by Goda, Julia
“Liz, you are the most beautiful woman I know, inside and out. You are honest and loyal and brave and strong. God, you’re so strong. You’re a fighter. A survivor. Nothing and nobody can beat you down. It makes me so fucking proud of you. Outside of our shitty hometown, has anyone you ever met not loved you? You don’t have a lot of friends, but the few you have, you are close to, your colleagues love working with you, the kids you work with are protective of you. That boy that interrupted us today in your office to check on you?” I nodded when he didn’t proceed. “He saw me when I came in and clocked me right away. He knows I can take him easily, but he didn’t care. He would have taken me on if I had upset you in any way. Lizzy, don’t you see? I know you had a shit childhood, but that’s not on you. It’s on your mother. She is a selfish bitch who was too drunk or stoned to realize what she had in you. People weren’t mean to you because you were trash, honey, they were mean to you because they knew you were better than them. You were better than them even though you grew up the way you did, and they hated that. And those guys you were with knew you were out of their league, but they blamed their shortcomings on you to make themselves feel better. And I know you don’t believe me, but wherever you go men notice you, notice your class. There aren’t a lot of women out there who are the total package, but you have it all and men see that and want it. I’ve got it now and I swear to God I will make you see it, too.”
I was speechless.
Completely and totally speechless.
Did he really think all that about me?
Was that how people saw me?
Strong? Loyal? Classy? Good?
That couldn’t be.
There were a lot of people I rubbed the wrong way. True, they usually had a problem with my being straight-forward and blunt to the point of being rude. I hated it when people played games and didn’t want those people in my life anyway, but still. It kinda stung when they talked about me behind my back. Were they mean to me because they thought I was better than them? That was something I couldn’t fathom. I had never seen myself as being better than anyone, had always thought that I was just different and maybe not good enough and that’s why I didn’t fit in. And my mother. Yes, it hurt when she told me I was worthless. It still did. Of course, it did. Your parents are supposed to love you, no matter what. Mine didn’t love me. I don’t know who my father is. He took off before I was born. And my mother had always hated me. There must be something wrong with me if they can’t love me. Right? It was confusing. I didn’t understand, couldn’t make any sense of it.
“I don’t get it,” I told Cole.
“No, honey, you don’t. But you will. I’ll make sure of that.”
Okay, we needed to change the subject. I was done with the heavy. But Cole apparently wasn’t.
“One more thing, Liz. You told me what you needed from me, so now I’ll tell you what I need from you.”
Oh, boy.
“You’re strong. And I am proud you are. What I need you to promise me, though, is that you don’t retreat into your head when something is wrong. I know you and have watched you do it hundreds of times. When you’re hurt or confused or upset, you lock yourself in that head of yours to not feel anything. It’s almost like you have a switch in your brain that shuts everything out and pushes it far down. I’m not gonna let you do that. I want you to talk to me when something is wrong so we can figure it out together. Don’t push me away or freeze me out.”
I nodded hesitantly.
That’s exactly what I did, exactly how I dealt with difficult situations that threatened to overwhelm me. Shut everything out so I didn’t have to feel. I had done that since I could remember. All my life. I could see that that was something I would have to work on, though. To let Cole in.
“I’ll try,” I assured him. I would, but I couldn’t promise him that it would work. But I would try for him. I didn’t want to freeze him out when I got my feelings hurt, but I had never learned any other coping mechanisms. I knew they existed. Had studied all the theories in college. Hell, I made my kids at the shelter talk to me, and they did, and I gave them advice and steered them in the right direction, but it’s different when it’s yourself. Guess that makes me a hypocrite as well.
Cole nodded in understanding. “All right,” he said, “that’s all I can ask. Enough with the heavy. Let’s eat and then maybe get a drink somewhere and then make out on your doorstep.” That made me smile.
Something to look forward to.
