Pulled

by Danielle Bannister

  I’m on my feet in a second, getting a better look. Under the pink lines are several more white ones. Marks which have had ample time to heal.

  “What are these?” I ask, sounding far calmer than I am. She walks away from me and pulls the shirt back over her head before she answers me.

  “Belts, mostly. They heal pretty fast and they're always handy.”

  I kick the coffee table over causing Naya to jump.

  “I’m going to kill him!”

  “No!” she screams at me, and I'm shocked by the hostility in her voice. “I didn’t show you these so you could be all macho and try to be the hero! I’m a big girl, Etash.” I stare at her, dumbfounded. “I could have stopped him if I had wanted to. I know how to pick up a phone and call a cop. But I didn’t.”

  My hands are still balled into fists in anger, but I can sense that she’s desperate to confess a dark secret that I have to let my anger go. Slowly, I walk in front of her and take her hands.

  “Why? Why didn't you call the police?”

  Naya

  “Because…” I bite my lip, hesitating. How can I make him understand?

  “Please,” he whispers, and the worry in his voice unglues me. I have to tell him the truth. The truth I’ve never told a living soul.

  “Because when he’s hitting me, I can feel something.” My voice is trembling. Etash doesn’t speak; he’s just looking at me horror-struck. “The pain of a belt against my skin is bliss--compared to the numbness I normally feel.”

  I can see tears welling up in his eyes, and that infuriates me. I don’t want him feeling sorry for me.

  “I didn't show you this for your pity,” I say through my teeth. “I’m showing you these so you'll understand how screwed up I am! You can't hate Seth for this. This is my doing. And I take full ownership of it.” Etash’s face turns to stone.

  “He hit you Naya. He did. You are not taking ownership of that.”

  He doesn’t get it.

  “I don’t expect you to understand this, but what I'm trying to tell you Etash, is that since I met you, I haven't wanted to feel the pain anymore.” He looks up at me, blinking away his tears. “You take the numbness away.”

  He pulls me into his arms and holds me so close I can hear his heart beating, but then he stiffens.

  “When was the last time he hit you?” I tense in his arms.

  “The morning after you refused the role of Romeo,” I confess, hoping he won't put the pieces together.

  “But that was after we met. If I take the pain away...”

  “Just because I don’t want to feel it anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t still deserve it,” I say, lowering my head.

  “Deserve it?” He is downright seething now.

  I push him away and walk back over to the couch, and pull my knees into my chest, hugging them as tightly as I can.

  “I didn’t answer his calls that night…and he worried where I was. When he found me the next morning in my room, I think he thought I was with you.” I look up to the ceiling, embarrassed about what I was about to say. “And even though you weren’t physically in the room with me, you were,” I point to my heart. “In here.”

  “So?” he spits, pissed.

  “So, I took the beating willingly!” I shout back, equally ticked off. “I was thinking about you when I should have been thinking about him!”

  Etash starts pacing as though he's trying to problem-solve this mess. But the truth is, there isn’t a solution to be had.

  “It’s not his fault, you know,” I say. “His father hit him when he was a kid.” I know I’m betraying a secret confidence, but Etash has to understand.

  “It’s the only way he knows how to show love,” I continue. “I don’t blame him. And I don’t want you to either. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”

  He glares at me.

  “Etash, I’ve allowed him to do this to me; needed him to, for my own sanity.” He gives me that pained look again. “But I don’t need him anymore.” I take his hand. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “What do you need?” He is desperate for my answer, but I'm too afraid to tell him the truth. Too afraid of his rejection, so I lie.

  “Space.”

  “Space?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I need a little space. To think, you know?”

  He nods slowly. “Of course. I'll leave you alone. I'll be in my room if you need anything.”

  After he closes the door, I quietly slip outside. I need some air.

  Etash

  Pacing in my room, I hear the outside door click. Is she leaving? I run to my window and see her. She's standing outside, oddly still, staring at headlights approaching in the driveway. Seth is here.

