by Sybil Smith
Thank-fucking-God that I work out every day to be better, faster, stronger than the next guy who comes around because I tackle him to the ground before he can even take another breath. I'm on top of him before he can even make a sound and I feel my fist connect with his face. Over and over and over. I feel the bone crunch beneath my knuckles. Blood is covering his face, my hand, my shirt.
"Roma!"
Only then do I stop. I'm panting as I lift myself up off his body. I reach down and grab his collar and jerk him up. Unbelievably, he's able to stand by himself. Not wanting to see his bloody, bruised face for one more second, I let him go. He takes off stumbling in the opposite direction. I watch him until he turns the corner to make sure he isn't going to try anything. I look down and see blood covering my hand and splatters on my shirt. Holy fucking shit. I can't even believe I lost control like that. Especially in front of Harper.
Shit. Harper.
I turn around to look at her. She's standing there with a look on her face that I know all too well. I had only hoped it'd never grace her face. She's scared. Not of what just happened between her and that dickhead, but of me. She's confused. Probably due to the fact that I'm a cop and didn't bring him in. I just beat him the fuck up and sent him on his merry way. And I think she's a little bit disappointed in me, too. Jesus Christ. This night has gone from bad to fucking worse.
I take a step towards her and she takes a step back. "Harper, I—"
"Take me home, Roma." Normally I'd hate that someone was telling me what to do. But I've done her wrong in so many ways tonight, that I'll take her home if that's what she wants. No questions asked.
She staggers a little as we walk to the car from still being a little drunk, so I reach out to help her steady herself. She just pulls away and gives me a glare like the mother fucking Ice Queen. I decide to not touch her anymore, and just open the door for her when we get to the car. She sits with her back completely straight and her face looking out the passenger window. I'm in deep shit this time. I can tell I've royally fucked up.
…..
I pull up to her house half an hour later. Neither of us has spoken the entire way and it's bugging me the hell out. I want to know what she's thinking. What she's feeling. I want to make sure she's okay. I put my car in park and take it as a good sign that she doesn't immediately jump out of the car. She slowly looks over from the window to my hand. I look down, too. It's swollen and crusted over in dried blood. I can't tell if it's mine or his. I look back over at her, but she's still looking at my hand.
"Let me take a look at it inside." If letting her tell me what to do means I'm not getting ignored, then by all means I'll let her tell away. I uncrank my car and follow her inside into the kitchen. She points at the sink and stands at the counter, watching me. She still hasn't made eye contact with me yet, but I'm hoping that letting me inside is a good sign.
I wash off my hand as best as I can and walk over to the barstool closest to her and sit down. She taps the counter and I set my hand on it as flat as I can manage. The pain radiates up my arm and I can tell it's broken. No cuts though, so I'm lucky that his blood didn't get up in it. I'm sure that would've gotten some long ass Google speech about the dangers of blood contamination. At this point though, I'm kinda wishing she'd give me one. I wish she'd say anything really.
She looks over my hand without touching it. Even pissed as hell, she remembers not to touch my hands. Apparently she thinks I'm okay without going to the hospital because she just wraps up a bag of some frozen vegetables and sets it gently upon my hand.
Minutes go by and she's just standing there staring at my hand like it's about to tell her how to spontaneously combust. Hell, I wish I could spontaneously combust. The silence is deafening. I need to fix this. I need to take charge and make it better.
"Harper." She doesn't look up. Shit. I have to make this right.
"Harper. Look at me." I say it in a voice so soft, it almost cracks. I guess it finally gets to her because she looks up at me.
Only then do I see it. She's not scared or confused. She's hurt. Not physically, but hurt nonetheless. I want to reach out and touch her, but I don't. I don't want to push her. I don't want to pretend like this never happened. I need her to understand. After all, relationships are all about timing. If you don't say the right thing at the right moment—no matter how much fate is involved— everything will be ruined. Even if you regret it, it'll be too late. And I don't want to lose her. Not yet. Hell, maybe not ever.
