by Allen, Dylan
“Come on Miss Lizzy. It’ll be okay,” she says and takes my arm.
“No.” I sit back down.
She looks nervously at the glam squad still in the room and then tugs me up.
“Let’s go talk in the hall.”
“You can’t fight them from in here. You gotta get out of here. The only way is for them to think you are obeying. Believe me. Even when there is a gun to your head, you still have a choice. The finger on the trigger is only flesh and bone. But if you get yourself killed, you’ll never get a chance to break it.”
I look at her sharply. Who is this girl? I thought she was a German student working here to save money.
She glances down the hall in both directions and then pulls something out of her pocket and holds it hidden against her side.
“I got you something. If you get caught with it, I will turn on you to save myself. It’s not personal, but I have people relying on me, and I cannot put them at risk for you. But I want to help. Okay?”
I nod. Respect and gratitude overwhelm me and I hug her. She hugs me back briefly and slips what is clearly a phone in the skirt’s pocket and then disengages.
“Come on. Let’s not keep them waiting.” We start down the hall.
“It doesn’t have a call plan, just Wi-Fi, okay? You can send an email, maybe?”
I wipe my hands down my skirt. I just have to survive this little tete-a-tete and then I’ll be back in my room and able to message Carter.
Mr. Westfall, as he introduces himself, reminds me of a high school English teacher: middle-aged, balding, and dour. He frowns critically when I step into the blue walled library. He approaches, stride sure and brings with him the faint but distinct scent of licorice.
He walks a circle around me peering at me like I’m a used car and he’s searching for any damage that this new coat of paint might be trying to conceal. When his eyes linger on my face, I wonder if he’s been made aware of my birthmark.
I keep my eyes trained on my shoes and wait for him to finish.
I let out a small sigh when he steps away. I hazard a glance at him. His face is soft and jowly, with thin lips and an oily nose. His water hazel eyes are still fixed on me and he gives me a smile that is so self-satisfied, that I have to look away.
“Sit,” he grunts and points at the settee in front of the window.
There’s no warmth in his regard. No appreciation for the package I present. Good. Maybe he doesn’t like me and we can get through this meeting fast. I pat the pocket where the phone is resting and remember what’s at stake.
“So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Westfall.”
He sits next to me and runs a hand down my arm.
I shift away.
“What’s your first name?”
He sits back in his chair slightly like he’s surprised I spoke. He adjusts his tie and straightens a bit.
“You may call me West. Do you have any other questions you’d like to ask me?”
I shake my head, no.
I know everything I need to.
“Good. I don’t like a woman who talks too much. Your father has informed me about your lack of intelligence and tendency to embrace fanciful notions.”
I can’t help but flinch as he speaks of me as casually as he would the weather.
In the corner of my vision, I see a picture of James in a frame on the small table. I turn away. What would he say if he saw me sitting here like this?
Trussed up like a turkey and walking toward the chopping block of my own free will.
I don’t have a choice. I need to play along to survive.
“Even when there’s a gun to your head, you still have a choice.” The words in James's birthday card come back to me in a rush. And it’s a switch flipping.
What am I doing?
Is this my choice? To pretend for even a minute that this man would ever be someone I chose as a husband.
I slide my eyes to him.
He looks completely at ease. He sees me as someone served up like something to be cut and served as his due.
I hate him.
“I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.” I stand.
His hand wraps around my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. He pulls so hard my shoulder hurts, and he tugs me down onto the chair.
“What are you doing?” I hiss and try to pull away. He twists my arm behind my back and puts his face into mine.
“He says you’re not a virgin. I want to fuck you and find out for myself.”
His choice of words, the blunt and matter-of-fact way he says it, paralyzes me momentarily.
He stands and starts to unbuckle his pants, and that shatters the shock that held me suspended and I leap to my feet. I start to move toward the door and plan on giving him a wide birth when I pass him.
“No. Absolutely not. I am sorry. I don’t know what you were promised, but you may not touch me.”
He steps out of his shoes and takes his pants off. He looks up at me and instead of anger, I see excitement in his eyes.
“I heard you were also willful. I am looking forward to this ride, very much. Struggle, it makes it better.”
I get to the door and start to pound on it. His hand fists into the back of my hair and pain radiates from my scalp as the punishing hold forces me backward and into the chair.
He lets go, his face grim as he gets to work on removing his shirt.
“Take off your dress. Leave your shoes and your bra,” he says as he removes the last of his clothing and stands before me naked.
I close my eyes and shake my head. I press my thighs together and wrap my arms around my torso and try to make myself as small as possible.
“Open your mouth,” he says and I squeal when I realize he’s standing right in front of me. He grips my face and tries to hold it still. I open my eyes, and to my horror, the angry red head of his penis is jabbing haphazardly at my face and I start to scream bloody murder.
I put my hands out, press them to his doughy middle and shove as hard as I can. He falls down with a groan. I’m back on my feet and casting around the room looking for a way out or a weapon.
