Never Have I Ever

by Clearwing, August

  “You’re a savior, Anya.”

  She gave a little theatrical shrug complete with faux modesty. “I do what I can. You look better than I thought. How are you holding up?”

  “About as well as you’d expect.”

  “Fair enough,” she said with a terse nod. She climbed up on the bed and sat with her legs folded up under her beside me. “What’s your plan of action?”

  I gave a melancholy laugh. “Apart from licking my wounds and trying to sort my life out?”

  “I’ll clarify: What are we going to do about Ethan?”

  “For a psychologist you sure don’t beat around the bush. Do you normally just dive right in?”

  “You’re smart enough to see through my thinly veiled bullshit so I figured I wouldn’t patronize you with it. I save that for the kids.”

  “The lack of bullshit is appreciated.” I sort of smiled and tried to find a comfortable position in which to sit. I finally settled for Indian style with my arms wrapped around a fluffy pillow in my lap before I added, “I just want to put it behind me. Is that so much to ask?”

  “Not at all. But you know putting it behind you includes, but is not limited to, confronting the person who did this to you and letting them see their feeble attempt at destroying you failed miserably.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Not as much as I should if you want to begin the healing process right.”

  “How much psychobabble would you give me if I told you I didn’t want to talk about it?”

  Anya leaned back on her hands and took a moment to consider. “None. To be honest I’m far too close to you to handle your case professionally. I’m here as your friend, not as a therapist. Check the front pocket of the duffle.”

  I reached over to unzip the pocket. Inside was a folded slip of paper from a small notepad which contained a list of five names and phone numbers. “What’s this?”

  “Five people in my line of work I would trust with my life. One’s a psychiatrist and not a psychologist, but I don’t hold that against her. My hope, dearest nerd, is that you might see fit to trust one of them too.”

  I stared at the paper a while longer. “I can’t even talk to my friends about this. What makes you think I’ll open up to a stranger?”

  “They never knew you before this so you don’t have to fear them treating you any differently because of it. They won’t tiptoe around you either.”

  I always hated therapists, psychologists, shrinks, or whatever the preferred nomenclature-of-the-day happened to be for the people who got into your head and fucked with it. I had enough of those sorts after my mother died. “Trust them with your life, huh?”

  Anya brimmed with certainty. “Without reservation and to the ends of the Earth.”

  I folded the paper up and returned it to the pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

  She smiled as if she had just won a massive victory. “Which is all I ask. Now that that’s out of the way I can focus on doing the friend thing. What’ll it be,” she lunged for the duffle once more and dug to the bottom of it where she retrieved my apparent two options in DVD box set format. “Babylon 5 or Deep Space 9?”

  For the first time in three days I broke out into an unabashed laugh. It hurt to laugh. Anya hated most science fiction for reasons which eluded me. Yet there she was, offering up two of my favorites as welcomed distraction. The pain of laughing was worth it.

  The two of us spent the next several hours commandeering the den just outside my room, engrossed in DS9 and all the pitfalls and thrills of the practical application of science fiction in general. Anya had shuffled the boys out of the house so they would both stop pacing at the base of the stairs while we got lost in another universe where the only threats came in the form of epic space battles and shaky politics with alien cultures. In those hours I forgot the pain of the past few days long enough to point out the flaws in logic and my wish to be alive when certain, more attainable, technology came into existence.

  I fell asleep on the sofa somewhere in the middle of an episode where a particular omnipotent pain in the ass made his first appearance. I slept more often than not now; a combination of my body’s attempts to heal and the pain killers I received, which always found a way to knock me out in the best way possible despite its mediocre ability to actually kill the pain. Thank Christ for modern medicine. When I woke up the main menu of the DVD was looping and the clock on the cable box said 8:27pm. Anya was nowhere in the den. I had a mini panic attack until I heard the kitchen sink running and the dishwasher starting up. It muffled a newly arising conversation downstairs.

  At first I felt it might be safer to just go to bed. Hearing my name, however, piqued my curiosity enough to brave the steps for the first time in days.

  “We went over to Sunny’s for some shots,” Declan was explaining to someone. “Lot of good it did, though. I’m still sober. You still sober?”

  “I’m still sober,” Noah confirmed.

  “They’re notorious for their light-handed pours,” Howard said. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I watched him settle at the head of the recently cleaned dining room table. Charlie brought him a fresh glass of what looked like brandy.

  “Don’t worry, I thought about you today when I went shopping,” Charlie teased. She went for the fridge and procured a pint of Guinness from the door.

  “Saint Charlotte to the rescue,” Noah replied after the handoff.

  Declan shook his head and sighed. “I imagine this is just as hard on you as it is on her, man.”

  “No doubt,” said Anya. She was sitting at the kitchen table as well.

  I stopped near the bottom of the stairs in the darkness of the entry way, mostly out of sight.

  Declan folded his arms across his chest. “Here’s a thought: let me alphabetize his organs with the bowie knife in my truck.”

  “Thought’s crossed my mind,” seconded Noah as he cracked the beer can.

  Anya rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know the names of all the organs in the human body.”

  “So it’ll take longer,” encouraged Declan. “More fun for me.”

