Toby nodded. "Okay."
"I will get that tape off you tomorrow. Just to seal it all up."
"Sure thing." He looked at Jake who was focused on Ellie with a look of intense relief on his face. The officer took his leave of them and walked away, a doctor taking his place in front of them only moments later.
"Come on, your girl's all ready to go." He motioned for Toby to follow him, winding around a corner to enter a curtained cubicle. Charlotte was sitting up on an examination table, still in her beautiful dress, the front of it set hard with her blood. Her neck had a padded adhesive stuck over the wound awkwardly. The medical staff hadn't let him stay while they worked on her, fearing, he expected, the worse on account of the substantial amount of blood she had lost. It had been the worst wait of his life to date, and that was saying something, because he was no novice when it came to waiting on the injured.
Toby rushed to her now, pulling her against him carefully, his lips falling onto her head as she clung to him. "Ssh, it's alright. It's all over now." He turned to the doctor. "Do I just take her home now?"
He nodded. "That you do. I would recommend she see a trauma counsellor, just to talk through what happened. She's been through a very frightening experience. She has a prescription for some pain medication and antibiotics that needs to be filled on your way out. Other than that, you're good to go." The doctor swept his arm to the side, his signal to apparently get the hell out of there.
Toby helped Charlotte off the examination table and steered her out toward the main area where Jake and Ellie were still waiting. Ellie started to cry as soon as she laid eyes on Charlotte. Toby let go of her so she could be embraced by Ellie, the pair of them clinging to each other with a desperation that spoke volumes about the current wellbeing of each of them. Toby nodded to Jake, holding up the prescription.
"I need to get this filled before we leave."
"I'll get it." Jake took it out of his hands before Toby could protest, heading to the pharmacy counter.
Toby turned back to face the girls, his hands falling immediately onto Charlotte's waist. He needed to have her within his grasp. The closeness of that cut to her jugular. She could have bled to death. Focusing on the practical aspects of what needed to be done, in preference to falling apart at the seams and being unable to do anything on account of being paralysed by the fear of having nearly lost her, had so far worked for him. But now, the sight of her, with all that blood, Ellie's hands pressed firmly to her neck; it returned to him with an intensity that was blinding. Shit. Here it was. He was going to vomit. Right now. Taking a step back from Charlotte, he scanned the waiting area, making a dash for the small metal bin over in the corner, reaching it just in time. As the sweating and shaking began to set in, he hurled for an immeasurable time until there was nothing left, just the heaving motions he was unable to quell. It had been a long time since he had been hit with an episode such as this, so long, he had hoped he was over it.
Charlotte appeared beside him with a handful of tissues and cup full of water. He sank boneless into the seat nearby, accepting the cup with a shaking hand. Charlotte used the tissues to blot at his face, mopping up the sweat that was now drenching him. He looked at her, the injured one, taking care of him because he was completely unable to hold it together in a crisis. Fucking hell, what a loser.
Leaning toward him, she pressed her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his body, holding onto him tightly, a shaking emanating out of her small frame that fell into time with his own trembling. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face into her hair, the smell of blood and antiseptic strong in his nostrils. He could not allow himself to think on the 'what if' of this situation. He needed to focus on the 'what is'. And he needed to get himself the fuck under control.
CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte stared into the mirror at the long line running down her neck, shiny and raw, thirty two black stitches neatly knitting her flesh together, marring it further, yet necessary for healing. This was the first time she had been able to have a look at the damage Porter had done to her; it was glaringly confronting, a slice from one point to another, long and straight, vicious in both its appearance and his intent. She pulled her hair forward, arranging it to fall over her shoulder, effectively covering the mark completely. It was going to drive her crazy though, having her hair down all around her neck, sticking to her, heavy like a blanket, all day, every day. But, it was that or have the horror on display and she wasn't going there. No way.
Porter had known what he was doing alright, cutting right into her vanity with his knife. She supposed she ought to be grateful he had started with her neck and not her face. Yet, vanity was not the only thing fuelling her desire to keep it covered. She hated the sight of it because it reminded her of him, of what he had done, of what she had done to motivate him. Just as he had intended. She wished like nothing else she had not put in that complaint against him. She wished in all truth she had not even told Toby about what he had said to her. If she had just kept her mouth shut, he would still be alive, she would still look normal, and Ellie would not have years of therapy ahead of her because she had killed a man with a rock at a disco.
If only she had just kept her mouth shut.
If only she had just sat in the car instead of in the stands at football practice.
If only she had just never worn her gym gear in front of Porter those few times.
If only she had just been born ugly in the first place.
If only.
Iris looked up from her place at the head of the table where she was standing dishing up the dinner onto their plates. "Here she is! Ready for dinner?"
Toby, already seated, watched Charlotte as she pulled out her chair, slumping into it wordlessly. She would hardly be down here if she were not ready for dinner, would she? Toby reached out, his hand lifting the hair she had so carefully arranged, exposing the very thing she had wanted most to keep hidden. She pulled back, mortified at his lack of intuition, yet he would not release her hair, seemed intent rather on inspecting the damage to her neck, completely oblivious to her distress over his actions.