I wanted more, needed more, but the stubborn ass wouldn’t budge. I tore my mouth from his and went to work on his back, roaming my hands over his muscles under his jacket while I kissed and nibbled his neck. His head fell back and he groaned. Yes! I was getting somewhere. His hands had been at my hips the whole time during our make-out session and it was frustrating. My body was longing for his touch. My nipples were hard, my breasts were swollen and heavy, and my panties were wet. All that just from kissing. And from his body pressed into mine.
Incredible.
I was determined to make him break his no-sex-on-the-first-date rule when my hands wandered down to his behind and pulled him into my heat at the same time I lifted my left leg to wrap it around his thigh. For one glorious moment, I could feel his hardness against me when he ground against my sex as he grabbed my thigh and pulled it up higher.
Then he was gone.
I blinked in shock, feeling the coldness he left behind on my exposed skin.
He was standing three feet away from me by the railing, hands at the back of his neck, head leaned back, face towards the sky, eyes closed tight, breathing hard.
I waited.
And waited.
But he didn't move other than his inhaling and exhaling making his chest puff out.
I was breathing hard, too, but stopped altogether when he tipped his head down and opened his eyes to look at me. There was a need so desperate I felt it touching me. A want so frantic it bordered on dangerous. But instead of it scaring me, it only aroused me further and I let out a small whimper.
Cole cursed. “Fuck, baby, I want you so bad it hurts.”
I whimpered again.
His hands let go of his neck and landed on his hips as he started pacing for a good minute, then stopped again in front of me. He was close, but he wasn’t touching me. When I lifted my hands to touch him, he intercepted them, pulling them straight down my side, our fingers interlaced.
“I can see you want this just as badly as I do. But I need to walk away tonight. It’s important to me, Liz.” He was asking for my help. Asking me to not push him. I think if I did, he would give in. But I didn’t want him to have any regrets about our first time together, so I relented. I rested my forehead against his chest and nodded in silent agreement.
“Thank you,” he breathed, then planted a soft kiss on the top of my head. I liked it when he did that. I always had. His forehead kisses were great, too. They had always made me feel special, had made me believe they were something that was his and mine, but now it was more. That thought spread warmth through me and made me sigh in contentment. He let go of my hands and his arms came around me, hugging me to his warm body. I tilted my head back and gave him a smile.
“Tomorrow is Friday. I have to work late, but I want to take you away for the weekend. Somewhere nice. Maybe to the coast.”
My smile widened at the idea of having him to myself for a full weekend. “I would love that.” He kissed me softly, lovingly, then let me go and took a step back.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be ready at seven and we’ll leave right away.”
“Okay. I’ll be ready.”
“Night, Liz.”
“Night, Cole.”
Then he turned around and walked back to his car. I went into my apartment and locked the door behind me.
God, I was a lovesick mess. It was kind of ridiculous.
But I also kind of liked it.
Chapter 8
Lizzy
Twelve years ago.
Lizzy is thirteen. Cole is fifteen.
I am shaking. My whole body is trembling. Tears are streaming down my face, but I can’t feel the cold wind turning them into ice on my cheeks. All I can feel is that man’s hands on my legs as he is pushing up my shorts, his hot breath on my neck, then the pain as he grips my thighs roughly as he tries to push them apart when I start to struggle.
I’d been asleep. My mother was having another one of her parties. The kind of party where she got drunk and high and forgot that I existed. Not that she gave much of an indication that I was a living and breathing person with feelings and needs any other time. She was a drunk and saw me as a burden. Always had. The burden she’d been settled with when my father left us before I was even born. Almost every day, she told me that if it weren’t for me, my father would still be there, would never have left her. That hurt. My own mother was telling me that I was the reason that he left us, that he didn’t love me and didn’t want me. That I was unwanted and that my existence had destroyed my mother’s life.
“I should have never had you. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, your father would have never…” That’s usually how far she got before she drowned her sorrow in another bottle of booze and I either locked myself in my room or hid in my spot for hours until I knew she would be out cold and it was safe to go back home.