  “Can we do something involving a little less bloodshed?”

  “All right, killer of buzzes, if she won’t go to the police then we’ll bring the police to her.”

  She shook her head. “Dec, she’s not ready for that.”

  “How can she not be ready?! That’s the first place I would go!”

  “You aren’t her,” snapped Anya. “No offense, but you’re not a woman either. You can’t quite fully appreciate what she’s been through.”

  Declan wasn’t an easy man to offend. Anya clearly found the button. “Is that your professional opinion or are you intentionally bringing out the bitchy misandry right now?”

  Her typically soft features hardened into a shell of unrelenting armor. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is my professional opinion. Smartass. You act like this is a black and white situation when it’s anything but.”

  “Piper was almost killed. Show me where the gray area is ‘cause I’m not seeing it!” He let out a frustrated huff from the back of his throat as he leaned against the kitchen counter and searched the cracks in the limestone flooring for his next thoughts. “Okay, at the risk of sounding like an overprotective brother I say we strike back.”

  “And striking back accomplishes what? Looking to start some sort of war? Have some noble cause to spring into action for? More likely you’ll wind up dead or in prison for those macho tendencies.”

  Howard took a sip of his drink and nodded toward Anya. “I don’t know you, Anya, but I approve.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad somebody sees reason.”

  It was Declan’s turn to roll his eyes. “You know how you have people in your life who are related to you by blood and people you call family out of loyalty? Piper’s in the latter category to me—to us. Right?” He took a quick glance around the room to gage everyone’s expression. “Right?”

  Noah fi
nally spoke up. “Look, nobody here agrees with you more than me. For the moment the best course of action—much to my chagrin—is to gather our resources and build a case. She’ll come around, and she’ll need our support when she does. Don’t worry about immediate retaliation. Ethan’s my blood. I took care of it.”

  “Define ‘took care of it’.”

  Noah gave him a pointed glance. “Plausible deniability, my friend.”

  Annoyed at the conversation revolving around me without including me in it, I took the last step down from the staircase and stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “Don’t I get a say in this?” Everyone stopped and pivoted to face me. “I mean, considering this is my decision and all.”

  Declan paled at the sight of me for the first time since The Incident. He cleared his throat and all but stammered, “Piper. I—I’m just trying to help. Trying to make it easier for you. I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t think,” I said casually. “That’s your problem, Declan. You don’t think before you get yourself tangled up in other people’s business. I don’t want a knight in shining armor. I don’t need the fucking cavalry. You don’t get to decide my fate or which authorities I pass these events on to. None of you do. It’s mine and mine alone because it’s the only thing I’ve got left. Not one of you has the right. Meddling is what got me into this mess. Got it?”

  Nobody spoke. Anya averted her eyes and directed her attention to the glass of water in front of her. Declan just stood there with his mouth slightly agape, possibly afraid of setting me off no matter what he said. I waved away the question.

  “Go home,” I ordered them. “Stop wasting your time here.”

  Without a backward glance, I ascended the stairs again. Their blatant disregard for what I wanted in the situation brought my blood to a low simmer. They may have been trying to help, sure, but they failed. All I cared about anymore consisted of healing my wounds and trying to go back to some semblance of normalcy before my life got dragged into a spiral of unrecoverable despair. Why couldn’t they understand or even see that?

  By the time Noah decided to come after me, sans beer, I was half way up the stairs. He reached for my arm to stop me with a light brush of my skin. “Hang on.”

  I jerked away. It hurt to move as it was, moving so quick in impulse made me wince. “Please, don’t touch me.”

  “You don’t seem to understand how stupendously difficult that is.”

  “Just. Please. I don’t think I can take human contact right now. Besides, I don’t want your pity if all you think of me is an ugly mess of scars.”

  He attempted to keep his voice low to prying ears. “What? Where did you get that idea? I’ve never pitied you. And I won’t ever see you as anything but beautiful; scars or no scars.”

  “Then explain to me why you got sick after seeing the photos if it wasn’t in revulsion of me,” I hissed.

  “You think… Oh, Jesus, no. That wasn’t the reason.” Noah reached for me again, but I retracted once more. He closed his hand into a loose fist and lowered it to his side. “Not at all the reason.”

  “Why?”

  “It was in revulsion, yes, but not of you.” Those eyes. God, those eyes of his—how full of sorrow and compassion they were for me. “Of being related to the scum who did this to you, of myself for not being more careful, of putting you in that situation to begin with. Of giving Ethan the opening he needed to put you through it. Anger that you suffered on account of me was the reason, Piper. Anger, coupled with justice, was the reason I took two gallons of gas and a book of matches to Ethan’s house. Revulsion doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling for my brother now.”

  “I thought…”

  Noah tossed me a rather melancholy smile. “I’m going to kiss you now. I beg you not to deny me that little comfort.” He took one last step up toward me to close the distance between us. The stagger of the stairs placed him a few inches shorter, though not far enough to be below my height. He braced against the banister on either side to keep from touching me save for his lips to mine.

