Despite the dizziness, I shook my head. I said, “If . . . you had a plan already . . . w—why? Why . . . did you do . . . this to . . . me? You . . . didn’t have . . . to . . . do . . . this.”
The Kyras closed their eyes a fraction. “Because you thought you were just too damned good. Arrogant bitch. Guess I showed you, huh?” Without saying another word, Kyra turned and left the room.
Anxiety came over me as I struggled to catch a breath.
My heart raced. I felt feverish and cold at the same time. Kyra and the man in black. They laughed at me as my tears fell. I’d become a victim again, and it had all been for nothing. She’d had a plan. None of this had to happen. They laughed. I cried. And then the perfect storm took me under.
25
I’d never been broken before. Not when my father fucked me visually as a teenager. Not when my mother abandoned me and left me alone with his perverted ass. Not even when my exboyfriend tried everything in his power to break me. He’d come close, but all he’d gotten for his effort was a permanent residence in a pine box.
Never broken.
I was superhuman without the bulletproof skin and the heat vision. My movements were unmatched without having to move faster than the speed of light. I’d never tried to leap over a building in a single bound, but make no mistake, had there been a building blocking my path, I would have found a way to scale it by miles.
I was just always that good.
I was always unbreakable.
And then my Kryptonite called me and made me an offer I chose to refuse, and my reality had been distorted ever since.
Three weeks after Kyra’s hospital visit, I sat in my apartment, cracked and on the verge of shattering into pieces. I’d become a paranoid wreck, jumping and cringing to sounds out in the hallway. I was barely eating, and barely sleeping, thanks to the NoDoz I was popping in my mouth every couple of hours to avoid the nightmares I’d been having of the man in the black ski mask beating me down and raping me while Kyra stood off to the side, watching it happen, laughing hysterically.
Sometimes the nightmares were worse. Sometimes there was more than one man in black. Other times, Kyra joined in and beat me down while the men in black held me down. In those nightmares, she helped keep my legs apart while they each took a turn sending her regards.
Kyra.
She’d done what no one had been able to do. She’d broken me and turned me into the type of woman I couldn’t stand. The type of woman I swore I’d never be like.
Unsure.
Afraid.
Weak.
I couldn’t handle it. With each passing moment of the solitude I’d thrown myself into, I lost myself more and more, and had it not been for Marlene and her insistence that we were friends, I would have disappeared entirely and never gotten Kyra back for what she’d done. But I did get Kyra back, and I would always be indebted to Marlene for forcing me to accept her as that.
Despite my meltdown and blowup at her in the hospital, Marlene refused to do what I wouldn’t have given a second thought about doing—give up on me. She called me numerous times on both of my Sidekicks, and even though I wouldn’t return the calls, she still left countless messages. Over the three week period, she came to my apartment and knocked on my door incessantly and begged me to let her in to talk. I never answered her, though. I just sat and listened, and wished for her to go away and not come back. At the same time, however, I also wished for her to continue knocking, because as much as I wanted to be left alone, there was a sense of security I felt knowing that she was there on the other side of the door.
Three times she’d come by, three times I’d refused to open the door or even respond, and three times she’d given up and left. I expected the same scenario to happen for her fourth visit.
I was organizing my walk-in closet in my bedroom when she came knocking. My closet wasn’t cluttered with any unnecessary things, or outfits that were hanging taking up space needlessly. Actually, it was already neat, with clothes and shoes and whatever odds and ends I had in there all systematically lined up. My reason for being in there was strictly to keep myself busy. Cleaning things that didn’t need to be cleaned. Arranging things that were already well arranged. Reconfiguring rooms that already had the furniture sitting in the perfect spot, in the perfect position. That’s what I’d been doing during my weeks of solitude. Whatever I could do to occupy my mind and my time, I did. The walk-in was the last of the busywork I had left to do. Once I finished that, I planned to move on to dusting my light fixtures, and maybe even breaking my toaster just to try to fix it.
Marlene was just supposed to knock a few times, call out my name, call my phones, call my name again, knock a few more times, and then finally give up and leave me to finish doing what I was doing.
She wasn’t supposed to knock and say, “I’m not leaving this time, Lisette. Ben is with the babysitter and she’ll watch him all night if I need her to. And if I need her longer than that, it won’t be a problem. So you see . . . I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and knock until you open the door and let me inside, or you call the police and have me taken away. It’s your choice, Lisette.”
I sighed, dropped a pile of clothes I had in my arms on my bed, and walked to the living room. I could ignore her all I wanted, but the fact was she wasn’t going to leave. There was a conviction in her voice that hadn’t been there before. A no nonsense, no bullshit tone.
I sighed again and went to the door, and said, “The police will be here in five minutes.”
Marlene said, “Open the door, Lisette.”
I shook my head. “Your calls aren’t answered, your messages aren’t returned, the door is never opened. Don’t you know how to take a hint?”
“Open the door, Lisette.”
“No.”
“Then call the police.”
“Like I said, they’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Then I’ll wait for them.”
Another sigh. “Why are you here, Marlene?”