He gets to his feet.
“You silly little bitch. You’ll pay for what you just did. Now, get over here and suck my fucking dick before I get really angry.” His face is mottled red with anger already, a vein in his forehead is bulging, and he’s sweating. The remaining hair on his head is now sticking in very unflattering wisps all over his head.
I hurry to the fireplace and grab a poker, test its weight and smile when it’s even heavier than it looks.
I turn around to face him, and raise the poker above my head. “If you come near me, I will stick this in your belly,” I say with as much menace as I can muster.
He pales, and then he glares viciously at me.
“You just threatened a state official. I’ll have you arrested,” he barks at me while he buttons his shirt. His hands tremble and it gives me satisfaction to see the tables turned on him.
“I’ll turn myself in. I can’t wait to give my statement on what happened here today. Nice birthmark you’ve got on your hip, by the way. Is it a strawberry or raspberry would you say? Want to make sure I get it right when I tell the police how you tried to force me to suck your tiny, funko pop looking dick,” I spit angrily.
“Your father should be ashamed that his daughter can speak such foul words,” he says and I can’t control the laughter that bursts free at the rank hypocrisy.
“Your father should be ashamed that his son is a rapist.” I snarl. What a fucking monster.
The look he gives me is full of pure rage. But, mercifully, he doesn’t speak to me again. I stand, on my guard, until he’s dressed and watch him stand to leave the room.
When he walks over to the door, and pulls it open and walks out, I feel sick.
The door wasn’t locked. I never even checked to see. How they must have laughed when they heard me banging on it.
They didn’t have to keep me locked
in. I put myself in a prison when I let them guilt me and shame me into this. I realize that I only have a few minutes, if that, before someone comes to see what the man is raging about.
I turn the phone on and breathe a sigh of relief when I see Serene has downloaded apps onto it already. I log into my Instagram account with shaking hands and go to my messenger and type in Carter’s name. I find his profile right away and send him a message. It’s direct, to the point, and says everything he needs to know. I’ve just pressed the little arrow to send it when the door opens.
Serene’s eyes are wide with shock and her eyes are red with unshed tears. I put the phone into my pocket.
“Come on. I’m so sorry.”
“What?” I ask and rush toward her.
She doesn’t answer and walks faster.
I dash up the stairs after and stop when she’s standing outside my bedroom door.
I walk as silently as I can toward the room and peek around the frame of the door.
My grandmother is sitting on my bed and spread around her are the pictures I’ve been sketching in secret.
The ones of Carter and me. The one where his head is between my legs and one hand is cupping my breast, while the other clutches his head. It’s the one I drew from the memory of the night I spent with him.
My stomach falls like a bird shot out of the sky, fluttering, fast and furious and I’m dizzy with vertigo. I grasp the handle of the door.
Her eyes come to mine and the placid expression in them turns my blood cold.
She beckons me with the crook of a finger.
I shake my head no.
She sighs, rolls her eyes heavenward as if she finds me tedious and then stands. I don’t move as she walks toward me and then moves to stand behind me. I’m aware that she’s lit a fire in the room.
It’s November, but in East Texas, it’s not cold enough to warrant a fire. It can only serve one of two purposes. To light the dark or to burn something. And it’s broad daylight.
Her perfume is cloying and heavy but doesn’t mask the smell of the cigarette she must have smoked very recently. I wonder if she was ever out at all.
“My mission to see you straight.” She says with a kind of serenity that scares me.
“I won’t be with him. I love someone.”
“How tedious you are.” She’s standing so close to me that I can feel her breath on the back of my neck.
I close my eyes and gather my courage.
She traces the edge of her long, light pink fingernail lightly along the curve of my spine and then digs her finger into the small of it. “You are fighting a losing battle. In the end, I will win. Even if I have to break this.”
Her voice is lyrical, but that only heightens the menace in her words.
I swallow hard but don’t dare say a word. I’m in a lot of trouble. And any chance of escape is gone.
She steps back around me and walks to my bed and scoops up the rest of the artwork. The one of Carter and me is on top. She inspects it. Running her fingers over it. Desecrating us with her vindictive touch.
It fills me with a fiery, fierce loathing so hot it burns away my sense of self-preservation.
“Give that to me,” I say and am pleased to hear my voice sound so even.
She doesn’t even look at me.
“Do you know why your mother couldn’t handle our life? It was because she had all of this ungodly art in her. Your father fancied himself a musician once, too. I beat it out of him. I will not let you destroy this family. You are all we have left. This must end.”
And before I can take another breath, she’s moving fast and heading straight for the fireplace. As her intent becomes clear, desperate panic fills me and makes me reckless. I run toward her.
“Tobias. Now.” Her words, spoken to no one again, confuse me and I hesitate.
The door that connects to the room next to mine, the one I assumed was locked, bursts open.