She's looking at me expectantly. I know if I wait much longer that I'll never be able to fix this. So I say exactly what I know I have to say.
"I got scared. I…was afraid. I was afraid that he'd do to you what was done to me." My voice is low and I pour every emotion I can muster into it. I have to let her know why exactly I did what I did. Why I'm fucked up the way I'm fucked up.
"And what is that, Roma? You don't tell me anything important that pertains to your past. So how am I supposed to understand why you act the way you act?" She genuinely wants to know. I hear it in her voice. She needs to know. And it isn't fair of me to keep it from her anymore. At least not all of it. “Why won’t you tell me?”
If my left hand wasn't wrapped up in a little ice cocoon, I'd be rubbing my hands together. But since I can't, I just lean over and pinch the bridge of my nose. This won't be easy. Hell, it might even be the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to do. No one knows about this besides me and him. And the two guys I had to tell the day after it happened, but they don't really fucking count. I didn't go into very much detail with them. Just need to know. And that's probably what I'm going to do with Harper. At least for now, anyway. I don't want her to pity me and I definitely don't want to scare her off. So for now, it's best if I just go with the basics. And I know that'll be enough for her, too, because she's Harper Rose and knows exactly when to push me and exactly when to stop.
I let out a deep breath and look up at her. It's now or never. "Five years ago, I…uhm…"
I feel my whole body break out in a cold sweat and it gets harder to breathe. It feels like the whole room is closing in on me. This definitely won't be easy. But Harper's looking at me like she has all the time in the world. She knows this is hard for me. But she knows it's something I have to get out, too. So she doesn't stop me. She just sits down next to me and gives my thigh a squeeze. An unspoken motivation. It's all I need.
Chapter 8
It's been five minutes of me just sitting here with my head resting in my good hand on the counter and Harper rubbing my thigh. My heart is pounding and I still can't fucking breathe. Should I even tell her? I'll probably scare her the fuck away, but I know I still have to tell her. She wouldn't still be sitting here if she didn't really want to know. I can tell she wants to let me do this on my own, but knows I'll never be able to get it out by myself. I would normally want to be able to dictate how much I told about this, but I'm at a loss. It's like my mouth refuses to fucking speak no matter how hard I try. So I just keep sitting here. Waiting. Waiting for her to ask me something, anything. And finally, she does.
"What happened, Roma?"
Her voice is soft, quiet. Inquisitive. Very much unlike that of someone just asking to be nosey. I've encountered a shit ton of those people over the years and Harper isn't one of them. She's one of the very few that have ever asked because they truly care. But, she's the only one that I'll ever let know. I let out a deep breath and decide it's now or never.
"I was young…stupid." I look over at her and she's just looking at me with all the compassion in the world. Her eyes are staring me down, supporting me, giving me the conviction to keep going.
"I, uhm…I was abducted. Kind of."
She gives the slightest nod and squeezes my leg. Encouraging me. I take a shaky breath. I can do this. I have to do this. I care about her. I want to let her in.
"I had been working in homicide for a few years before we got this gnarly case. A lot of girls were taken and stuff. We just couldn
’t figure it out.” I scoff. “Turns out, the guy was watching us. Everything we did. We said. Then… he decided to come after me one night. Walking to my car after dinner with some friends.” She tries to cover up the nausea clearly welling inside of her. So do I. It’s impossible. But I have to keep going. I have to now. “For 3 days, I was beaten. Tortured…Raped. Everything in between." I can't bring myself to tell exactly what happened, but I can tell she understands what I mean. I'm glad she doesn't ask me to elaborate because I really don't think I could. Hell, I know I couldn't. I can't even think about that, much less talk about it. I wait, but she says nothing. She's letting me take it from here. She's letting me take control and have this conversation my way. Exactly like she knows I need to do.
