Sleeping Roses

by RaShelle Workman

She understood why he was the Theater Director.

  All of a sudden, he turned around and grabbed her, pulling her tightly against his chest. She stood there, her heart pounding rapidly, unsure of what to do. His finger gently lifted her chin, giving her no choice, but to stare at his face. She tried to avoid his eyes, but couldn't resist the warmth in them.

  Without realizing it, she wrapped her arms around his waist and parted her lips, her body waiting for the kiss she knew would come. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered she should turn and run, but she didn't want to listen. Her body responded to the fire she sensed coming from him. In the moment, she decided she could stay here, with him, forever.

  She forgot she was on a stage, forgot the students watching them. All she thought about was Phillip, and how amazing his arms were. She drew in her breath as he leaned down, his lips parting as well. She raised her mouth to meet his, closing her eyes.

  And then he released her.

  Gently pulling her arms from his waist, he cleared his throat. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before he turned away, once again talking to the students on stage.

  "Body language can say volumes more than words can. You've just got to feel it, to mean it." He glanced back at her, then walked over to the students and continued talking.

  She stood there dazed a moment, full realization of what she'd almost done swallowing her whole. She looked over at Phillip, then down at the students, feeling her face getting redder by the second.

  One of the female students yelled, "Whoa, Mrs. Berkeley. That was hawt!"

  Finally responding to the voice inside her head, she grabbed her books and her bag. A sob in her throat, she ran off the stage and out of the theater. Just outside the doors, she leaned against a wall to catch her breath. Embarrassed and angry, she decided she was tired of being made a fool of.

  Vowing to change, she walked resolutely to her car.

  #

  “No,” Sophie groaned softly, looking at the clock. It was six-thirty a.m. “Time to get up,” she moaned, but it was the last thing she wanted to do like doing. She rolled over, away from the glare of the clock, willing herself to go back to sleep. It didn't work. Instead, images of her embarrassing encounter with Phillip popped into her head.

  There's a great reason to get up, she thought irritably, pulling the covers back and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She stood quickly, but immediately had to sit down again, a sudden wave of nausea washing over her.

  “Great,” she whispered, hurrying into the bathroom, stubbing her toe on the edge of a wall as she turned the corner. "Ouch!" She wasn't used to her new hotel room.

  She'd switched last night, paying cash from her personal account for the week. She hoped this would keep whomever David had hired to follow her away for a while. The voice in the back of her brain was back, telling her she was being naïve again.

  I can't help it, she thought, her head hanging directly over the toilet bowl. I want him to get over it. I want to be free. Her stomach seemed better for the moment. Wiping her mouth with toilet paper, she threw it disgustedly into the bowl and flushed. Standing, she realized she needed to pee. Once she was done, she walked over to the sink to wash her hands. Staring at her pallid complexion in the mirror, she wondered what was wrong with her. She didn’t puke—ever.

  Having no answer, she pushed it aside as a mild case of food poisoning, and walked over to turn on the shower. Walking back to the sink, she pulled her toothbrush and toothpaste out of a bag and scrubbed her teeth.

  Chapter 7

  The next several days went by smoothly. Sophie was exhilarated by teaching, her students, the research, and her painting. She’d missed spending time in a studio. She also realized how much she'd missed spending time with other people, without worrying what David would think, or if he'd be mad or trying to keep track of every second of her day.

  David was still in the back of her mind like a sore festering but she tried not to think about him. Instead she relished every moment, unsure of how long it would last. Her only problem had been the stomach virus she had.

  At first she'd thought it was food poisoning but it had been going on for too long. It was strange, though, because other than feeling a lot more tired and the occasional need to vomit, she didn't feel sick.

  She'd vocalized this to Rina after she'd thrown up once while Rina had been in the bathroom with her. Rina had said it was probably stress-related and she needed to see a doctor. Finally she conceded and made an appointment. It was for the following Tuesday afternoon.