  My body went rigid for a brief instant. The fear of being touched by Noah was irrational; a grave injustice to him. He hadn’t given me cause to revoke my trust. It wasn’t even his fault I reached the state I was in. He wanted nothing more than to comfort me. So, why was I punishing him like this? The only reasoning I could rationalize stemmed from anger at the whole fucking scenario. Eventually, I managed to relax the tension in my shoulders and neck enough to return the kiss, though somewhat more lackluster than the both of us became accustomed to over the past months.

  “I love you,” he added quietly. “Give me the chance to make things right.”

  “I need more time,” I whispered, “to decide if I want to go home.”

  “Go home?”

  “To New York,” I clarified. I watched his heart break.

  “Run away, you mean.”

  “Call it what you will.”

  He set his jaw. “Call it what it is.”

  “Would you want to stay in the city where you were kidnapped and raped repeatedly when you know there’s no way to win against your assailant?”

  “Don’t be defeatist; there’s always a way. If you’re worried about my allegiance it should go without saying I’m in your corner.”

  “Pardon me if I can’t find the ability to be as pragmatic and optimistic as the rest of you right now.”

  In a strange twist of roles, he flirted on the edge of pleading, “I can’t lose you, sweetness. Losing you would kill me.”

  “I don’t want to lose you either. At the same time I can’t accept what you want to give me at the moment.”

  For all the emotion built up inside me I also saw Noah’s. I also saw the effort it required to stay calm while raging against his nature. He’d always maintained some level of control over me. I loved that back when things were simple. All of the sudden life turned on its ear and neither of us had any of that blessed control whatsoever. He bit back the desire to grab life by the horns and dictate what could and could not be done. I silently commended the strength it took to do so. Pushing me in any direction at that time posed a probability of implosion. Surrendering some of his control for my sake did indeed lessen the blow of life. It softened his demeanor.

  “To Hell with that. You wouldn’t let me run away when I was most afraid. I’ll be damned if I let you run away out of fear now.”

  “Noah…”

  He stepped down a stair. “We’ll leave if that’s what you want. Stay with Howard and Charlie for a while until we can figure out a safe alternative.”

  “I don’t need protective custody.”

  He held up his hand to try and silence me. “Don’t argue with me on this. Ethan won’t stop unless we stop him. Someone should stay with you even if it’s not me. I’ll drop off some clothes and a new phone for you tomorrow.”

  “Anya brought me some clothes.”

  “You still need a phone to keep in contact with the outside world.”

  “Not sure I want to.”

  “Piper, you can’t let this beat you.”

  “I also can’t continue on like it didn’t happen.”

  “I’m bringing you a new phone. Whenever you’re ready to speak to me again I’ll only be a phone call away and my door is always open. I don’t blame you for wanting to keep your distance, I just hope you keep in mind I’m not my brother.”

  Noah was far from being Ethan. I simply didn’t want to talk about it the way he did. “I won’t leave California without talking to you first.”

  I left it at that. I climbed the stairs once more to hermit in the room I began to call my own, however temporary.

  {CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR}

  Autumn, for me, was when I took my very first step onto the chilly, musty smell in late summer. When the leaves hadn’t quite begun to change their color, yet while there was still an abundance of heat left in the world and it coupled with the cool winds trying to buy their way into Californ
ia’s favor.

  Not that the leaves ever changed color in California.

  Not that it ever got cold enough for a Yankee like me to constitute anything close to a joke of autumn in this God-forsaken state.

  Summer was behind us now. After two weeks at Howard’s house I figured I’d overstayed my welcome. Most of the bruises had faded considerably by then. My sprained wrist felt more mobile and my muscles flexed without making me cry at the very least. I promised both Howard and Charlie I’d be fine, thanked them more than they thought was necessary, and returned home to my little apartment in Pasadena.

  The sutures had come out a little while later. Having them removed was almost as painful as it was when the now-healing scars were stitched to begin with. For the next two months I holed up in my apartment, secured by a deadbolt, chain-lock and the typical key just in case I was not making my decision to leave Pasadena in what Ethan declared was a timely enough manner. He never had given me a time-frame. Besides, there was still a considerable amount of thinking to be done. If I did leave, it would be on my terms, not his. And it would be because I loathed everything about Los Angeles these days and not because he told me to get the hell out.

  Dr. Fairbanks allowed me to work from home for the time being. After the cluster fuck that had been my year with work I decided I owed the man a substantial gift card for Christmas or something just for putting up with my bullshit. This was not my best year ever.

  At her request, I spent some of that time talking with one of Anya’s trusted associates. It was a small step on the road to recovery, but it was a step nonetheless. Talking events out with an uninvolved party proved somewhat helpful. I still had a long way to go, and even felt the desire to work with this new therapist for a long time until I sorted myself out.

  Late October arrived before I spoke with Noah again. Three days prior to contacting him I worked up the courage to pay a visit to the LAPD. I wrote out the contact information of everyone who’d interacted with me regarding the trauma I’d been through, procured the digital camera from Howard as evidence, and sat down to give my official statement to a detective. By that point there was no genetic evidence remaining from the men who had their way with me, but I tried to describe their voices and what little I gleaned of their appearances as best as I possibly could so long after the events.