by Leanne Davis
He stared at her arm. He was speechless. A weird tic affected his eye. What was she trying to say? It wasn’t his fault that he murdered his own father? Or dealt drugs? Or pursued Olivia, all the time knowing he would hurt her? And what? Now he wasn’t totally responsible for those things?
She tapped her nail against her tattoo. “It means freedom to me. After I was free of him, I felt reborn. It was years later before I could totally make sense of who I’d become under his abuse. And to figure out who I planned to be away from it. But the thing was, I was an adult, Derek. You and Max? You’re just kids. Even you. So yeah, admit what you’ve done, but be sure to realize it doesn’t have to determine the rest of your life, or who you want to be. If you let it, then they win. Those who hurt and abused you, and took away what should have been yours, they all win then. Consider that and consider this: now you finally have the power. Not them.”
He stared at his fingers, which he intertwined on the counter. “Does he ever hurt you?”
Lindsey leaned back in surprise. “Noah? No. No, Derek. Noah has never so much as put a finger on me without his unconditional love and care and support. Not everyone will hurt you.”
“What if because that’s all I ever witnessed, I become just like them? What if I become the predator? What if being the victim becomes my excuse? I mean, I did it to Olivia. I made her my victim, and I justified it because I loved her, and I needed her, and I wanted her.”
He could not believe he was confessing this stuff. His foot started tapping under the counter. He was such a dick. When did he become that way?
Lindsey’s head tilted in thought and her eyes softened in sympathy. “Is that what you think you are? A predator? I don’t see that. All I see is a really confused kid. One who nearly lost his mind when he realized what his actions did to someone he loved. Or at least, that’s the story Tony told us. Was he wrong? Did you really not care? Did you think she had it coming for leaving you?”
“No. No, of course not. I did it. It was all because of me.”
“Good. Be sorry. Let your conscience make you feel guilty. But don’t get stuck there either. Be accountable and then ask for forgiveness and then let it go so you can be better. Make that your goal, Derek. Not revenge or hate or murder. Just try to get better than them and break those cycles so that the abused does not become the abuser.”
He shrugged and his head started to spin in confusion. He had no idea if what he thought was correct, or what Lindsey or Tony or even Will said was right or wrong. He just didn’t know.
She barely brushed her fingertips over his hands, which were still clasped on the counter in front of him. “Don’t get lost in all the darkness. Start figuring out a way to emerge from it.”
She turned and served up the food. He attacked it in silence and she let him. He appreciated that about Lindsey and Noah. They offered little morsels of advice, and then left him alone. And somehow, the little snippets resonated in his mind. He listened. He tried to picture how his life could be if he stopped dealing drugs. It was hard, almost impossible to imagine. It was even harder to think he might outlive his teens. And if that were the case, what the hell would he do with the rest of his messed up life? Considering what he’d already done, prison or death seemed the logical conclusion. But… living beyond all that? What could that look like? He never contemplated anything like that. He never even had a five-year plan. The idea of being thirty years old was like the biggest pipe dream, especially if those thirty years were spent living his previous lifestyle before coming to Ellensburg. He had no interest in living another decade if it were anything like the last.
Things sailed along. Strangely enough, Max and he kind of got used to having all these people now in their daily lives. They liked being talked to, and fussed over. People worried over them and cared about their welfare. They were expected home at certain times. They were required to check in regularly, and even more foreign to them, the adults checked in with them if they were ever going anywhere. They called it common courtesy. No one ever thought they deserved that before now.
Max and he were scolded for how gross they let their shared bathroom get. Lindsey marched both of them into it with cleaners and rubber gloves. She stood in the doorway, tapping her foot and demanding they clean the nasty out of it. Max and he couldn’t remember even using a clean toilet until they got to Ellensburg. Lindsey had to eventually show them what to do because they’d never cleaned anything. She told them it would be expected to remain clean at all times. They had other chores and expectations to abide by as well.
Max was made to go school every single day. Noah and Lindsey checked his backpack for homework. They kept track of any assignment that was due, and wrote down school events on their calendar like it mattered. Derek stood in front of it one afternoon and scratched his head. When Noah asked what he was doing, Derek simply shook his head and mumbled, “Just thinking that wild wolves would have put more care into rearing their young than our parents did.” He ducked his head as soon as he realized what he admitted.
Noah merely paused and stepped forward, saying, “Yes. It seems so. But that’s their fault. Not yours or Max’s.”
Sure, in his head, he understood that, but in his heart? He often wondered what was so bad about him that his parents refused to be nice to him.
****
Olivia could not get her bearings back. She floundered from the moment Tony left with Derek. She couldn’t return to her former life. She vacillated every day, going from crying in anger and hurt to complaining how this could have become her life. She missed Derek and ached for him. The things she learned and experienced overwhelmed her brain and she failed to process all of it. The shock of what she learned was too pervasive.
Her mother encouraged her to go to a co-worker of hers and get counseling, just to talk about what happened to her, and the vile things she now knew existed in the world. She cried a lot and hid in the comfort of her girlhood room, and the safety of her parents’ house. She felt unsafe to leave it now. Look what happened when she did.
