by Marni Mann
With each command, Hunter’s movements sped up. The tone of his shouting became deeper. And after only a few more strokes, his shouts turned to grunts. He pumped several short, hard beats, and then stopped moving completely.
I lifted my fingers and rested them on the side of the table. My legs relaxed. I took long breaths, filling my lungs completely, trying to calm the build that hadn’t peaked, the emptiness in my chest, the pain I felt between my legs and my cheeks.
He backed up from the table and knelt down to pick up his clothes. It was then that I noticed his tattoo. It was behind his left shoulder...a black crest, a coat of arms. And a name inked underneath.
My stomach began to gurgle. My head started to cloud, the room circled around me. I couldn’t breath; I couldn’t say a word to him. I placed my hand over my mouth, the food threatening to work its way up as I ran to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me. As I got closer to the toilet, it all came out, projecting over the lid and covering the handle. My body wretched and heaved; I didn’t—I couldn’t—stop until I was empty.
And then I fell. Crouched in a ball between the wall and the toilet, too weak to stand up, too exhausted to lift my head from my knees. As I rocked, tears dripped down my thighs. Sweat seeped through my pores, but my body shivered. I couldn’t stop the trembling. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to make it stop.
I’d wanted to leave before.
After this, I had no choice.
“Cee?”
I heard Sal’s call from inside the bathroom, but I didn’t respond.
“Hunter said you left in a hurry.” The clicking from his shoes continued to get louder until they stopped only inches from me. “My God. Are you all right? What happened to you?”
I hadn’t even bothered to flush the toilet. The bile that hadn’t made it in was underneath me, soaking into my feet and my bare ass. Some had splattered onto my naked body.
I peeked up through my arms and shook my head. “I’m not OK.”
“You want me to take you to the Doctor?”
The Doctor. My father.
My only way out?
“Please,” I whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
One of Sal’s arms draped under my calves and another went around my lower back as he lifted me from the pocket in the bathroom. His body stiffened when he pulled me against his chest; my smell was almost too much. Several steps later, we paused, and a door squeaked as it rolled open. We must have been at the closet by the sink. Something had been wrapped around me; it felt like a sheet, but I didn’t open my eyes to find out. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to look at his sweat that had dried all over my body. I didn’t want to glance down at my breasts and have a flashback of his hands on them, or his dick drilling in and out of the places he had penetrated.
I sunk my face into Sal’s neck, inhaling the fresh, soapy scent from his skin. I was aware of my breath, so I inhaled and exhaled through my nose. The rocking of his arms was similar to the train or the backseat of the limo. A soothing calm spread through me. With every breath, I tried to release the tightness and let the air take me. Take me into the darkness.
***
The sun beat down on my bare skin. I knew I should slather on another layer of sunscreen; I’d be red and burnt by this evening…but the heat felt so good. And it felt different here, more tranquil than when I sunbathed at Emma’s pool. Maybe it was the combination of the sand and the salt, the laughter that floated around me, the unpolluted air I was breathing. Or maybe it was the view, or how the waves moved closer, teasing us, reaching out with their ebb and flow. How they turned the dry sand into a muddy mess. Whatever it was, it felt perfect.
Mom didn’t like the beach. Whenever I had asked if she would take me, she said the sun gave her a headache and the humidity made her nauseous. None of my babysitters had a car to drive me there. I’d never scrunched sand under my toes, or felt it pass through my fingers like an hourglass. That was why I’d been so excited when Emma’s parents said they wanted to bring us. I couldn’t wait to compare the pictures I’d seen on the Internet and the TV to the real thing, to know if the colors I had used in my paintings were even close. But now that I was able to compare, the water wasn’t navy like I had chosen for my pieces. It was richer, not as deep throughout, a medium blue mixed with hints of aqua. The caps of the water weren’t white; they were slightly off-white and bubbly, which gave the waves more texture as they crashed onto the sand.
I had barely slept the night before, too anxious to let my body relax. The sun was draining any energy that I had left. The Hunts had filled two coolers full of food and had wheeled them onto the beach. Just as with any meal that I ate with them, I was too full afterward. A turkey sandwich, chips, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a root beer had found their home inside my belly. I was exhausted, but I wouldn’t close my eyes. I didn’t want to miss anything. I didn’t know when I would be around something so beautiful again; I didn’t want to take it for granted.
“Let’s go swimming,” Emma said from her towel. She lay next to me on her stomach, closing the Seventeen Magazine she had just opened a few minutes ago.
“I…I’m not ready yet.”
“Charlie, you’ve gotta get in the water at some point. It’s sweltering. Even my hair thinks so.” She pointed at the blonde hair that frizzed from her head. Emma’s mane was always flawless, but it had rebelled from the salty air and humidity.
I’d gone swimming several times before. Each time, though, had been in a pool and I had stayed close to the side if I ventured past the shallow end. The ocean was too big. Too deep. There were fish in there that were much larger than me. And farther out, the waves became tall and aggressive.
“I’m scared, Em. I’m not that good of a swimmer.”
“How about if my dad comes with us? You can hold onto him until you get comfortable, and then I’ll send him away.”