"Let go of my hair," she hissed, distraught at having to point out the obvious to him. He pulled back with surprise, connecting his gaze with hers, seeing at last how desperate she was for him to not see the wound, for everyone to not see; for it to not be the spectacle it was inevitably going to be for a time. He gently arranged her hair back over it, saying nothing, his attention turning toward his dinner which had been placed by Iris down in front of him.
Iris came around the table to put a plate down in front of Charlotte. She lingered, depositing a kiss onto the top of her daughter's head. If only she had left it at that, but no, she then did the very same thing Toby had just done, not only inspecting the wound, but delicately touching her finger to the stitches. "Well, at least they did a neat job of the stitches. That's something, I suppose. It's still going to be a wicked scar though." Tutting, she dropped Charlotte's hair, not taking the time to arrange it forwards as Toby had done, moving swiftly back to her place on the other side of the table.
Charlotte sat frozen, knowing instinctively that her mother had not intended on being cruel in her perusal, yet unable to accept her casualty with ease. Toby reached out once again to tuck her hair forward, tender with his hand, brushing it against her undamaged skin lightly with a gentleness that proved so overwhelming Charlotte was immediately undone by the gesture in the face of her mother's lack of empathy. She reached blindly beneath the table, seeking him out, grateful when his hand slipped into hers, pressing it down firmly onto his thigh where it seemed it would remain for as long as Charlotte wanted it to.
Royce joined them then, yet Charlotte did not brace herself for another exposure. Her father would never do that to her. He took his seat across from her with a warm smile. "Hello there, pretty little lady."
Charlotte swallowed down the tears that were building, blinking rapidly, focusing on the food in front of her.
Meat and three different kinds of vegetables. It could be anything for all the notice she took of it as she shovelled it into her mouth, ignoring the banal chat circulating around the table. She looked up as Toby released her hand so he could stand and clear the table. Charlotte looked over at her mother, focusing on the long smooth column of skin that made up the surface of her neck. She sucked in a jagged tear soaked breath and let it out again in a rush. She wanted a neck like that again. A neck devoid of scars; both on the surface and down below, running into her very psyche, where a constant image of his face before hers dwelled alongside a white hot pain of being violated so brutally.
"I want plastic surgery." There was no real thought to the statement and the timing of it. She just wanted it out there.
Iris and Royce both looked over at her with alarm, Toby pausing in the clearing up.
"When it's healed from the stitches, I want surgery to fix it. The doctor told me they could make a huge difference to the appearance of it with plastic surgery."
Iris was the first to speak. "Well, that is true. Plastic surgery can all but get rid of it. But we can't afford that. I'm sorry darling, but it's beyond our means."
"Iris," Royce interjected.
"Royce," she replied, all authority. "We don't have the health cover. I checked."
Toby put down the plates he had been holding. "What about my money?"
They all turned to him in stunned silence. No one talked about Toby's money. It sat there in the background, paying an allowance to Iris and Royce for his living and education expenses, but for the most part, just accumulating and growing.
Iris cleared her throat, casting Toby a soft expression. "That's very generous dear, but you can't access that for a long time yet. Unless it's for education, they won't release any funds until you're twenty one." She brightened then, turning to face Charlotte. "But look, if you're both still together and you still feel the same way, you can get it done then." She smiled happily, as though the situation was resolved, her part in the resolution confirmed.
The insensitivity of her words was galling. Charlotte rose from her seat angrily, her chair falling backwards with the force of her emotion. She lifted her hair for herself this time, pointing to her neck in distress, tears filling her eyes. "Look at me!! I have had my neck slashed apart by a psycho! I am not supposed to look like this!!" She dropped her hair in favour of pointing angrily at her mother. "It is so easy for you to tell me to wait. You have no idea what this feels like for me. To look one way, and now another."
"Charlotte!" Iris admonished. "There are people with far greater disfigurements than yours. For goodness sake, your vanity astounds me."
Charlotte reached down to the table and grabbed hold of the salt shaker, hurling it in the direction of her mother's head, who fortunately had the foresight to see it coming, ducking down just in time to miss the connection. She reached for the pepper grinder next, throwing it with more force, Iris scampering to her feet to avoid its flying blow. "Royce!" she shrieked. "Do something!"
But Royce appeared paralysed by shock, staring open mouthed at his daughter, who had now picked up her glass, which seconds later went sailing through the air, landing with a shattering spray of liquid and glass shards against the dining room wall. Charlotte managed to hurl two more glasses before Toby's arms came around her from behind, firmly containing her own so she was prevented from being able to grab anything else. She struggled against him though, rage boiling through her at a pace unprecedented. Restricted in her movements, she made up for it by yelling, opening her mouth and screaming in the direction of her mother.
"I hate you! I hate all of you! You made me do this! I would never have put in that complaint against Porter if you hadn't all rail-roaded me into doing it! You and your feminist crap!" She glared at her mother, struggling further against Toby who only tightened his grip on her. "Let go of me! This is mostly your fault! It was all a big competition for you, a way to get your rocks off pretending to be something you aren't even close to being yet. Let go of me!!" Shrieking now, she attempted to bite down on his arm given that her own were so restrained.