But the nights she had people over to get drunk and high with were worse. Lately I had noticed that some of the men she had over were giving me leering looks. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what that meant. I knew why they came here every week, sometimes more than once. I knew that my mother used her body to pay for her addiction to alcohol and drugs. Everyone in town knew. But until a few months ago, those men had left me alone. They knew I was up in my room, but didn’t pay me any attention. That had changed when I had started to fill out, when my body was starting to go through the changes that would turn me into a woman. I had mentioned it to Cole and he had instantly gotten mad and worried, and had made me promise to always make sure that my door was locked. Always. Not just when my mother had company. Always. Just to be safe. I had promised him I would as I reveled in the fact that there was someone who loved me and cared about me.
I stumble but catch myself before I fall. I’m barefoot and in my pajamas. It’s cold.
“Come on, sweetheart, don’t pretend you don’t like it. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You’re dying to give it up and I’m only too happy to show you what it’s like to have a good time.”
Bile rises in my throat as I hear his words replay in my mind. I cough. Then I sob again. I can’t stop sobbing.
I know I was lucky. Lucky that he had been too drunk and high to overpower me. That I got free and ran before he had a chance to pull my shorts all the way down.
I shiver thinking of what would have happened. And in that moment, I hate my mother. Truly hate her. For not loving me enough to make sure I was safe. For not caring what happened to me. When I had stumbled down the stairs, intent on getting away as far and as fast as possible, she hadn’t even roused. I saw her lying on the couch, with two men, all three of them in some state of undress, passed out, just like I had seen her so many times since I was six years old.
I shiver again.
Disgusted.
Heartbroken.
Terrified.
It isn’t far now. I’m almost there. Almost to Cole’s.
Just get to him and he will make it better. That’s the only thought I want to hold on to.
Get to Cole. He’ll make sure you’re safe.
Through the woods. Around the pond. Up the small incline.
There it is.
His house.
His window is dark.
I have to wake him.
I find small rocks and throw them at his window.
One. Two. Ten. Twenty. I don’t know how many.
All I know is that I need Cole.
So I keep throwing rocks at his window until I hear him ask, “Lizzy? That you?”
All I can do is nod. I don’t realize that it’s too dark outside for him to see me, but it doesn’t matter. A few minutes later, his back door opens and he is there. I run to him and cling to his body, my face in his chest, holding on tight.
That feels so good.
I start to sob again. Loud, body-wrecking sobs. They hurt my throat, but I can’t stop. Cole hugs me back and rubs my back, soothing me.
Up and down.
Up and down.
It helps. I calm down a little.
“Wait here,” Cole whispers, then lets go of me and goes back into the house. Not two minutes later, he comes back to me, a blanket rolled up under his arm. He takes my hand and heads towards the trees. I know where we’re going.
To our special place.
When we get there, he opens the blanket, moves me to sit on it, then sits down beside me and wraps the blanket around us, cocooning us in.
It makes me feel safe and I take a deep breath and slowly relax my body.
This is why I went to Cole. He makes me feel safe.
“Now, Lizzy, tell me what happened.”
I don’t want to. He’s going to be mad. But I know he won’t let it go until I tell him.
“My mother had a party tonight,” I feel his body tense at my words. He knows what that means, knows all about my mother’s parties. The alcohol. The drugs. The fights. I had promised him to lock myself in my room and not open the door until the next morning. I had listened to him. But tonight, I must have forgotten to make sure the door was actually locked. “There were a lot of people at our house. More than usual. Lots of new people. I went up to my room like I always do. I thought I locked the door, but I must have…I went to bed and fell asleep.”
My body starts trembling now at the thought of having to tell him what happened next. Cole holds me tighter in his arms and starts rubbing my back again. I can feel his body is still tense.
“When I woke up, I was confused. I could feel someone was in my room, but it was too dark for me to see.” I’m crying again. “Then I felt someone touch my leg,” Cole’s body locks beside me. His hands on my back go still. I stop talking, afraid that he will get really mad at me for not locking my door. I hold my breath and wait.