She had no interest in returning to Peterson either. Her former ambition and plans vanished. She even lost her desire to play music. She packed her flute case away in her closet and didn’t touch it again.
One afternoon, she cut her long hair off. She came downstairs with it nearly shorn to her scalp.
“Olivia. Oh my God. Your hair.” Her mother’s exclamation revealed true pain.
“It’s just hair, Mom.” Her tone suggested how apathetic she felt. Who cared? Who needed it all long and thick and in her way? Not like she had any place for it to look nice. It made her preference for boyish clothing even more hideous. She looked like a grungy, little boy now.
Her mother visibly swallowed before stepping forward to plant her lips on Olivia’s short hair. “You’re right, honey. It’s just hair. Besides, this makes those beautiful blues of yours just pop out all the more.” Olivia ended up crying in her mom’s arms at hearing her words and hugging her tightly.
She was almost as angry at her dad as she was at Derek. She couldn’t justify the reasons why however. She wanted him to go after Derek, but never thought he’d try and save him. Or plant him with people who were her friends. She heard that Christina had befriended Max and harbored a crush on Derek. She knew Derek was working for Will, and showing up promptly each day. She knew they were okay.
She didn’t know why that news didn’t thrill her. She didn’t want them to not be okay, but it hurt so much to know they were okay. Derek was moving on after what he’d done to her and her life. Her life was ruined and his just kept getting better. Selfish as it was, and unfair, she sometimes wished it otherwise.
Towards July, her parents pulled her from her room, and with visible care and concern, sat her down. “You need to think about going back to school, honey.” Her dad started the conversation in a soft and caring tone.
“Really? Where? The place I was kidnapped from? The place where I slept with a drug dealer? That’s where
you want me to go back to?” Her voice was shrill and her dad flinched. He never really confirmed whether or not she had sex with Derek. Derek had become his latest pet project. Didn’t he keep tabs on him too? She knew he did. She fisted her hands. He should have hated Derek for what he did to her, not... not tried to help him. Or coach him. Or mentor him.
“Oh, wait. The same place where said kidnapper still has clout? Where I won’t be safe?” Her stomach knotted when she imagined being alone on campus again. Chills coursed down her spine at the very thought of it. The cops looked for Quentrell, but he disappeared and the police still had not been able to find him. No one got punished for what happened to her. She couldn’t stand it.
Tony got up and sat next to her, forcing her to lean into his chest where she again started to cry. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Her mom sat beside them and stroked her head, now that all her hair was no longer in the way. “I know. We think you need to apply for school somewhere else. You can’t sit around here, just fading away. It’s only making things that much worse for you.”
She swallowed and finally sniffed back her tears. “I’m scared,” she admitted in a small, girlish voice. “I’m so scared to leave here. Look at the boy I picked. The boy I found. I almost died.”
She felt both of them physically wince as they stroked her hair and back. “But you didn’t. And it’s over now, Liv. We’ll be here for you. We’ll help you. But you have too much talent, dreams and goals to let this bastard take them away from you. You can’t let Derek affect you so negatively.”
It took several more weeks of crying and fighting before she finally agreed to send out applications to other universities. She didn’t even bother to add music as one of her interests for course work.
Chapter Nineteen
THREE MONTHS AFTER ARRIVING in Ellensburg, the reality of what happened this year finally caught up with Derek. He was working for Will, lying on his back and installing ductwork, when this strange, crippling feeling suddenly invaded his body. His heart felt like it was swelling so big in his chest, it might explode. It crowded his lungs and made it impossible to breathe. Then sweat broke out over his forehead and his hands shook uncontrollably. He tried to discreetly get away, even if it were just to an outhouse, seeking privacy for the panic attack. The same thing that happened the first night he met Olivia’s parents was happening now. It felt like he was dying and his mind almost wished for it. At least, it would end all the painful feelings that were swirling around and drowning him.
Will caught him the fourth time it happened, and stopped work before putting him into his truck. Will instructed him to breathe deeply from his belly and count to ten. He kept his voice even and calm while reassuring Derek it was all right, and he would be all right. The pain would stop. Just keep breathing. Finally, after several minutes of very painful moments, the pain slowly started to recede like a tidal wave on its final retreat to the sea.
Will was quiet long enough to let Derek regain his bearings. Finally, he asked, “Does this happen to you often?”
Derek shrugged, gazing at the floor mats, his embarrassment keeping his tongue silent. Will nodded and added, “They’re called panic attacks.”
“I guess I know.”
“You don’t know what to do about it, do you?” Will leaned over and typed something in the phone that Derek had carelessly thrown on the dashboard. “Later on, you should read through some of those articles.”
He glanced at what Will typed in the search engine. Panic attacks. He stared before asking in a timid voice. “Have you had them?”
“No. My wife has.”
“Oh.”
Silence pervaded the cab. Derek started to grab the door handle to get to work when Will said, “You ever think about getting some counseling? Having those attacks frequently is a pretty good indicator you need some help.”
“I can’t afford to see someone.”
“Our health insurance covers it. So yeah, you can.”