"Right before he was going to kill me, he pinned me down." I wiggle my hand out from the melting vegetable bag and hold out both of them so she can see the scars. I can still see the look in his eyes as he hovered over me, cackling as he wrapped my wrists so fucking tight with metal coils that it broke my skin all the way around. I close my eyes, silently willing away the memories flooding my mind. But it's no use. They're there anyway. They're always there.
"Wake up, Roma. I want to see those pretty eyes of yours."
I hear his scratchy voice and feel his breath on my face as I slowly open my eyes. I'm lying flat on the ground, the slashes on my back from the whip burning, begging for me to roll over, to get up. To do anything. But I can't. He's on top of me, holding my arms above my head. His mouth turns up into a malicious smirk; the look in his cold, gray eyes is one I know will be seared into my memory forever. He's enjoying this, but it's already been three days. Most abductions end by now. It’s time for me. So no matter how much he's enjoyed it, this is the end. I can feel it. And I'm relieved.
He releases one of my hands and I try to reach up, to fight back. But I've been down here too long, it's too much. I can barely even raise my arm an inch off the ground. It doesn't matter to him, though. He lets me try to move my arms for a while before I finalIy see him pull out a coil of metal wire. The little light from the overhead bulb reflecting off it. My heart is pounding. I can't pace my breathing; I start to hyperventilate. He only smiles bigger.
"Now, Roma…I need you to calm down. This won't be any fun if you pass out on me again."
He takes the wire and twists it around my wrists. And twists. And twists until I feel it cutting into the tendons. The muscle is cutting. The pain is immediate, radiating up into my arm. I scream out, tears rolling down my face. This only makes him laugh harder.
"Oh, Roma. Not so tough anymore, are you?"
Before I can do anything else, I feel him twist until I almost pass out from the pain. Even though I knew it was coming, it hurts just as bad. Maybe worse. Worse than the whip, the rape.. my hands are going numb. They feel like they’re being severed.I can feel the blood pooling in my palm, oozing out my fingers. I'm crying now, harder than I ever have in my entire fucking life. I can't move anything. My whole body aches. I want this pain to end, no matter the cost.
"Please. Please, stop. Please. Please, just let me go." He can let me go or he can kill me. Neither matters at this point. I need this nightmare to end.
"That's right, Roma. Beg me. I find it quite…pleasurable."
He brings his face within inches of mine, the stench of his breath filling my lungs. I try to stop crying, to be brave. But I can't. I'm sobbing now, incoherent strings of words flying from my lips.
"Please…I just…please, no. Just…please."
"That's not nearly good enough, my Romie." I feel the blade of a knife press against my throat with just enough pressure to let a thin line of blood roll down my neck, down underneath my head. I know this is the end. I pray to a God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore. How could he be there and still let me go through this horrific atrocity?
I feel him pull the knife a little farther along my neck. More blood seeps out now. I'm trying my best to stay conscious, but it's clear I'm failing. I hear footsteps, running around upstairs. Schrock yells my name. The door kicks open and he jumps off of me. Then all is black.
I feel a lump rise in my throat, threatening to break out in a sob. I have to finish this. I have to. I pull my hands to my lap and I clear my throat, hoping my voice at least sounds a little close to normal.
"As he was holding that knife to my neck…making me beg for my life…right when I knew it was the end, I just knew it...that's when Schrock busted in. He…he saved my life."
My voice cracks at the last sentence. I can feel my eyes start to water and internally cuss myself. I've shed too many tears in the privacy of my own home to do this in front of Harper. I don't need her pity. But when I look over at her and see her watery eyes, I don't see pity. I see compassion. Concern. Benevolence. I know I should feel weak telling her about this, but it feels so utterly, entirely good to let it out. Especially to someone who's looking at me with anything but pity. Someone who at least acts like I'm a human being and not some fucked up nutcase. After just staring in her eyes for a good minute, she clears her throat. I'm not even sure if I want to hear what she has to say.
"Roma, I…I had no idea. I knew you exhibited signs of extreme Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, perhaps due to some trauma that had occurred in your life that encouraged your need for control…but, it's much more than that. Isn't it?"