“Please tell me you got away,” Cole says. He is angry. Very angry.
I nod my head and whisper, “Yes. I kicked and screamed and scratched until he let go. He was drunk. I ran as fast as I could to your house.”
Cole slightly relaxes and starts rubbing my back again. “Thank God.” Is all he says for a while. Then, “From now on, when your mother throws a party, I want you to come to my house. We’ll sneak you in the window and you stay with me where you’re safe. Promise me, Lizzy. As soon as you know people are coming to your house, you leave and come to me.”
“I promise,” I say, grateful that he will keep me safe.
We are again silent for a long while.
“I’m sorry, Cole. I should have checked to make sure the door was locked.”
“Don’t be sorry, Lizzy. It’s not your fault. It’s your bitch of a mother who invites those people into your home, making you unsafe.” He was still very angry. We sat for a little while longer until Cole got up from the blanket and held his hand out to me.
“Let’s go. You’re staying with me tonight.”
That was the first night I stayed in Cole’s room, in Cole’s bed.
But not the last one.
From that night on, I crawled through his window on a regular basis, at least once or twice a week, so he could protect me from my mother’s filthy friends.
Chapter 9
Lizzy
I was standing on the deck of our little cottage, looking out at the ocean. It was beautiful. I loved the water. It had a peaceful and tranquil quality to it, which made me want to stand here watching it move and sparkle in the moonlight all night.
Cole had taken me to one of those little seaside towns just South of Boston. It was a cute little town with a main s
treet straight out of a romantic comedy or a TV show, lined with shops and restaurants that I wouldn’t mind exploring at some point this weekend.
In the back of my mind, I was still thinking over the situation with Jesse and Chloe. During the meeting this morning with Taryn, we had discussed our options of how to get them off the streets into someplace safe. Jesse had mentioned that he was worried their father might be looking for them. I know this was how the system worked, but there was no way I would support Taryn in trying for a reunion, which was usually the first step. We had no evidence of abuse other than Jesse’s and Chloe’s statements, but the sad story was that sometimes that wasn’t enough. The system was terribly flawed and it wasn’t surprising that so many kids preferred living on the streets because most of the time they couldn’t get the support they needed. I had given Jesse my word that I would make them safe and I intended to keep it. Foster care was the other option. With Jesse being sixteen, it was still a long way until he was legal and could take responsibility for Chloe, so foster care was our best bet. Finding a good one was the tricky part. Another flaw in the system. Most foster parents didn’t care about the kids much, but were only interested in the money they got from the government for taking them in. So I needed to make some phone calls to see where we could place them. But for now, they were safe and sound. They were staying at the shelter and had agreed to meet with a counselor and start tutoring sessions next week.
When Cole had knocked on my door to pick me up, I had been on the phone with Jimmy to make sure they were both there and hadn’t taken off. Jimmy had checked on them while I stayed on the line and assured me he would keep an eye out for me over the weekend and call me with updates every night. Rainey, one of my full-time colleagues, and Marie had promised to do the same thing during the day shift. So everything was under control. But for some reason, I was anxious, as if somehow I knew something was going to happen, as if there was something I had overlooked. On our way down here, I had told Cole the whole story. He knew how much I cared about my kids, how much of myself I involved into their fight for a better life. He understood why I did it. Why it was my calling. He hated it when some cases didn’t work out that great, when kids disappeared, or I couldn’t gain their trust, or I couldn’t help as much as I wanted, because he knew how much it took out of me. When that happened, he never complained, though. He always supported me when I needed to talk things out or needed him to get my mind off things. And I loved him for it, for being such a good friend. Now it felt even better when I told him how worried I was about Jesse and Chloe, how much it had hurt when they had told me their story, and he took my hand in his to softly brush his lips over my knuckles or squeeze my hand in reassurance. It felt natural and familiar.