  Done, she thought, putting the last paper she had to grade in a file and locked it.

  "Are you about finished?" Rina asked teasingly.

  "Oh, you startled me," Sophie exclaimed.

  “Crap,” Rina quipped, leaning against the door, with a smile dancing on her mouth.

  "Listen, some of the other faculty are getting together tonight for dinner and drinks, maybe even some dancing. You interested, dear?"

  "Oh, wow, you know, it sounds like fun, but with this stomach virus, or whatever it is, I don’t feel up to it," she answered. Disappointment rocked Rina’s features, so Sophie hurriedly added, "Honestly, I don't think my queasy stomach could handle the smells of a restaurant, let alone the smoke at a club.” Rina harrumphed, giving Sophie one of her looks. “Thanks for asking, though. Some other time, okay?” She walked over to Rina, who'd put a hand on her hip, frustration oozing from every pore and put a hand on her shoulder. “You go. I know you need it. Have fun, and try to stay out of trouble," she finished, smiling.

  "Are you sure?" she asked, a flicker of relief passing over her face.

  "Absolutely," Sophie said seriously. "I'll be mad if you don't go."

  “Great,” Rina said, beaming at Sophie’s encouragement. They started walking together, presumably in the direction of their cars when Rina stopped, turned to her and said, "Speaking of mad, when are you going to give you-know-who the you-know-what you’ve had in your bag for the past several days?"

  She knew exactly what Rina meant about and responded, "I thought I'd call him tonight and set up a time to meet him."

  "You know David isn’t going to be happy when he sees you've brought him divorce papers. Do you want me to go with you," she questioned, moving again.

  Following Rina's cue, she caught up to her quickly and said firmly, "No. I want to do this one on my own. I’m trying to be strong."

  Rina stopped again. "You know I'm all for you standing on your own, but, in this case, I think some support might be good."

  "Rina, I'm surprised at you," she said, shocked. "I would’ve thought you'd be proud of me, doing this on my own."

  "Oh, honey, I am proud of you." Rina shrugged as she started walking again.

  "It's only, I want you to be safe and . . ." Rina paused not finishing her sentence.

  "You think I'll chicken out. Right?" She smiled, even if she felt a little upset. "Trust me, I'm going to give them to him and I going to do it alone. I want to show him I can make it without him."

  "Great, sweetie. Just be careful, though," Rina responded, wrapping her arm around Sophie's waist. "Now, I've got one more thing to talk to you about."

  She gave her a blank look. Sophie had no clue what Rina wanted to say.

  "Come on. I can't believe you never told me you liked to act." Rina laughed.

  Realization sprang over her, followed by an immediate gush of blood pummeling her head. She stammered, "Wh-What have you heard? Nothing happened."

  "That's not the way I hear it. I've been hearing rumors of romance and hot almost-kissing action floating through the halls."

  Sophie didn't say anything. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, making it difficult to hear. The nerve of him, she thought, irritated.

  "Is it true you've already fallen for another man? Our handsome Dr. Phillip Hansen maybe?"

  Feeling hostile, she said, “He's the only thing I don't like about this place. You realize he's torturing me, don't you? Yo
u know, because I accused him of following me a while ago.”

  “Torturing is a strong word," Rina said, then lowering her voice, she choked out, "What has he done? I mean other than almost making out with you?" Rina doubled over with laughter.

  "You think this is funny? He hasn't said a word to me since that afternoon. Whenever our paths cross, he smiles this goofy smile and winks at me." Unable to resist Rina’s contagious laughter, Sophie started laughing, too. "It isn’t funny. I'd like to smack him." Sophie giggled, trying to regain her composure.

  "You're right, Sophie, dear. I'm sorry," Rina said, wiping tears off her face.

  "Uh-huh, I can tell."

  They'd reached Rina's car. Watching her get in, she said good-bye, then turned toward her car. She'd taken three steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt into her throat, as she stopped and spun around. It was only Phillip.

