I learned a very important lesson on my twenty-sixth birthday. Burying the past and pretending none of it happened in no way erases it. In the wake of Frank’s reappearance, the carefully crafted façade and the world I’d built for myself crumbled. In its place, I’m left with a past I can’t escape, even though I ran from it, a present that terrifies me, and a future that’s disturbingly unstable.
The number of memories I’d blocked out, or maybe hadn’t been able to process with any kind of reasonable perspective as a fourteen year old, are now alarmingly clear. I see myself through a new lens, without the rose-colored glasses of youth to soften and smooth it all out.
I’m angry at my mother, my father—the real one, and Frank, who preyed on the weak and disadvantaged. They’re the people who made The Ranch seem like the better option. In the wake of Frank’s reappearance, I feel more alone than ever, even though I have perpetual calls and messages from my friends.
I feel extremely other, alien, like I no longer fit where I used to, and I’m embarrassed and humiliated by a past I had no control over. I don’t know how to blend in anymore, or even just exist.
On Monday I stand at the front door, dressed for work even though my head is in a fog. I want to ground myself in this slice of normalcy. My hand is on the doorknob, but I can’t seem to turn it. I sift through all the memories of The Ranch and fixate on the fence that surrounded the compound, meant to keep us all safe, but all it did was trap us in a life so narrow it was like living in a pinhole.
My head aches as things start to make sense in a way they haven’t before. My fear of being trapped, of needing stability, the importance I place on my friendship with Violet, not wanting to leave Chicago and my built-in family, my inability to let Darren get too close. My head is a mess of memories, and my heart is bleeding with emotions I can’t filter.
“Sweetheart?” My mom puts her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m afraid to leave. I’m afraid Frank is going to be out there, and he’ll take me back to The Ranch, and I’ll never get out again.”
“That’s not going to happen, honey. I won’t let that happen, and neither will any of the people who love you.” She leads me away from the door and takes me to the kitchen, where she pours hot water over one of her homemade candies.
I stir the water, watching the candy dissolve at the bottom of the mug. “I want to be normal. I want everything to go back to the way it was before all the memories came back.”
“I’m so sorry, Char-char. If I could do it all over again I would make different choices. I would find a different way.”
“I know.”
I understand, sort of, why she chose the path she did. She put herself in control of her own life, she took the reins so no one else could, and she never stayed in one place so Frank couldn’t catch up with her.
I call Mr. Stroker and request to work from home this week. I only have a few client meetings, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to reschedule them. I also never ask to work from home, so he is more than accommodating—and concerned, of course.
I flounder for an excuse. Telling him I’ve suddenly developed acute agoraphobia as a result of being stalked by my not-real cult leader father sounds farfetched and could lead to more questions. So I tell him I had an allergic reaction to a new lotion, and it caused a full-body rash.
In the wake of the Daddy Frank episode, Darren has upped my security from the alarm system to a live bodyguard. So far he remains parked outside at night, and during the day he sits on my front step and makes sure the only people who come to my door are ones I want to see.
My mom leaves on Wednesday, very apropos, after my insistence that I’ll be fine on my own, especially now that I have a bodyguard and Violet’s been stopping by on a daily basis. I love my mom, but she gets antsy staying in one place for more than a few days at a time, and she’s driving me crazy. Besides, I’m not keen on rehashing all the memories from The Ranch or hearing again how sorry she is that Frank found us on account of her audition. It’s not like she could’ve known that Frank had finally jumped into the twenty-first century by getting a laptop and a Facebook account.
I don’t even feel like I know myself anymore, and trying to explain that is difficult. My mom thinks the answer is to get out of Chicago and travel with her. The idea of running certainly has it’s appeal, but then what would I have? I don’t want to leave behind all the people I care about, the family I created for myself in Violet and the girls, and even Darren.
I don’t know what to do about him, either. I’ve made such a mess of things.
He calls several times a day, but I can’t answer. I’m afraid to. I know what he was going to tell me. But I can’t decide if it was coming from a place of honesty, or if he was simply trying to give me a balm that would somehow soothe me, erase the pain and fear and uncertainty of everything that made me who I am. And I’m unsure who that even is anymore.
I want too much to let him love me.
But admitting it won’t prevent him from being traded. Loving him won’t stop him from moving halfway across the country. And if he goes, he takes half my heart with him.
He will regardless. So I don’t know why the words scare me so much.
Maybe because all the love I’ve known has been tied up in so much weirdness and instability. Maybe I think as soon as it’s real, it will fall apart. And if he stays, I have to acknowledge all the ways I’ve kept us in this constant state of stasis.
I spend all of Thursday watching terrible reality TV, trying to feel better about my shitstorm of a life. I don’t know how to unbreak myself enough to be able to love the way I want to. I mentally unpack my childhood at The Ranch, followed by the freak show that was my teenage years, until I stumbled upon Violet in my first year of college. And in doing so, I see all the pieces of myself and how they fit together in a jagged-edged puzzle of crazy.