“Because whether you want to accept it or not, I’m your friend.”
“I don’t need friends.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Then you can leave.”
“That’s not going to happen. Not this time.”
“I’m not going to open the door,” I said defiantly.
“Then call the police, Lisette.”
I clenched my jaws. Bumps rose on my skin. A lump had formed in my throat. Tears that I hadn’t shed since Kyra’s visit were trying to well in my eyes. I closed them tightly. I couldn’t cry. Not again.
“Can you just leave, Marlene?”
“No. I can’t.”
I took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I wanted to ask her to leave again. Wanted to demand it. But I knew there was no point to it. I put my hand on the top lock. Gave serious consideration to calling the police. Then turned the lock counterclockwise, wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, turned and pulled the door open.
I looked at Marlene as she stared back at me. “Are you happy now?”
She smiled. Said, “Yes.” And then said, “You look like shit.”
I closed my eyes a bit. “It’s not too late for me to call the police, you know.”
Marlene smiled.
For the first time in weeks, I did too.
I said that I didn’t need any friends, but standing there in front of Marlene, I realized just how much I’d been lying to myself.
I stepped back and opened the door wide. Marlene walked past me. “So how have you been?”
I closed the door and turned around. “I’ve been fine.”
Marlene frowned and gave me a look filled with skepticism. “You have dark circles under your eyes and you look like you’ve lost a little weight, which means that you haven’t been eating or sleeping much. Don’t tell me that you’re fine.”
“How about great? Peachy. Never better,” I said, walking into the living room.
Marlene follow
ed behind me. “Damn it, Lisette! I’m your friend! Will it kill you to open up to me just once?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me how you’re really feeling!”
“What do you want to hear, Marlene? That I haven’t been sleeping because I’ve been popping NoDoz like candy to keep from having nightmares? That I haven’t had the desire to eat? That I’ve been locked up in my apartment for the past three weeks, cleaning it from top to bottom, arranging and rearranging over and over again just to keep my mind off of the fact that that bitch had me beaten and raped? That she came to visit me in the hospital, she drugged me, and then told me how none of what had happened to me had been necessary because she figured out a way to get her fucking money anyway?
“Is that good enough for you, Marlene? Do you feel better now? Does it give you satisfaction knowing that I feel weak, broken, humiliated, and pathetic? Does that work for you? Is this better than seeing me break down, held down and then sedated? Did I share enough of my fucking feeling with you, friend?”
I stopped ranting and stared at Marlene. I was breathing heavily as though I’d been running laps for hours. My heart was racing. My hands were balled at my sides. I hadn’t meant to go off that way. Hadn’t meant to lose my composure and reveal so much. Hadn’t meant to reveal anything, actually. But the pain, frustration, embarrassment, resentment, anger, hatred, and rage I’d been suppressing refused to stay down any longer, and before I could keep it from happening, the words just exploded out of me.
For a few seconds Marlene just stared at me with an expression of shock, concern, and pity. The shock and concern I could deal with. The pity just annoyed me. I shook my head and frowned, and regretted my outburst.
Marlene looked at me for a few more seconds, and then finally verbalized what she’d been saying with her eyes. “Lisette . . . I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
I should have said that she had nothing to apologize for. That it hadn’t been her fault. Instead I said, “Being sorry doesn’t change what happened.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Come to you for what, Marlene?”
“We could have talked sooner.”
“Talked sooner? I don’t even want to talk now.”
“Sometimes talking about things can really help.”
“Would talking erase what happened?”
“No, but—”
“Then to hell with the talking, Marlene. Shit!” I passed my hand through my hair and then clasped it down around the back of my neck. Said, “Shit!” again and exhaled.
Marlene stared at me. Didn’t say a word. Just stared. There was something about the way she was watching me that bothered me. Made me feel . . . self-conscious. It wasn’t a look she’d ever given me before.
It made me say, “What?”
She shook her head and smirked a little. “Unbelievable,” she said, her voiced peppered with disgust.
“What’s unbelievable?”
“I came to talk to Lisette, and instead, I end up wasting my time with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“The real Lisette wouldn’t have kept herself locked away, cowering in the shadows. The real Lisette would have never continued being the victim while some bitch, who isn’t even in her league, walked around with her nose in the air, thinking that she’d won. The Lisette I know would have never, ever admitted to being weak or afraid. Do me a favor and please tell the real Lisette to come out of the bedroom, because you’re a horrible carbon copy.”
Marlene paused and looked at me.
I was stunned. First the look, and now she’d verbally chastised me. Challenged me. Called me out. Had everything she’d said not been so dead on, I would have been pissed. But I couldn’t be, because she was right.
Who the hell was I?
I’ve never shied away from anything or anyone. If something or someone stood in my way, I made it my mission to crush whatever or whoever it was. I thrived on breaking things down. Especially people. I reveled in breaking a person’s spirit. I didn’t care if they were a man or a woman. If in any way, shape, or form, they tried to have the upper hand, I showed them very quickly that there was no getting over on me.
Domination and control.