I looked over at Mr. Hunt, sitting with Mrs. Hunt in a beach chair on the other side of the coolers. He was a big man, not fat, but tall and much more muscular than the guys Mom brought home. I knew how protective he was with Emma and, because I spent so much time with the Hunts, I knew he’d be the same way with me.
“Do you think he’ll mind?” I asked.
“Dad,” Emma shouted a little louder than she needed to. “Will you come swimming with us?”
He lowered the book that he held in his hands and peered over the rim of his sunglasses. A wave of shock passed over his face. “You girls want me to come with you?”
Emma looked at me, then back at her father. “Just until we get used to the waves. Then you can shoot us into the air so we can cannonball.”
Mr. Hunt set his book on top of one of the coolers and stood from his chair. After several steps, he turned, and glanced over his shoulder. “Well...aren’t you coming?”
Emma and I scrambled to our feet.
“You kids have fun,” Mrs. Hunt sang from behind us.
We followed him down to the water, my nerves building with each step. There was so much anticipation: how cold the ocean was going to be, how the wet sand would feel under my feet, how I’d handle the exhilaration of Mr. Hunt picking me up and springing me into the air so I could cannonball into the water.
“When we get older,” Emma said, “I want us to get matching tattoos like my dad and brother have.”
I’d seen both of their tattoos before; they were identical and in the same spot. But I didn’t understand their meaning.
“What’s that symbol stand for, anyway?” I asked.
“It’s the Hunt crest and coat of arms. That’s why they had our last name tattooed at the bottom.”
Their tattoos were fairly large and took up almost the whole back of their left shoulder. If Emma and I were going to get one done, I wanted something more inconspicuous. And I wanted our piece to be colorful, unlike Mr. Hunt’s. His was done in black ink only.
Mr. Hunt waited for us at the ocean’s edge. Once we reached him, he
said, “Charlie, are you ready? Emma, are you?”
We both nodded.
“It’s cold, girls, so let’s run for it.” He took off into the water, hurdling the waves.
Emma reached for my hand. When our fingers latched, we skipped over the first wave and ran until the water reached our thighs. Then we dove in, together, our hands never releasing. We surfaced at the same time, and we smiled.
***
A gust of cold air and the crinkling of paper woke me. Sal had set me down on the Doctor’s table; his hands tucked the sheet under my legs and back, and all at once the warmth from his fingers had left me. No words were exchanged between the two men. A door closed, followed by a swishing noise and a new scent that told me the Doctor had moved closer. If I opened my eyes, I knew similar ones would be staring down at me.
It was too much.
But it didn’t just stop with the Doctor. Like before, my thoughts moved to Cameron, and then Mr. Hunt. I needed a shower to wash his smell off my body, to scrub away every minute from the last few hours. It had been over five years since the accident, and the mask had hidden almost all of his face. Still, I didn’t know why it had taken the tattoo for me to recognize him, why his voice hadn’t been a trigger, or his hands or his mouth. I’d painted both before when I had given the Hunts a portrait of their family for Christmas. How had his nickname, Hunter, failed to raise my curiosity, at the very least?
Since middle school, I had always thought Emma’s family was perfect. Mr. Hunt owned several car dealerships, Mrs. Hunt was the doting homemaker; their house was so elegant and perfectly maintained. At the dinner table, they smiled at each other while they sipped wine out of crystal goblets and ate prime rib. There was admiration for each other in their eyes. And for years, I had envied them. I had craved for a bond like theirs, a solid family structure, cookies and homemade dinners, and the love shared among the four of them. But while I had dreamed of being a part of their family, I had never imagined that Mr. Hunt would engage in other activities. I never pictured him leading a twenty-something-year-old girl into a sex dungeon, setting her on a gynecological table...doing the things he’d done to me.
Lilly may have concealed the identity of my father; she may have chosen booze and drugs and men over me, and wracked up a staggering amount of debt. But at least she hadn’t pretended to be someone else, or lied about how much she loved to drink or fuck. And that was a hell of a lot more respectable than the front the Hunts had put on.
“Tell me what’s ailing you, Cee,” the Doctor said.
What was ailing me?
Bile began to slosh against the walls of my belly.
“It’s my stomach,” I said. “Something’s really wrong with it.”
I heard movement, and then his hands were on my feet. I still hadn’t opened my eyes; I wasn’t ready for his gaze just yet. He gently pulled my heels so my legs straightened, unfolding me out of my fetal position. When I was flat on my back, the sheet covering me completely, his palms pressed into my stomach.
I didn’t know if I could ever fully process what had just occurred in my wing. If I could ever wipe away those images, ever heal. If the disgust would ever diminish, or if I would ever be able to find acceptance and move on. But I knew the result of our activities, of my time spent here, and what I had learned from it. The Doctor was right; I had set a value for myself once I had agreed to work at the mansion, and it wasn’t even close to what I was really worth.
I didn’t want to feel this way again.
I didn’t want to ever put on another mask. I didn’t need a stranger to fuck me in order to escape. I didn’t need Cee because there was nothing wrong with Charlie’s life. I had art and inspiration, and pieces in my head that were waiting to be painted. I had requests coming in, orders to fill, and money being offered for my work...my real work. Not the work I did with my body. I had a place to live. I had a friendship with Dallas. And I had Cameron.