I’m sheltered but not. I created normal where there wasn’t. I made a family so I wasn’t alone. And then I found Darren, the man who molded himself into what I needed, who changed as I required, who kept his emotions locked down to protect me from myself, who never once put the lid on my jar. In a lot of ways we were safe for each other, until it all came crashing down, as happens when emotions are given room to breathe and grow.
I can’t allow things to continue like this, with him constantly altering his needs to suit mine. But now that I see things clearly, I realize that how I operate is exactly what he’s used to. I put restrictions on us, and he abided by them.
If I keep doing this, I’m just as bad as the people who raised him. And that’s not what I want to be. Because I love him, and as scared as I am of what’s coming, I don’t want to lose him.
By Friday I’m restless. I’ve binge watched every terrible reality TV show available. After six straight hours of Garage Wars, I clean my house from top to bottom and fall asleep at four o’clock in the morning, only to have nightmares about being trapped at The Ranch again. Except there’s no way out anymore because instead of a razor-wire-topped fence, the perimeter is lined twenty feet deep with recycled junk, and every time I try to climb to the top, the stacks fall and bury me.
I decide to switch to game shows after that for a few hours. Every time I nod off I have another nightmare, though, so I consume a pile of my candies, hoping to find some calm. I miss Darren. All I want is to curl up in his arms and let him protect me. But I worry as soon as I do, he’ll turn into another Frank, and then I’ll be trapped for the rest of my life.
It’s not rational. It might not even be sane, but the fear takes hold and roots itself in my brain.
Around noon my stomach rumbles, and I make my bleary way to the fridge. The box of wine my mom left for me has probably turned into vinegar by now, and I’ve eaten all the food Violet left me yesterday. She’s supposed to stop by after work with fresh donuts, which is all I want to consume right now, but that’s still hours away.
There’s a convenience store down the street. They’ll hav
e Twinkies and Ho-Hos. I can make it there and back in less than twenty minutes, especially if I drive. Nothing bad will happen.
I get a load of my reflection in the mirror. I look like I’ve been on a serious bender. My eyes are bloodshot, and my pajamas are a wrinkled mess. I end up taking a very long shower and changing into a pair of leggings and a shirt Darren bought for me. I brush and braid my hair, because drying it would take too much effort. Then I grab my purse, phone, and keys and open the door.
I’ve forgotten about the security detail—don’t ask me how, he’s there all day every day—and I suck in a sharp breath and grab for my pearls. But of course they’re not there because they broke, again, all because of crazy fucking Frank.
“Miss Charlene, I apologize if I’ve startled you. Do you need something? A ride to Mr. Westinghouse’s perhaps?” he asks, polite and formal.
I consider it for half a second as I glance around at the wide open space and all the potential for danger. All the worst possible scenarios bounce around in my head, such as Frank popping out from behind some bushes with a chloroform rag and dragging me back to the RV with the help of all the co-op women.
“No. No, I’m fine.” I back up and slam the door closed, fixing the lock with shaking hands. I’m sweaty, and my mouth is dry. I pop one of my candies, even though I’m not sure they’re effective at keeping me calm anymore.
The soft knock at the door makes me scream.
“Miss Charlene? I apologize again for startling you. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“How do I know you’re not part of Frank’s RV gang?” I shout through the door.
“I’ve been hired by Mr. Westinghouse to ensure your safety, Miss Charlene.”
I know he’s telling the truth. He’s been standing outside my door all week. Also, Darren texted me his picture and his personal details.
“Prove it!” I yell. My voice is super pitchy. Clearly I’m losing it. Again.
Less than a minute later, there’s another knock on the door. “Miss Charlene, I’m going to slide my phone through the mail slot. Mr. Westinghouse is on the line and he’d like to confirm that I am indeed here for your safety.”
I catch his phone before it hits the floor and stare at the screen. Shit, Darren Facetimed. I take a few deep breaths, wishing I was more put together and that my hands would stop shaking.
“Charlene?”
I keep the phone pointed at the ceiling and drop to the floor. “One second.” I put my head between my knees because I feel dizzy. I haven’t spoken to Darren since my birthday, although he calls and leaves messages on a daily basis to make sure I’m okay.
“Firefly?”
The nickname makes me want to cry because I finally understand what it means. I’m his firefly. The one he wants to catch and keep, but can’t.
“Just another moment.”
“You’re worrying me.”
I lift my head and tilt the phone down until his face comes into view. I’m unprepared for the rush of emotion that comes with seeing him. I want to reach through the screen and touch him. I want the safety of his arms and the warmth of his lips against my skin.
“Hi.” My voice is raspy and tremulous, like the rest of me.
He scans my face, assessing, his icy eyes dark and lips turned down. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I have so many things I want to say to him. Questions, admissions, fears I want to unload so he can assuage them. But all of those get stuck in my throat, and I go with stupidity instead. “I . . . no. I need groceries.”
Relief is followed by a wash of sadness. “What do you need? I can pick it up and bring it over.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Or have it sent if you’d prefer. You can order online if that’s easier and use the credit card I gave you to pay for it.”