Two words that personified my character.
I’d given them up to Kyra. I let her dominate. I let her have control. I let her make me weak. Let her make me afraid. The real Lisette would never have allowed that to happen.
I looked at Marlene.
She was staring at me intensely as she said, “This bitch is nothing compared to you, Lisette. You know that.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“Then for Christ’s sake, stop letting her win! She gave you her best shot and it wasn’t good enough because you survived.”
I nodded again. Felt more bumps rise from my skin. I survived. In my weeks alone, when I couldn’t run away from the thoughts of everything that had happened, that was one phrase that never popped into my head.
I was beaten.
I was raped.
I was broken.
I was weak.
I was pathetic.
I was angry.
All of the phrases combined couldn’t match the strength that phrase held. I’d been hit with her best shot, yet I was still breathing, still standing.
I survived.
I looked at Marlene. Thought about hugging her. Maybe even made a subtle move to do that. But then I held still.
She’d helped me through a period I would never let go. For that she would always be acknowledged as my friend, and I would always be indebted to her. But I was Lisette. And hugging wasn’t what I did.
I looked at Marlene and said, “It’s time to pay the bitch back.”
Marlene smiled. “Welcome back.”
26
Before I fucked up Kyra’s world for good, there were a couple of things I wanted to take care of.
First, I went back to the gym. My reason for going there was two-fold. One, I needed to go back to the scene of the crime. I just needed to be there. I needed to come to terms with that night and all that had happened. It was part of my reality and I needed to face it, and embrace it and all of its horrible moments. I stood still and I looked up into the sky, squinting at the sun, and thought about the black and grey clouds, the thunder and lightning, and all of the rain that had fallen. I let the memory soak in like the rain. I was beaten. I was raped. Now I was standing where it all happened. Stronger. More determined than ever to demonstrate that I wasn’t the one to be fucked with.
I closed my eyes as the sun shone down on me, and I listened to the silence in the sky. Somewhere above, a plane flew by, sounding like mock thunder. I listened to it and remembered the thunder from that night. Remembered the cracking of the lightning. Remembered the rain: cold, heavy, falling lead pellets. I lowered my head and looked down at the ground, where I’d been forced to take Kyra’s regards. So much rain had fallen on me. I should have drowned. Would have had it not been for Fat Jim. I was back to having my me-and-fuck-everyone-else mentality, but I wasn’t so caught up that I wasn’t able to truly thank him for what he’d done for me, which was the second reason I’d gone back there. I took one last glance at the ground. My reality had changed, because on the ground, I was staring at myself smiling and being fucked instead of being violated.
I went into the gym. Fat Jim was on the second level, huffing and puffing his pounds off on the treadmill. I didn’t remember much about him physically, but it almost seemed like he’d lost a few pounds. If he kept it up, I wouldn’t be able to call him Fat Jim anymore.
When he saw me, he flashed one of the most attractive smiles I’d ever seen a man flash. With handsome, deep-set brown eyes, dimples, full lips, and smooth but sweaty cocoa-brown skin, I actually wondered what the rest of the package would look like without the weight.
He came down off of the treadmill and attempted to give me a hug. I didn’t mean to be so callous, but I stopped him b
y sticking out my hand. His smile dropped slightly as disappointment registered on his face, before he took my hand.
We went to the café on the first level of the gym and talked. He wanted to know how I had been doing. Told me that he’d been worried and had come to the hospital to see me the next day, but because I was a rape victim and they had no suspect and he wasn’t next of kin, they wouldn’t let him see me. He told me about the police questioning him and requesting a sample of his sperm, which he gave without hesitation. I told him I was fine and thanked him again for what he’d done. He insisted it had been no big deal. I told him that his insistence made it just that. Said in today’s world, heroes were only seen on Mondays at nine. That most people would have said to hell with saving the world and just hurried to their car to get out of the rain. He said his father taught him to never ignore a woman. I said his father was a smart man.
We spoke for a few more minutes after that. He asked if I had any idea about who my attacker had been. I lied and said I didn’t. He said it was a damn shame. That he wished he would have come out sooner. Said he would have kicked the guy’s ass. I believed him and told him so. He apologized for showing up too late. I told him that he had been right on time. Then I gave him a gift.
I told him about a deal our company had signed with a new client, Bryant “Big Man” Drew. Considered to be one of the funniest black men in America, he was becoming very bankable in Hollywood, as his last two films had brought in over eighty million dollars each. Big Man was the male Monique, and at two hundred and fifty plus pounds, he was letting nothing stand in his way.
We’d just formed a partnership with Big Man to design a new clothing line for plus-sized men that would bear his moniker. I told Fat Jim that Big Man was on the hunt for male models to represent the line that was going to get major play in Vibe, Essence, GQ, and billboards around the country. Said that for everything he’d done, I told Bryant personally that I had his star model already. Then I presented Fat Jim with a contract, given to me by Big Man himself. Told him to have a lawyer look it over and then sign it and take it to Big Man’s people. Said he could quit his day job. That the contract was a lucrative, life-changing one.
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