  Chapter 13

  Etash

  I take the stairs two at a time, and almost crash into Naya who is standing frozen just outside my door, trapped in his glare.

  “What are you doing here?” Naya’s voice breaks the silence. Seth steps in between her and his headlights, breaking the beam into small fractions.

  “I needed to see you.” Seth’s voice is surprisingly calm. He leans against the hood of his car, tucking his hands into his pockets.

  “You shouldn't be here,” she says.

  He just smirks. “I’m not afraid of him, Naya.”

  The smug look on his face makes me want to haul off and punch him.

  “Leave now or I’ll call the police,” I threaten, half wanting him to stay so I can.

  Naya puts a hand up, urging me to stop.

  “What are you doing here?” she says again, sounding braver than I'm sure she feels.

  “I came to take you home, where you belong.” I may have been imagining it, but I swear I see him finger the edge of his belt. “We're going to head out to my folks in Concord,” his voice softens. “Take some time off together; reconnect. Come on baby, come home with me.”

  She looks at me for a moment before she says, “I am home.”

  Seth pushes off his car and takes a few strides toward her. “Enough of this shit! Grab your stuff. We're leaving. Now.”

  “She’s not going anywhere with you.” I push Naya behind me. I will not let her near that beast again.

  Seth looks at Naya with amusement. “Is this guy serious?”

  Glancing at her, I can see her actually contemplating going with him. She's going to try and protect me, and I can't let her.

  “Leave now, or I'll tell the cops all about your dirty little secret.”

  That wipes that cocky grin off his face.

  “What did you tell him?” he seethes at Naya. The authority behind his tone is crystal clear. He takes a step in her direction making him only a few feet away from her. That's too close for me.

  “Enough! Leave. Now!” I yell, not sure how much longer I can be civil.

  He ignores me completely and moves closer to her, looking her dead in the eye.

  “Have you slept with him?” he spits at her.

  Naya shocks me by laughing at him. “Seth, I fail to see how that is any of your business.” She’s taunting him. And that is not good. In a flash he’s grabbed her hand, hard, and yanks her to him.

  “You don’t think it’s any of my business? Seriously? You are mine, Naya. It matters to me who you sleep with!”

  “Get your hands off her,” I growl. Seth’s eyes turn cold and a cocky grin crawls across his lips.

  “Or what? You’re gonna make me?” he asks, bemused.

  “Seth! Stop it. Please, let me go.” He complies by pushing her to the ground.

  “See? All you had to do was ask nice.”

  “Naya, get inside,” I say through my teeth. Seth smiles.

  “He sure likes to boss you around, doesn’t he?” Seth quips, pushing back his shoulders making him look absolutely enormous.

  “I’m not going inside without you,” she tells me. Seth lets out an audible growl.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, not taking my eyes off Seth. “I just want to t
alk to him for a minute.”

  Seth just snickers. Naya's eyes are wide, and she's shaking her head. “If you’re not back in two minutes, I’m calling the police,” she says.

  I nod. I won’t need that long.

  “Lock the door behind you!” I order. She blinks at me looking pale and scared. I already hate myself for making her go through this. I vow to make it up to her by putting this guy in his place. Only problem is, he’s easily twice my size. But I’m fast and he smells like he's been drinking, so I’m hopeful.

  “This ends now,” I say when Naya has gone inside. “You leave right now, and never bother her again, or I’ll report your 'discipline techniques' to the authorities.” I play my ace now, while he’s calm enough to consider it.

  “What did she tell you? ‘Cause I’ll guarantee you, it’s a lie,” he says, trying to call my bluff.

  “She didn’t have to tell me anything. The marks along her back say enough to get you convicted.”

  Something dangerous shifts in his expression. “You mean those lashes she begged me for?”

  “Shut up,” I hiss as bile forms in my throat.