  "Hello," she said crisply.

  "Are you going tonight," he asked.

  She shook her head no, knowing he meant the dinner and dancing plans. Turning around, she started to walk away. Phillip placed a hand on her arm. Angry, she whipped back around, and shouted, "Stop touching me!" Spinning back around, she hurried toward her car. He must think I'm a loon. She imagined how strange she must seem.

  When she was almost to her car she heard him say, "What did I do?" She figured it was a rhetorical question since she'd told him what he did. He'd touched her.

  Then she heard him say, "Sorry."

  Sophie climbed into her car and drove away. Glancing once in her rearview mirror but was unable to see him. “Yeah, he thinks I'm nuts,” she muttered, knowing he was probably right and feeling a strange pang of sadness. It hurt a little to know he probably wouldn't ever touch her or talk to her again.

  #

  Once back in her hotel room, she called David. She didn't think about it, just dialed.

  "Sophie, how nice of you to call," he cooed sardonically.

  "Hello, David. How are you," she responded nervously, unable to think of anything else to say.

  "Great. Just wondering where you are and if I'm ever going to have my wife back."

  Not wanting to go there, she said, "I wanted to get together, to . . . you know, talk.”

  "Sure. Absolutely," he drawled. "I'll be here at the house waiting for you at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

  "Fine. I'll see you then." She quickly closed her cell phone and threw it on the bed. She was uneasy and knew it was because David had sounded entirely too calm, too casual.

  Experience had taught her it was the calm before the storm.

  #

  Sophie closed the door and turned around, listening for any sound. The house was quiet. She wondered if David was home; her watch said five after one. She glanced over at the foyer table and noticed sitting on top were the perfect yet, to her, repulsive red roses.

  Feeling nervous, although it was still technically her house, she stood there, glancing into the rooms she could see from her spot near the door. The house looked clean. She wondered who cleaned it, but decided she didn't care.”

  "David," she finally called loudly.

  He appeared from around a corner in the dining room.

  "Hello, Sophie. Long time no see," he said, venom oozing from his lips as he leaned against one of the beige painted entry walls.

  “David,” she yelped, instinctively wrapping one hand around her throat.

  "What you got there," he asked, pointing at the papers she clutched in her other hand.

  She intuitively realized she'd made a terrible mistake coming to see him alone. His eyes gave him away. His demeanor was calm, but she saw the fury in his eyes.

  "Oh, these. Nothing important. You know what? I just remembered . . ." She paused, trying to think of something to say. "Um, I need to go." Quickly, she turned and opened the door wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. She heard him come up behind her, reach above her and push the door closed, then watched him reach down and lock it.

  "No, Sophie. Stay and show me what you came to show me,” he said softly.

  She knew she was trapped, and reacted as any trapped animal would. She turned to face him, uncontrollable rage welling up inside her. She slammed the divorce papers into his chest.

  "These are divorce papers," she yelled, bravely glaring into his eyes. "You need to sign them and mail them to the address—" She stopped because David grabbed her by the back of the hair and pulled down hard. "Ouch! Let go of my hair! You’re hurting me,” she cried and then screamed. She grabbed his hands, trying to force him to let go.

  He stood there, staring hard at her, a steely, malicious look on his face. She could tell he enjoyed watching her struggle.

  Still feeling some rage in her, she tried to knee him in the groin, but he anticipated it and turned his body, her knee landing in his thigh. This only seemed to infuriate him further because he pulled down harder on her hair. The pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning, sending her body instantly to the floor. He followed her down, straddling her.

  Speaking slowing, but with his voice full of malice, he asked, "Did you honestly believe you would come into my house and give me divorce papers?" He stuck one knee on her chest, pressing down hard. She could barely breathe.

  Frantically, she tried to push him off her. "Please, David. Stop. Please.” She whispered, barely able to get the words out.