"Toby," Royce's voice was firm. "Let go of her."
He did, taking a step back from her. Charlotte refused to look at him, already regretting the words she had just spat at him. Fury now much more contained, she steadied herself by placing her hands down flat onto the table, working to regain her breath. She looked at her father, at once contrite at the sight of his face.
"Charlotte, we all made sure you wanted to proceed with the complaint before we went ahead with it. I am sorry, so sorry for what's been done to you, but you can't back track now to that moment and blame all of us for a decision you had a part in. Besides, I can't help but wonder what might have happened to you if you hadn't made the complaint. Now, I appreciate your hurt and anger, but this," he gestured to the wall behind him, dripping down to the glass covered floor, both salt and pepper coating the shards and sticking to the water, a mess on a scale unseen in this house before. "Never again. This is not acceptable."
Charlotte lowered her eyes, contrite, yet still angry, her mother's words cutting into her heart. Iris understood nothing. Not one damned thing about what she was going through. The plight of all disfigured humanity was not her problem; and besides, what she looked like was not the point. It was so far from the point. Eyes still fixed on the table, she asked her father quietly, "Can I please be excused?"
"No." His voice was gentle though. "You can clean up this mess you've made." He motioned to her mother then and they both left the dining room. It had not escaped Charlotte's notice though that he had not demanded she apologise to her mother. And for that, she was grateful, and far sorrier than she would have been if he had insisted upon it.
Slumping down into Toby's recently vacated chair, she dropped her head into her hands, pressing her forehead against the table. She could hear Toby beside her, picking up the chair she had flung behind her in her temper, setting it to rights. He sat, close by her, his hand coming to rest on her head, stroking her hair gently, saying nothing while he waited for her to calm down.
Charlotte spoke without looking up at him, her face still buried in her arms. "I'm sorry. That I said that about you. It was mean."
Still running his hand over her hair, he worked his other hand into the tangle of her arms, tugging lightly until she had no choice but to yield to him, allow him to hold her hand and force her to face him. "It's true. I did railroad you into it. I won't deny that. Sometimes though, when people are in a vulnerable place, it becomes difficult for them to judge what the right thing to do is. They need somebody to step in, to steer them in the right direction."
Charlotte straightened, gesturing to her neck. "Is this the right direction?"
Toby sighed, the sort of sound that one might make when dealing with a very small child who refused to accept the answer you were giving. It grated at Charlotte, so much so she pulled her hand out of his, tucking both of them firmly underneath her thighs, out of his reach. He dropped his hand from her hair as he looked at her dispassionately.
"Charlotte, I watched my mother get zipped into a body bag because she wouldn't report the man who was threatening and hurting her. Her neck was broken. Her face; it was unrecognisable. There was nothing of her left." He stopped, staring at her, his expression inscrutable, no emotion in play, despite his heavy words.
All breath seemed to have left her body; she was stunned into submission. He had never spoken about this before, the way his mother had died. There was a sense of unreality in his candour. What he had seen and experienced throughout his young life eclipsed hers exponentially. There were truths to his existence that she may never be able to comprehend.
"If you think that I will ever not railroad you into putting a stop to someone threatening or hurting you, then you don't know me at all. Never in this lifetime will I be okay with you accepting something like that. I've told you that before." He reached out then, shifting her hair to the side, his fin
ger trailing lightly over the wound. "We can fix this. This is nothing. Compared to what could have been; this is nothing at all."
Tears spilled over her cheeks; Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands hard against them. "It's not about what it looks like!" she sobbed, leaning forward, taking it on faith that he would be there to catch her.
His chest met her forehead as his arms encircled her. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't see an image of him slicing into you every time I see that injury? Do you think I don't understand how much worse that must be for you, since you were the one who actually endured the attack?" Toby pressed his lips against the top of Charlotte's head, resting them there.
She removed her hands from her eyes, curling them into his shirt, a ragged breath escaping her. "That she could just dismiss the way I feel as mere vanity."
"I know. I'll look into getting the money for it sooner. I'll find a way. I promise."
"It's not up to you," Charlotte protested. There was a deep feeling of tenderness within her; his declaration was no small offer.
His lips left the top of her head to trail down the side of her face, his breath intermingling with her own. "I want to do it for you. I want to be the one who takes care of you." His mouth found hers, pressing hard, insistent, his hand fisting into her hair so that he could hold her more firmly against his demanding mouth.
That he had said this was profound. Despite the intensity of their relationship, despite how often he told her that he loved her, neither of them had alluded to the future. They lived in the now, savouring each moment, never contemplating with each other what was to happen between them beyond the now. That was not to say that Charlotte had not given the topic some thought while on her own. Toby was ambitious; he had very clear plans that involved a specific university along a specific timeline with the ultimate goal of a very specific career. Yet, he had never said to her that he wanted her to play any specific part in that future. Charlotte herself was more flexible; in truth, she had no real clue about what she really wanted to do with her future yet. Except for one thing.
Selling the Drama Page 13