I don’t know why I didn’t think about ordering groceries. Maybe because my mom was here until a couple of days ago, and between her and Violet, they’ve been taking care of feeding me. Not that I felt like eating much. Donuts are my go to. I want Doritos with onion dip, but they remind me too much of Darren.
“I have my own credit card.”
I look down, away from his sad eyes and the lost look on his face.
“I know this is difficult for you, Charlene, and I understand your need for space, but when you’re ready to talk, know I’m here, waiting for you. In the meantime, whatever you need, please don’t hesitate to ask either myself or Luther.”
“Luther?”
“It’s his phone you’re holding.”
“Oh. Right.” I feel bad that I didn’t even remember his name.
After a few more moments of quiet he finally asks, “Are you okay?”
“I . . . no.”
His voice hardens. “Has Frank tried to make contact?”
“No.” But I don’t trust he won’t try again. He’s too crazy not to. I’m sure he’s laying low, biding his time, waiting until I let my guard down.
“Okay, that’s good. If he does, will you call me? Or at least tell Luther?”
“Yes, Darren.” I raise my eyes to the ceiling, hoping to keep the tears floating instead of falling.
“Charlene.” When I meet his two-dimensional gaze, he gives me a small, strained smile. “I waited my entire adult life for you to come along and make sense of my world. I’m prepared to wait as long as I need to for you to accept that.”
“I’m not ready.” I need you.
“I understand.”
“I have to go.” I’m in love with you.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to stay.” He ends the call before I can.
After a few minutes, I open the door and pass the phone back to Luther, thanking him.
“Can I take you anywhere?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I go back inside. I’m not hungry anymore. I touch my throat, wishing I had more than a few unstrung pearls, the reminder of Darren that I’ve carried with me over the last several days. I don’t know how to do this without him, or with him.
Violet stops by after work with supplies. I should probably buy stock at Krispy Kreme donuts considering how many I go through these days.
“How you hanging in there?” She passes over the box of donuts, which I hug as if they’re my best friend, rather than the person who brought them.
I lift a shoulder and set the box on the counter. Flipping it open, I admire the beautiful array of donut magic. I’m starving since I polished off the last box in the middle of the night. I should probably consider ordering groceries like Darren suggested, but I’m worried Frank will intercept and find a way to get to me, even with Luther standing guard outside my door.
“Have you talked to Darren yet?”
“This afternoon, yes.”
She looks surprised. “How’d it go?”
“It was . . . okay.”
She taps her nails on the counter. They’re pink and blue with Alex’s number on the index finger. “Okay how? What did you talk about?”
“Groceries.”
“Really? You talked about groceries?” Violet sighs. “I know this has to be hard for you, Char, but you can’t cut him out, or everyone else for that matter.”
I swallow a massive chunk of donut. “I’m not cutting everyone out. I just need time. You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“No. You’re right. I don’t, not at all, and I never will if you don’t talk to me about this. I’m your best friend, Char, and considering what I witnessed the other day, I think maybe I can understand why you would never want to talk about what life was like when you were growing up. But I’m not sure hiding from it is going to make it any better, either.” She takes me by the shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “We all love you no matter how fucked up your childhood was, just like you love me despite the fact that I’m clearly unable to censor myself ever, and I constantly embarrass myself and everyone around me. Let me do what a best friend is supposed to. Let me help you through this. Please don’t shut me out.
”
“I’m not trying to. There’s so much I don’t want to remember, so many things that make sense now but never did when I was a kid.”
“You don’t have to try to make sense of it alone, though, do you?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Violet’s eyes are glassy. “You’re my best friend, and you’ve been like a sister for almost an entire decade. You’re loyal and fun and always up for an adventure. You think you like to try new things, but really you like routine and predictability. And you’re terrified of accepting help, so you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, which is pretty annoying for the people who love you and want to help. But I’ll forgive you for that since you deal with me on a regular basis and I can be a pain in the ass too.” She hugs me hard. “You’re still you. Nothing has changed except maybe now we can all understand you a bit better than we did before.”
DARREN
I’m a miserable asshole without Charlene. I know this because Alex has told me more than once this week to stop being a dick. It’s not intentional. I’m not trying to be a cocksucker of epic proportions, but it’s off season, and my plan was to have Charlene at my place almost full time by this point. I’d been on track before her birthday, and now she’s not here at all.
Alex has tried to get me to talk on numerous occasions over the past week, but he can’t help me, and he can’t understand, not really. So I’ve mostly been stewing in my own frustration at not being able to protect Charlene the way she needs me to.
Her chair is empty. The book she was reading the last time she was here is still sitting on the table. When I’m really desperate for some piece of her—which is pretty much every waking moment of every day—I’ll sit in her chair with her blanket and flip through to the earmarked parts.
Ironically, none of her favorite parts are smut, despite the content of the books she reads. It’s all the sweet moments—the first kisses, the grand gestures, the breakups and the reunions—that she reads over and over.
Pucked Love Page 21