Having never had a real job before, Derek never had health insurance. Sure, it was out there, but he just never bothered to sign up for it.
“I don’t get it.”
“Sometimes there’s nothing to get. You need help and that’s all there is.”
He studied Will before glaring out the windshield. “Maybe.”
Will got his wallet out and dug around until he found a card. “My wife highly recommends this one.”
He glanced at Will. Twice now he mentioned his wife. Will seemed pretty confident about this stuff, so he shrugged and took the business card with a nod.
Two weeks and another panic attack later, while hanging out at a movie, he finally called the number Will gave him. It was awkward. He was asked to be honest and assured it was all confidential. Having spent so long keeping everything in his life so secret, he didn’t know where to start.
His hands were slick with sweat while he sat in the waiting room. It was a bland reception area that played soothing music and was decorated in calming ocean scenes. When the innocuous-looking woman in her mid-forties invited him back to her office, he almost sprang up and ran out the front door. But he dutifully followed her and sat down on the black leather couch. He faced her and watched her sit down in a black office chair. She leaned back and said casually, “Hello, Derek, what brings you here today?”
He had no idea what to expect of a counselor since he’d never met with one before. She listened to his bumbling, stumbling explanation of panic attacks and his unspoken plea for some tips on how to stop them. After a lengthy intro about her confidentiality, and the few times she was required by law to report their sessions, including suicide or crimes, especially against children, they were ready to begin. Derek almost interrupted her to ask if his prior crimes were also confidential. The last thing he needed was a drug arrest in another state.
He didn’t expect her conversational tone, or gently worded questions that were pretty harmless and generic. She asked him things like how was he? What was going on? She didn’t offer any profound theories or advice, however. He expected a lecture about what was right and wrong and what to do and feel. It wasn’t like that at all. She mostly focused on his conversations and let him do all the talking.
A lifetime of hiding what he did and thought only impeded his progress. He spent the first three sessions lying. He told a pretty elaborate, twisted tale, and the sad thing was: it wasn’t nearly as twisted as his real history and his family and occupation. The occupation he’d been working at since he was eight years old. And when the therapist finally called bullshit on him, (politely, of course), he let his shoulders slump forward and replied, “I compulsively lie. I learned to do it to protect myself. I don’t know how to stop.”
“Let’s start with now. What are you most upset about right now, today?”
“Olivia. I’m upset about Olivia.” It popped out of his mouth without a thought. And when he finished admitting it, a weird sense of release and relief started to unwind from around his chest.
“Who’s Olivia? Why are you upset about her?” the woman asked gently and as bizarre as it was, he started to tell her.
****
Olivia was staring up at her bedroom ceiling when her phone pinged. She glanced at it listlessly. It was usually Ally or Kylie, sometimes her Aunt Tracy. They were all worried about her and often stopped by. Her grandparents too, all retired, often showed up to take her to lunch or a movie just to get her up and out of the house.
But this time, it wasn’t family. Derek. It was Derek. She stared at her phone as if it had suddenly become radioactive. Erase it. Delete it. Throw it. Do not freaking look at it, she chanted to herself. Then she screamed and started to pace her room. She left the house for three hours; but when she came back, there it was. And she still hadn’t erased it.
She finally lifted her finger and tapped on it.
Hi.
Hi? Was he for real? She nearly screamed out loud and threw her phone against the wall until it smash
ed into pieces. Hi? After everything he’d done to her? Hi is all he had to say to her?
Then it pinged again. She dropped it on her bed like a hot potato. It was almost like he knew she was holding the phone and staring at it.
I don’t know where to start. But I think I should start somewhere. I’m sorry. In every way, I’m sorry.
She stared at his message. Then her fingers hurriedly typed her reply: I’ll NEVER forgive you.
You shouldn’t. But I’m not committing suicide. I’m trying to find a way to live with it. Seeing a therapist now and she said if I’m sorry, I should say so. So I’m trying to start there.
The statement almost made her smile in a grim, sick kind of way. I guess that’s good. Still not forgiving you, she wrote back.
Goodnight, Olivia. Then he put a freaking heart imogee after it. Derek never used them. Every one of her texts to him had at least a dozen of them punctuating her messages. She stared at the pink heart and swiftly shut her phone down.
But he texted the next day. How are you?
Was he for real? First Hi, and now, how are you? He all but ruined her life, and totally suspended her freshman year in college. Now she hovered in her room at her parents’ house, afraid to venture into the world again. How do you think I am?
Wishing I was dead?
His curt statement almost made her mouth lift into a smile. Almost. There was nothing funny about being kidnapped and overdosed. She answered, No. Too easy for you. Wishing I never met you. I fell for a guy who sells drugs. I didn’t even catch on to the hundreds of lies you told me. I almost got killed for my stupidity.
I did lie. I’m trying to stop. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have to always be lying. It’s as easy and natural to me as putting underwear on in the morning. It’s just what I always do. I started young by lying to my dad to keep him from hitting me. I lied after I killed him. I lied when I was selling drugs. I lied to pacify Quentrell and keep myself out of prison. I just lie automatically by force of habit. And I’m sorry. You weren’t being stupid, I was too sickly good at it.