A huge man I’ve never seen before steps into the room and puts himself between my grandmother and me. I skid to a stop. My heart is thundering in my chest as he and I face each other. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyebrows are drawn low over his dark, menacing eyes.
I see the first painting go into the fire and I forget him and dart toward her. He catches me before I can take more than three steps. His hands close around my biceps like a vice. I struggle, to no avail.
I’m not crying and I can find a second to be grateful for that small mercy in the midst of what feels like being stripped naked in public.
“Please don’t,” I shout, even though I know it’s futile. With Tobias no longer blocking my view, I can see that she had already burned several of them before I came in. My blood is a river of anguish inside me as I watch her burn my hope, my future, my salvation like it’s nothing.
“Suffering is a cornerstone of building a woman’s character, Elisabeth. You can’t escape it. Learn from it. I have heard of your shameful display in the library. Next time, I’ll send Tobias in to hold you down if you refuse him again.”
* * *
By the end of the next evening, I’m desperate. My grandmother made good on her promise and the only reason Mr. Westfall didn’t have his way is because I got a leg loose and crippled him.
Back in my room, I tear it to shreds looking for the phone. Even though I know the minute I open my drawer and see it’s not where I left it that I’ll never find it.
Defeated, and tired, I’m powerless in ways that scare me. I’ve been playing dress-up and they’ve been bargaining away my future.
Today took me completely by surprise; I completely underestimated them.
But, they also underestimated me.
I’m not going to let them force me into a life that will be filled with days like today.
I’d rather die.
I stare into the mirror until the woman in it is nothing but a blur. Then, I shatter it with my fist.
I use a large shard of glass to hack my hair off. I cut it as short as possible, drawing blood from my scalp in a few places. Blood trickles onto my forehead. I leave it there to dry and imagine my grandmother’s horror in the morning.
19
DONE
CARTER
“Carter, wait,” my brother calls, and I walk faster. I’ve said everything I came to say. The rest is not any of his business. And despite the placid calm I’m exhibiting now, on the inside, I feel like I’ve been hollowed out.
“I don’t expect you to understand. But this is not your choice.”
I walk out of the meeting room where I’ve been sitting with my now ex-agent Dean and my brother.
I reach the elevator and press the button. The doors open quickly.
Jack’s hand slides between the elevator doors and they pop open.
I close my eyes and bang my head on the back of the elevator as he steps on with me.
“What in the world was that, Carter?” he asks as soon as the doors close.
“I don’t want that life.”
“Is this about the NDA before sex? It’s a small price to pay. I’d give up pussy entirely for the contract you just turned down.”
“Well, maybe your pious little act would actually be true,” I mutter darkly without looking at him.
“You’re an idiot. You’re broke and given your current state of affairs, you’re destined to stay that way. If you would stop fucking random women you wouldn’t need an NDA.”
I scowl at him.
“Fuck you. This is not about sex,” I growl.
The elevator doors open and we step into the lobby.
“Carter, wait,” he calls after me as I stride away.
“Why don’t you just let me be?” I ask.
“Let’s sit. Please.”
He never says please. I stop and turn to face him, ignoring the annoyed cry of the woman who runs straight into my chest.
“What?”
“This deal could change your whole life—in a second.” He snaps his fingers
together.
“I’ve had enough change, thank you,” I say caustically.
He sighs, hands on hips, his expression bleak. I hate myself for doing this to them.
“We fucked up pressuring you so much. I was sure you’d see how crazy you were being. Offers like that come once in a lifetime. And you act like it was nothing.”
“You’re being dramatic. There’ll be other deals. The timing is bad.”
“Why? ‘Cause you’re so busy teaching talentless snot-faced preteens how to play the piano? You are a star and now the whole world knows. Don’t throw this away.”
I can’t ignore the niggle of regret.
He’s right. The offer was amazing. This agent is the most sought after in the entire country. He turns his clients into deities. He’s done it for both of my siblings.
But since that disastrous night at the piano, the news and gossip sites have picked my brother’s life apart. My sister’s too.
Despite my refusal to participate in any of it, I haven’t been able to avoid it completely. A huge publication printed an article about our family. In it, they disclosed that I was adopted.
Now, perfect strangers come up to me while I’m waiting for the bus and tell me that they’re adopted, too. They want to talk about whatever it is they think we have in common.
I don’t think of myself as adopted. My parents and my siblings are my family. How we came to call ourselves that is none of anyone’s business.
But after the letter I got today, I know I can’t pretend that I’m safe from scrutiny!
If I was able to get my hands on this information, then anyone with a little time and better connections will too.
“I have a job and regular gigs and lessons,” I say.
“You’re wasted on that shit.” His scorn grates like nails on a chalkboard.
“You’re wasted on all the meaningless trysts you think you can just walk away from,” I shoot back, aiming below the belt.
“What do you mean? I think I can walk away from? I know I can.” He laughs like I’m crazy.