Breaking Her (Love is War #2)

by R. K. Lilley

  Only after he was done with his soft ministrations did I take the loofah from him and scrub myself raw.

  I was abrading my skin with such gusto that he quietly begged me to stop, and somehow something in the tone of his voice was convincing enough to actually get me to.

  Otherwise I swear I'd have just kept rubbing until my skin was gone.

  It was cowardly and weak, but after he'd washed me, and dressed me, he took me out of the trailer and carried me up the hill. And I let him.

  "Aren't we going to . . . ?" I asked him.

  "I'm going to get you settled in your room at Gram's. You need to rest and not worry about any other thing than that, do you understand?"

  I nodded weakly. We were on his mother's property by then. It was closer than Gram's, and we always cut across it when we made the walk.

  "Will you stay with me tonight?" I asked him. I didn't want to sleep alone.

  "Of course. I won't leave your side after I . . . take care of things."

  I went a little numb, and somehow it was easy to just not think about it, the things he'd have to do, the things I'd already done.

  We'd barely crossed the property line between his mother's and his grandma's when it all hit me again and I started sobbing into his chest.

  He sat down on the ground and sobbed with me, chanting, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

  "It's not your fault," I finally managed to get out.

  "I can't believe this happened to you. I can't believe I didn't save you in time." His voice broke on the words, and I'd never heard him sound more lost.

  He brought me straight to my room, left me briefly, and came back with sleeping pills he'd gotten from Gram.

  I stared at him.

  "Please. For me. Take them. I can't leave you until you're sleeping. I can't."

  I took them.

  *****

  When I came to, it was dark out, but my bedside lamp was on.

  Dante had pulled a chair up and was sitting at my side. He was staring straight ahead.

  I shivered at the look in his eyes.

  That caught his attention and his gaze cleared—black nightmares turning to concern as he studied my face.

  "What can I do?" he asked me.

  Again, he didn't ask me if I was okay.

  "Hold me," I said, and started crying again, the worst kind of tears, because they were only for me, purest self-pity.

  He crawled into bed with me fully clothed and wrapped himself around me.

  "Did you . . .?" I finally asked him.

  "Everything is handled. If the police ever ask you about it, and they likely will at some point, you need to plead complete ignorance. They'll catch on that you might have been the last one to see him, because he took you out of school, but you tell them that he asked you a few questions and dropped you off at Gram's, okay? He dropped you off at Gram's at around eleven a.m. Gram will corroborate your story. He left you here at eleven and you know nothing else about it."

  "Okay. Does Gram know . . . ?"

  "Gram knows everything. I needed her help, and she's your alibi. Also, we needed a very discreet doctor to examine you, and I didn't know any myself."

  I coiled in on myself. "A doctor to examine me?" It sounded awful.

  "You were hurt. Badly. A doctor examined you while you were still out. We thought that would be less traumatic . . . after everything." He nearly choked on the word everything. "A close family friend did a house call for Gram; someone she swears can be trusted."

  He sat up and grabbed a little cup from the nightstand. "He left you some pills to take. He said the sooner you take them the better."

  I looked in the little cup. There were a lot of pills. I didn't even ask what they were. I just downed them, then took a long drink of water from the glass Dante handed me.

  We lay back down.

  "Is Gram upset with us?" I asked him in a very small voice. She must have been so disappointed. Here she'd taken me in and now she had to deal with this mess.

  He went stiff around me. "Of course not. You thought she'd be upset with you?"

  I shrugged a shoulder. "I killed a cop. I made you, I don't even know what, get rid of the body? I'm nothing but trouble."

  "Stop it. None of this was you. She's sad about it, very sad." The way he said, the way his voice cracked on the words, made it clear she wasn't the only one that was sad. "But of course she doesn't blame you."

  "Do you think they'll ever find the body?" I asked him.

  He was silent for a long time then, "I don't, and I don't think you need to know anything else about it. It's taken care of, okay? You trust me, right?"

  I did. Completely and utterly.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  "Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile."

  ~Franklin P. Jones

  PRESENT

  SCARLETT

  I was wearing nothing but some pasties up top and a bare strip down south, simulating sex with a guy I wouldn't have let so much as kiss my feet if a camera wasn't rolling. Meanwhile somewhere deep down I was questioning my career choices.

  I tried to get lost in the role, to put just the right touch of vulnerable passion into my expression.

  I was always the epitome of nonchalant about the racy scenes, the nudity, all of it.

  Because I was determined to be a professional, particularly about this.

  Some of it was pure brassy nerve, the part of me always making up for the fact that I had been a victim once. Overcompensation as I tried to convince myself that I never would be again.

  Deep seated and hidden just as well was how this elicited something ugly in me, how letting someone I hadn't chosen and did not want put their hands on me made me feel unclean. Sticky with an old filth that would not wash off.

  There was even a physical pain that it triggered, a sharp stab, almost like a menstrual cramp but more acute and lower, that only came up when I kicked this particular internal hornet's nest. I'd never, never say it, though, or show it. I was determined to be a pro to the end, especially about this.