I wanted out.
“Can you give me something to make all this go away?” I asked.
My eyes were finally open and they were begging, pleading as they met his. My fingers reached out and clasped his wrist, squeezing, my nails digging into his skin.
“Please,” I whispered. “Make it stop.”
“Will you finally let me do this...let me care for you?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“OK, then,” he said. He understood what I had asked. What I really wanted.
For the sake of the eyes of the mansion gazing down upon us, we both continued playing our roles.
When I released his hand, he continued to feel around in the spot under my ribs and slowly he traveled toward my lower stomach. “I don’t feel any inflammation, so the distress is probably from something that you ate. I’ll give you some anti-nausea medicine and an antacid. Those should make you feel better.”
I didn’t have any way to contact him outside of the mansion, but I knew he would find me. And based on the urgency he had showed in the past, I knew our next meeting would be soon. This didn’t mean that I was accepting him as my father; I wasn’t sure if I was even capable of that. But I was accepting his help to leave the mansion. I still didn’t know what that entailed or why I couldn’t just give Victoria my notice. Those were among the questions I’d be asking him.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
Once my lips parted, he dropped an antacid on my tongue. The cherry flavor was a nice change from the bile taste that had coated my mouth.
“It will take several minutes for the medicine to kick in,” he said. “In the meantime, why don’t you relax in here, and close your eyes. I’ll call downstairs and let your driver know that you’ll be a little late.”
“Thank you.”
I looked at him differently than I had before, studying the features that weren’t hidden by his mask. Then I pictured the skin above his eyes, under his lids, around his nose, and I compared it all to my own. But beyond his name, that he wore glasses and contacts and collected fine art, I knew nothing about him. His touch was gentle, though, when he’d tucked the sheet under my body again, when he’d delicately placed the medicine in my mouth, rather than my hand, the way a parent would. Could I allow this man to be my father? Was that something he even wanted...or did his obligation to me end after he got me out of the mansion?
As the pill dissolved, I relaxed my back and feet, and slowly stretched each of my limbs. This table was much more comfortable then the one in my wing. There was a pillow under my head, and I was able to cross my legs.
The Doctor disappeared for a few seconds and returned with a blanket. He placed it on top of the sheet. “Warm enough?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Take some deep breaths for me.”
I did as I was told. He laid a damp washcloth across my forehead. He was attending to me in almost an adoring manner.
“Can I do anything else for you?” he asked.
Can you save me from this place?
Can you make Cameron and Dallas accept me once I tell them the truth?
I had so much to ask him. But I knew it wasn’t safe to talk openly in here.
“I’m OK,” I said.
A smile crossed his lips briefly as his fingers moved to my shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine, Cee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next morning there was a limo parked and waiting by the curb, just a few feet beyond the main entrance to my building. I noticed it as soon as I stepped outside. It could have been there for anyone—another tenant, maybe, or someone in a nearby shop. They weren’t uncommon in the area I lived in now. But something told me it was there for me.
I opened the door and scanned the back before climbing in and sitting across from the Doctor. The driver pulled away before I even got settled in.
“You always have a way of finding me,” I said.
He smiled. “Last night was a rough one for you,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
Thinking about Mr. Hu
nt and everything he’d done to me the night before made my stomach churn all over again. I couldn’t let myself go there. “I’m fine,” I said, untrue though it was. “Thank you again for your help.” It was horrifying and surreal, thanking my father for helping me after a session in the S&M room. With my dead, best friend’s father.
I shoved the thoughts back, as I’d become so skilled at doing with everything else.
“Of course, Charlie.” His eyes showed genuine concern. I think he knew not to push. “I know you have questions for me. However, before you ask anything else, there are a few things I’d like you to know.”
Instead of leaning back against his seat, he sat forward and teetered along its edge. His feet were crossed in front of him; his hands were clasped and dangled between his legs. He looked uncomfortable, restless. Maybe a little nervous, even. His vision was focused on the floor between our seats. He took several deep breaths as his eyes slowly moved upward to meet mine.
“I have to assume, based on your reaction at the gallery, that you were displeased to learn that I’m your father?”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t that at all. I was just...shocked. I didn’t know how to process it. I still don’t. I’ve been without family since Lilly died, and then suddenly a man I’ve known only briefly—and in a very specific context—tells me he’s my father. You know all about my work at the mansion, all about my sex…” A wave of humiliation washed through me. “It was too much to take in all at once.”
He nodded. “I suppose it would be. All of this tells me that Lilly must not have known who I was, either...”
I’d been wondering the same thing since he’d made his revelation. “Did she ever make contact with you?”
“No, never.”
I had questioned for so long whether Lilly had lied to me all those years, if she’d known who my father was all along but kept it from me for some reason only she could justify. I knew her priorities too well; had she known my father’s identity as the Doctor, she would have tapped into his finances long ago. There was no way she would have passed up an opportunity like this, no way she would have struggled if she’d had another option.