I nod my head and drop my eyes. I know I should stop. I should spare her from this. I should keep her from knowing how broken I truly am. But, I can't. The words start flowing from my mouth before I can even think about what I'm saying.
"Do you know what it's like to have everything completely taken away from you, Harper? To have every semblance of control you thought you had over your life ripped right out from under you? To have the fate of your life rest in someone else's hands?"
My words come out in a whisper so soft that I don't even know if she heard it all. But she shakes her head so I guess she did.
"No, Roma. I don't." Her voice is just as quiet as mine. Like she's letting me decide the volume of our voices. Letting me have the tiniest bit of control about telling a story over my loss of it. It's exactly what I need and she knows it. Typical Harper. But, I've said about all I can say without fucking losing it like a baby. So I've gotta turn this around just so I can spare what little pride I have left.
I reach over and grasp her face between my hands, disregarding the pain in my left. She's so beautifully breathtaking and perfect, that I know I want to save her from ever having the memories that still torture me at night. I'll do anything to keep her from going through that. It kind of scares me that I feel so strongly about that…about her. But it's true and I wouldn't change it if I could. And I want her to know that, without actually saying it. Not yet. So I just rub her cheeks with my thumbs and look into her eyes so hard, I'm pretty sure she can see right into my damn soul.
"Good. And I promise you, Harper, you will never have to know. I will save you from it, no matter what it takes. No matter the cost. Because you, Harper Rose, are worth it."
She starts crying then. From my story, from tonight, from how she feels about her abysmal parents. She told me they were horrible to her growing up, but I just never knew. Hell, I still don’t know. But I do know she feels alone out here in this world. I’m the first person to actually see her. Want to be with her and protect her. Not just use her for her money or her smarts, or hell—use her at all. It took me months just to work up the courage to fucking kiss her.
Her fists reach over and grab at the front of my shirt. I pull her to where the side of her face is resting on my chest. I feel her hot breath and tears through the thin fabric. It's uncomfortable since we are both sitting on stools at the counter, but I don't even care. I wouldn't be anywhere else. I feel her breathing slow down as I run my good hand through her hair.
"Roma, no one…has ever…" That's all she manages to get out through broken sobs before I cut her off.
"I know. But it doesn't matter. Because I'm
here now and I'm saying it. And I mean it."
I feel her nod against me and then pull away. I furrow my brow, confused.
"I'm sorry…" I go to speak, but she cuts me off.
"I'm sorry because I-I didn't mean to take away from…from what you told me. I just really want you to know… that I'm here for you too, Roma. I'm here for you, too. Always."
And I know she means more than just as a friend or confidant. I know she means she's here to protect me, too. To protect me from my demons, my memories. To protect me from myself. And I decide that I'm ready to let her.
"Harper,” I start. “Can I stay tonight?"
I hate asking questions that might be answered with a 'no.' But, I'm sure she'll say yes. And she does.
Chapter 9
After wrapping my hand up in some itchy as fuck ace bandage and giving me a pair of too-short sweatpants and a tight as hell tanktop, Harper decides she's finally tired enough to head to bed. Thank God, 'cause it's three in the morning and I feel like I'm about to fall over dead. I bet she'll still wake up at six in the morning even though we are both off work, because she's Harper fucking Rose and she's just abnormally perfect like that. I really hope she doesn't. I'm a stone cold bitch when I can't sleep in on my days off. And I'd really rather not be a bitch to Harper.
I awkwardly stand at the door as she crawls into bed in just the sweatshirt I gave her and a pair of black lace underwear. A blind person could even be able to tell how hard I'm staring at her legs right now. Who the fuck am I even kidding, her ass is looking pretty good, too. I really want to get in that bed with her, but I don't know if she wants me there. The last time I crawled into her bed, she had the flu so I don't quite know if she would've asked me if she wasn't sick. And, I'm kind of afraid she won't want me in there because of what happened tonight. Not only my back-alley beatdown, but because of my confession about how messed up I really am. And she doesn't even know the half of that yet.