  And I'd been good. Great. Compared to my co-star, I'd been a hell of a professional, but it was too much. Currently he was poised over me, grinding his relentless erection into my hip for about the thousandth time.

  Suddenly I couldn't take it. Couldn't be tough and nonchalant about it for one more second.

  I shoved at David, pushing him off me. "There's seriously nothing we can do about the erection he keeps grinding on me?" I addressed Stu.

  "You know, most women would love this," David told me, tone deeply offended, like that would somehow change my mind.

  I rolled my eyes. Those women didn't know this douchebag in real life. It was amazing how unattractive a mind could be even it fit was wrapped in a sexy as hell shell.

  We'd been at it for going on fourteen hours. Take after take, with small breaks that didn't let us get far from set.

  I was tired. The night before had been my first at Dante's house in four days. We hadn't slept much.

  No rest for the wicked.

  But it was more than lack of sleep that had me upset enough to pull a diva moment. I'd been dreading this scene, this interaction, from the get-go, and the fact that it was all worse than I'd been anticipating was not helping.

  Stu called cut and came to stand by the bed. I sat up, one of the assistants brought me a robe, and I thanked him while shrugging it on. My eyes were on my director all the while. I was expecting to get an earful.

  He looked back and forth between David and me several times, pursing his mouth. "This isn't working. I just assumed it would. I figured when I casted you two." He waved a hand, vaguely indicating our bodies. "I just figured playing up the sex would be a no-brainer. But I don't like it. I think we should do something with subtlety."

  I was so relieved that I wanted to cry, but I hid it, just nodding agreement.

  He wound up rewriting the entire scene. It ended
with me taking my top off and fading to black. I was reassured that all he planned to show was some heavy side boob.

  I actually had no problem with nudity. I just didn't. It was the touching while nude that I couldn't get past, or at least not easily.

  The next time Stu called a break I found Dante in my trailer.

  He was lounging on the sofa, phone to his ear.

  He wasn't one to sit idle, so he'd started working again the week before.

  He smiled when he saw me, holding up his index finger.

  I just nodded and went for coffee. I listened almost absentmindedly to his side of the conversation and when I realized he was dealing not with day-to-day Durant Department store business, but with Gram's much beloved charity, I went warmer inside, the day suddenly felt less dark. Of course he would do that. Continue her work. Make her proud.

  I was stirring the sugar into my cup when Dante pressed up behind me. He was still on the phone, and I hadn't realized he was moving close.

  I jumped about a foot.

  He slipped his free hand into my robe, running his palm over my breast. The pasty seemed to give him pause, and he fingered it briefly before he felt his way to the other one. That got a quicker check before his hand snaked down, feeling between my legs.

  I shrugged him off, moving away. I didn't want him to touch me before I'd showered the feel of douchebag David away.

  I went into the bathroom and locked the door.

  I washed myself repeatedly, but I still didn't feel clean. When I finally emerged, he was done with his call. He got one look at my face and he seemed to know.

  I felt like a child as he cradled me on his lap and tried to comfort me, but this was just the way of us. We'd always been too much to each other, filled too many roles. We didn't know another way.

  "No part, no career, is worth doing this to yourself," he finally said.

  "I'll be fine," I protested.

  "And what about me?"

  I pulled away, tipping my head back to look at him. "What about you? Can you handle this?"

  "I'm dealing with it. I know you've wanted this since you were fourteen, and the last thing I'm going to do is stand in your way. I'm not going to lie, I hate this part of it. The idea of anyone seeing you . . . of your co-star touching you. It all makes me insane. But I can't stand in your way. This is your dream and I'll support it, even the parts that I can't stand."

  "The worst is over," I reassured him. I understood the jealousy, the possessiveness. I could hardly fault him for it. I wasn't sure what I'd do if Dante's job consisted of touching other women for any reason.

  It was a touchy subject all around.

  "You were working on Gram's charity when I walked in, weren't you?" I asked him, though I knew the answer.

  "Yes. I've always been involved in The Vivian Durant Project, but I'm particularly invested now that you've made me sink your entire inheritance into the endeavor. I plan to see that money work miracles."

  I froze. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't have an inheritance."

  He sighed loud enough to jostle me against his chest. It was part resignation, part exasperation. "Well, Gram left you eight million dollars, and you told me to give it to her charity. I figured since you never even let me finish talking about it that you meant what you said, so I damn well did it."

  I was blinking, trying not to cry, trying not to fall apart. "She really did that? She left that to me?"

  He made a noise in his throat that rumbled through him hard enough that I could feel every intense reverberation, his hand stroking over my hair, over and over. "Of course she did, angel. She thought of you as family. It was in her will for years before she passed. By the way, I have about a hundred papers for you to sign when you feel up to it."

  Joy, yes joy, fluttered through me. Not because of the money. I'd meant it when I said I didn't want it, that I wanted it donated. No, again, I wasn't crazy, and prior to my recent starring role I'd been pretty close to broke, but I could not take money I had not earned, money that came from losing her. I wanted every cent to go to the charity she'd been so involved and passionate about, but the idea of it, the gesture, meant everything to me. She really had thought of me like family. So much so, she'd stood by the sentiment to the very end.