  “'Again, Seth,” he taunts, “'Again. Hit me again. Harder'.” He takes another step closer to me. “I'm not ashamed to admit that I was man enough to give her exactly what she wanted.” He smiles. “And I know what she wants now, and I intend to give it to her.”

  He tries to brush past me, to get to the apartment, to get to her; but I won’t let him. I kick my leg out quickly, causing him to trip and come crashing to the ground.

  “You’re a dead man,” he says getting to his feet. A few more seconds and I know he might be right, so I play my other ace.

  “I know about you drugging her,” I say. That stops him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but his body language says otherwise.

  My body is screaming at me to punch him now, but I resist. I need him to admit it. “So, you're man enough to hit her but not enough of a man to wait for her to want you? You have to take her when she’s unconscious!” I'm hoping this revelation will get him on the defensive, but instead it just makes him boastful.

  “Oh, she was conscious all right.” The smirk on his face is revolting. “But, hey, it’s not my fault if she doesn’t remember how amazingly well we fit together.” His words are like knives into my stomach, and he keeps twisting them.

  “And you know what? She begged for more then, too.”

  That does it. I swing—hard, and clock him square in the jaw. He stumbles back a few steps, but recovers quickly and comes at me swinging. I manage to escape almost all of his attempts, but his last right hook hits me right above my left eye, managing to rip apart the delicate flesh around my scar. Blood starts to pour down my face causing me to sink to my knees; the pain blinds me for a moment. He walks over to me slowly before he hauls off and kicks me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. But even through all this pain, all I can think of is Naya. I can't let him get to Naya.

  “Everything okay down there?” It's my neighbor, Mrs. Jennings. I glance up at Seth who looks up to the third floor where Mrs. Jennings is leaning out of her window. He looks back to my stairwell leading up to my apartment, then back at me before he decides to bail, peeling out of the driveway, leaving me in a pile of dust and blood.

  “You alright?” she says again.

  “I will be. Thanks, Mrs. Jennings.” More than you know, thank you.

  I struggle to my feet, pushing my hand to my head, trying to force the blood back.

  “Etash!” I hear Naya shout. She’s running down the stairs. Foolishly, I turn my face away from her, somehow thinking I’ll be able to hide the blood.

  “You're hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, pushing past her to get up the stairs. I might be able to get into the bathroom and clean up some of the mess before she sees it. But by the time I reach the top of the stairs, I know I won’t make it to the bathroom. My head is spinning and I can feel my head swelling beneath my hand. I need to control that, fast.

  Barreling into the kitchen I rip open the freezer door and curse when I don’t find any ice. I grab a frozen burrito and slap it on my face, flinching at both the relief and the pain it brings. I kick the freezer door shut with my foot and lean against the counter trying to control a wave of nausea. One look at Naya, though, and all concern for myself disappears. She's as white as a ghost and her eyes are as wide as saucers.

  “Did he hurt you?” I ask her, looking along her arms where he grabbed her. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “What? No. I’m fine. Etash, you’re the one who’s hurt! What happened?” She walks over to me and tries to take away my burrito. “Let me see.”

  “I’m fine.” I push her hand away.

  “Let. Me. See,” she orders. I sigh. When I lower my make-shift ice pack, she gasps.

  “It looks worse than it is,” I mumble, hoping I’m right. I put the pack back on my face. “Besides, what’s one more scar?” I walk over to the couch, and slump down on it, letting the cold numb my nerve endings.

  Naya starts rummaging around in the bathroom and comes back out with the few meager supplies I have on hand. A few Band-Aids, a tube of Neosporin and an Ace bandage. She tosses the contents beside me and orders me not to move. I oblige willingly, not sure if I’d be able to move even if she wanted me to. She disappears into the kitchen. A few seconds later I hear the water running.

  When she comes back, she’s got a towel flung over her shoulder and is carrying a large bowl of water, sloshing it over the edges as she walks.

  “Let me get you cleaned up.”