  He looked down at her saying fiercely, "You ungrateful, stupid bitch. You'll be more than begging when I get through with you." He quickly got off her, but before she caught her breath, he grabbed her by the back of her hair again, whipping her around, as he began dragging her up the stairs.

  “No, David! Don’t.” She tried to use her legs to climb the stairs because they were rubbing into her back. Her head pulsed with pain from where he still had a hold of her hair. She literally thought her hair would rip out at any minute. At the top of the stairs, she had momentary relief.

  She screamed once again, “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  "I'm hurting you. I'm hurting you," he spat. He breathed hard, but continued speaking as he drug her into the bedroom. "Do you know what you've done to me? The embarrassment you've caused?" He stopped talking a moment, roughly picking her up before depositing her, like a rag doll, onto the bed.

  She looked into his eyes and saw the wild furor there. There was no talking to him. He was too far gone. He straddled her once again, then with one hand grabbed both of hers and held them above her head. She tried to squirm, but he slapped her hard across the face.

  "Hold still or I'll finish what I started." As he said this, he looked over at the bedside table. She followed his eyes, seeing the filet knife sitting on it.

  "No," she cried, terrified.

  "You’re my wife. You’re supposed to do what I say, when I say it. I want a baby and we're going to make one right now." To prove his point, he ripped open her blouse.

  "No! No! We're through," she screamed, understanding what he was about to do.

  "Don't tell me no," he yelled again, slapping her face harder this time. Reaching under her, he undid her bra.

  He still had both of her hands above her head.

  Desperately, she tried lifting her body to move him off, but her movement only excited him. She knew by the bulge growing on her stomach. She was disgusted and afraid, but amid her fear, she had a moment of lucidity. She stopped moving and closed her eyes, letting the tears flow, hoping he was so aroused he'd only be happy with the sudden change in her.

  "Better," he said, obviously pleased. He moved to one side and put his hand up her skirt. "Doesn't it feel good?" He cooed.

  Sophie bit her lip, trying not to yell.

  "Now, will you be a good girl while I get my pants off?"

  She kept her eyes shut tightly, unable to speak.

  "Sophie," he barked. "I'm going to let go of your hands. Why don't you take off your panties while I take off my pants?"

  She still didn't move. Without
warning, he smacked her again in the face.

  "Open your eyes, Sophie! Now!"

  She did as he said.

  He let go of her hands, then climbed off the bed and started undoing his pants.

  "Take them off," he yelled. She silently obeyed.

  "Now lie back down."

  Sophie did as commanded, staring at him acceptably, while coyly lifting her hands above her head. She knew he relished his pretend power over her. She watched him get completely naked, and slowly climb back on the bed. He lifted her already somewhat raised skirt and started to position himself to enter her. She gingerly glanced over at the bedside table, making sure he wasn't watching her face.

  There, next to the knife she saw what she searched for. During her moment of lucidity, she'd remembered he kept his precious restaurant award there and she knew it was made of solid granite.

  I won’t touch the knife, even if killing him would be exactly what he deserves, but the restaurant award will work, she thought bravely. She looked back at him and saw his head was down.

  He moaned, "You want it; you know you do."

  Swiftly, she grabbed the granite award, and with both hands smashed it down on his head with all of the force she could muster.

  He shrieked in agony and grabbed his head before going silent. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and with the strength of a lion; she shoved him off her with such force he rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Without a second thought, she jumped up, ran down the stairs, unlocked the door and ran out of the house, hoping she'd never step foot inside his house again.

  #

  Once inside her hotel room, she locked the door.

  Hefting one of the chairs, she placed it in front of the door. Still not feeling completely safe, she put the other chair in front of her door as well. Quickly undressing, she threw her clothes in the trashcan, revolted by the touch and smell of them. She wanted to burn them, but knew it wasn’t possible. Instead she turned on the shower and climbed in, letting the hot water pour over her body. She was frightened, but at the same time, invigorated. She'd rescued herself from an awful situation.

  On her own!