  "Did Adelaide get her house?" I asked. A part of me didn't want to know. I was positive that Gram wouldn't have left it to her, but I also knew that Adelaide had her ways. I figured she'd have strong-armed Leo for it by now.

  "Hm," Dante said. It was half-laugh, half-snort. "Not quite. Gram left her nothing, not a cent. The rest of us expected it, but Adelaide was furious. She's still on a warpath. It's been ugly."

  I whistled. I could not even imagine. Adelaide was wrathful when it came to even the smallest slight. She'd once terrorized a woman into moving out of town just because she didn't like where she'd been seated at a wedding.

  Being left out of the will for a payout she'd expected her entire adult life . . . it frightened me a bit just to contemplate the destruction she must have wreaked.

  "My God, that is some justice," I said reverently, my mind on how much I still worshipped Gram.

  "Time will tell if it will stick, though Leo has been holding his own more than usual."

  "Let me know how it turns out."

  "Oh, I will. Believe me, I will."

  My phone dinged a text at me, and I checked it, assuming it was an alert to get back on set.

  It was not. It was a message from Farrah.

  I showed it to Dante.

  FARRAH/SEXYASSBITCH: I just put in my two weeks at the airline. I'm over it. It's no fun without you. Shopping day soon! xoxo

  "Well, I guess we have our spy." His tone was resigned but almost pleased. He was relieved to finally know.

  I wasn't sure what to feel.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  "Being in love shows a person who he should be."

  ~Anton Chekhov

  PAST

  SCARLETT

  I thought I was fine at first. I pretended—even convinced myself— that I'd bounced right back, returning to school as soon as I could, acting as though nothing had happened, talking about it to no one, not even the people I could talk about it with.

  But I was not fine. Every day I got up, it felt harder. It was a struggle to shower, to put on clothes, to eat, to do anything but sleep, or lie in bed and wish I were sleeping.

  Wish for something more permanent.

  It affected me in strange ways. My stutter disappeared almost completely. I had almost no problem ignoring insults from the usual bullies. That sort of thing just rolled off me.

  I started trying harder in school. Not because I liked it, or because I felt better, but because I wanted to finish and leave. Dante would be heading east for college the following year, and I was planning to go with him.

  The rest of the school year felt like it passed in a thick, gray fog, but pass it did, and at the end somehow I rallied enough to actually graduate.

  Dante left for college just two weeks into the summer. He had a nice apartment already set up for him for his freshman year at Harvard.

  I went with him because I could not conceive of doing anything else.

  It felt wrong right away. He was instantly busy, and I felt aimless, listless, shiftless. Pointless. I had nothing to do. When he was home with me, which wasn't often, he was tirelessly studying, whereas I was just watching TV, or reading book after book, feeling useless.

  And worse, I was afraid when I was alone. Irrational fear. Debilitating. If I let the fear rule me, I'd have never left his side.

  But I couldn't do that. Pure stubborn pride prevented it. And an instinct to do more than survive. I needed to thrive again.

  And in order to thrive, I needed to find my own identity. My own life. My own purpose.

  I started with something normal. As small of a change as I could stand. I got a job. Another waitressing gig. Dante hated it but he'd have done anything,
agreed to just about anything by then just to cheer me up.

  He was attentive. And he was loving. Possibly more so than ever.

  It took a very long time before I wanted his touch for anything aside from affection and comfort, and he never showed one sign of losing his patience about it.

  To the end of my days, I'll appreciate that.

  He never even brought it up. When we talked about it, it was because I was worrying over it.

  And even then he found the words, just the right ones, that I needed to hear.

  The only ones that helped.

  "This is not about me," he told me tenderly, "and what my body asks from yours. This is about you and what you need. I need to be what you need. That's all that matters right now. The rest will come later. We have time. All that you require. We have it. And when you're ready, I'll be here. Every second of every day. That'll never stop."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "Hear no evil, speak no evil, and you won't be invited to cocktail parties."

  ~Oscar Wilde

  PRESENT

  SCARLETT

  "You're seeing somebody, aren't you?" Farrah asked me, not for the first time.

  We were shopping (her idea), and it was her first official day of unemployment. "How are you planning to make rent?" I responded, trying not to feel as hostile as I felt.

  I'd become resentful as I pondered all of the ways she must have betrayed me over the years, and it only seemed to grow, until it was difficult to hide even though I knew that I absolutely had to.

  Because if this spy for Adelaide had any clue that I was onto her there would be questions that led to consequences that I was not yet prepared to deal with.

  "Waitressing. Every role I can find. The usual. They assigned the crew a new lead when you left. She was beastly. I just couldn't take it, so I quit. I bet Leona and Demi won't be far behind."

  We were on the hunt for a new sexy little dress for Farrah's hot date that night. It was really just an excuse to shop. Farrah always had a hot date and enough sexy little dresses to cover it, I was sure.