  Not having the strength to object, I let her.

  Naya

  It takes about 20 minutes but by the time I am through, his gash has been cleaned and covered. He really should have stitches, but he refuses to go to the hospital, and I wasn't about to make him go. I have my own issues with hospitals, so I won't push the matter. He's right, though, it will leave another scar.

  In the back of his freezer, I find a bag of frozen corn that will work better than the burrito. Placing the bag against his head, I wrap the Ace Bandage around the corn and his head several times to hold the pack in place. It’s not pretty, but it should keep the swelling down. Looking over my handiwork, I frown. His shirt is covered in blood.

  “I should have had you take off your shirt before I wrapped your head up.” I sigh. “You’ll never get that bloody shirt off now.”

  “Sure I will,” he says, getting up and going into the kitchen. He comes back in with a pair of scissors and holds them out to me.

  “Do you mind doing the honors? I can’t see very well.”

  My eyes grow wide. “What? You want me to cut off your shirt?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  I blush, but grab the scissors out of his outstretched hand.

  “I guess not.”

  Trying to steady my trembling hands, I reach for the bottom hem of his shirt, reminding myself to be careful and not injure him again. The blades are sharp and slide threw the cotton easily. Etash lifts his head and tilts it to the side to allow room for the blades to cut through the collar. With a final snip, the fabric falls slack and hangs loose against his now nearly-naked chest. He shrugs out of the remains as I struggle to keep my eyes from sneaking too long a look at his lean and muscular body. I'm definitely not allowing my eyes to glance down toward the thin line of dark hair just below his belly button. My cheeks burn when I finally manage to pull my eyes off him. He's smirking at me.

  “I can’t see very well with this thing on my face, but I’d swear you were blushing,” he says.

  “You’re right,” I say, trying to recover. “You can’t see very well.”

  He laughs and shakes his head, and turns to sit. As he does, I sneak another look. This time soaking up his arms; his forearm first, then linger a few more seconds on his lean biceps. There is still a smudge of blood on the left side of his shoulder b
lade. Picking up the remains of his shirt, I ball it up and stop him before he has a chance to sit down.

  “Hold still,” I say. “You’ve still got some blood on you.”

  I start rubbing at the mark, trying my best not to touch him, afraid of what I might do if I did. Focus on the blood, I chant to myself, focus on the blood. But no matter how hard I rub, the spot won’t come off. “I think it might be dried on,” I say.

  “Where is it?” he asks twisting over his shoulder to see.

  “Right here,” I say rubbing again, but then stop cold, really seeing the shape of the spot for the first time.

  Etash laughs. “Naya, you’re trying to rub off my tattoo.”

  I hear his words but they are far away, because I’m unable to move my eyes off his back. His tattoo? It’s small, maybe about a half of an inch. It's darker than the rest of his olive skin. The tattoo is of a lick of fire. I have to sit down.

  “Naya?”

  Without thinking, I start unbuttoning my pants.

  “Whoa, Naya, just because you saw me without a shirt, doesn’t mean…”

  “Look at me,” I snap.

  Etash

  She sounds frantic, so I look, but all I can see is her underwear.

  “Um, those are very nice panties,” I admit, very nice. Navy blue with a touch of lace along the edge.

  She sighs, “No. Here.” She points to a spot just above her tail bone.

  “Is this another mark that Seth…” but I can’t finish the sentence. It’s another mark all right, but this one is not one Seth gave her. This one she gave herself. It's a tattoo of her own: and it’s identical to the one on my shoulder. Two perfectly identical licks of fire etched into our skin.

  “How ...” I mutter. “I had my tattoo custom made as a sort of joke for Grams. How can you have the exact same one?” My voice was now slow and deliberate, accusatory. There was just no way this could all be coincidence anymore.

  “I got it just after I lost my parents. When he asked what I wanted, I sketched this,” Naya says, equally as scared. “I never understood why I drew it...until now.”