pants, his eyes dark and hooded.