by Lisa Shelby
With all of this going on the timing really hasn’t been right to ask him if he liked Amber. It shouldn’t even be on my mind…but I can’t help it. We still check in with each other every day, and I’ve been over to see Emily, but we haven’t had a chance to actually talk.
To make things worse, Amber has been on vacation all week and I can’t ask her how it went either. I’m making myself crazy wondering if they’re going to see each other again. I’m also starting to feel this overwhelming cloud of depression that follows me everywhere I go. After going a week without communication, while he was hunting, and now with the shooting, I haven’t really been able to talk to him or see him. Our texts are just checkins and he hasn’t been around when I’ve gone to see Emily.
I miss him.
Not having any communication with him that isn’t a text about Jonathan and Emily or the funeral arrangements has been hard. I know I should be grateful that during this stressful time he’s still thinking of me enough to text me with updates, but my insecurities and depressed state have crept in enough that it’s messed with my headspace and my frame of mind isn’t what it should be.
This is why, when Kevin walks into my office, my guard is down and I agree to happy hour with him and several other co-workers.
The next day he takes me to lunch.
Then it’s dinner with co-workers and him giving me a ride home. The walk to the front door comes with a kiss to the cheek.
How in the world did this happen?
Before I know it, it’s Thursday night, and Kevin is knocking on my door with a bottle of wine in his hand and a sweet smile on his face. With my messed-up headspace and my current down and out state, I let him in. I know that I shouldn’t, but I do. Part of it is the depression and part of it is fear. I just don’t want to deal with a scene and he scares me just enough to not push his buttons.
“So, Alexandra, are you seeing anybody?” He asks as he pushes my hair behind my ear.
“Nothing serious, Kevin. How about you?” I ask him but I really don’t care. It’s my lame attempt at trying to keep the peace during his unexpected visit.
“Nope, just like you, nothing serious.”
He’s pushing himself towards me and as he does, I step backwards. I’m trying to keep my distance but my back is against the wall after just three short steps.
His hand snakes up my body, to my neck and then to my face. He gently caresses my face and says, “I’ve missed you, Alexandra.”
The chills that run down my spine are not ones of lust or passion. His touch. His words. They bring nothing but fear and disgust to the forefront of my mind. I’m unsure of what to say or do, but I know I have to get out of this situation.
He gently kisses me on the lips and says, “Have some wine with me?” He bends down and kisses me on the neck, and I think I might be sick.
“I was going to call it an early night. I have to get up for an early morning meeting and I should really get some sleep. It was nice of you to stop by though.” I manage to squeak out.
I try to pull away from him as he presses his body flat against mine so there is no space between us. I’m stuck against the wall, and my mind is racing trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of this situation.
“Oh come on, Alex. I have to go home tomorrow, let’s just have one night to remember the good old days.”
Without waiting for me to reply, he shoves his tongue down my throat. Then he takes my left arm and raises it above my head and holds it there by my wrist.
He finally rips his mouth from mine then whispers in my ear, “You still taste good. God, I’ve missed you.”
“Kevin, I really do have an early morning.”
“Well, let’s get you ready for bed then. Shall we?” He asks—but he doesn’t want me to actually answer him—as he takes me by the wrist and lowers my arm from the spot where it was pressed against the wall. I try to pull it out of his grip but he just grips tighter. I pull harder with no luck.
Trying to sound strong and not as panicked as I say, “Kevin, no. Please, I really need to get some sleep.” It makes no difference and he ignores my plea.
Trying again to escape his grip, I pull so hard that I lose my balance and slip to the ground with him standing above me, still holding me by the wrist with my arm in the air above my head.
“Ah, ah, ah, Alexandra. Please don’t be difficult.” He says as he proceeds to drag me down the hallway and to my bedroom.
I don’t know why I don’t try harder to pull away from him after this but when I hear the venom in his voice, I shut down.
I do what I did in my childhood and block out what happens next. The only difference between then and now is that this time I’m not listening to my parents in the other room. This time it’s happening to me. This is one of the only times in my life that I appreciate this skill of mine. The skill of blocking out the unpleasantness of life. Escaping into nothingness. Shutting out all of the things that are too hard to deal with in the moment.
I feel like I’m having an out of body experience and watching what’s happening to me from afar. I feel everything, but not all the way on the surface. I’ve shut it all off enough…enough that it’s like I’m a spectator and not a present participant.
I’m not present when he lets go of my wrist and drags me by my hair, or when he lifts me roughly and pushes me to the bed. I’m also not present when he pushes my skirt to my waist, pulls my panties so hard that they cut into my skin and rip to shreds. I don’t make a sound when he pushes inside me, not caring that I’m not ready. I barely notice that when I try to turn my face to the side to avoid his stare, that he fiercely grabs my face and turns it back to him. It hurts, but I don’t really feel it. Just like I don’t really hear him say, “Look at me while I fuck you, bitch.”
Luckily for me in just a matter of minutes he completes his task, gets up, dresses himself and says, “Thanks for the walk down memory lane, Alexandra. I’ll see you next week.”
And just like that he saunters out of my room, back down the hall and out my front door.
I force myself out of my bed and slowly drag myself to the front door. I lift my hand in slow motion and lock it. I don’t feel the metal of the deadbolt in my hand though. I don’t feel anything. Something in me does register that I should check the peephole to make sure he’s gone and thank God above he is. I turn so that my back is against the door as my body numbly slides down the door until my butt hits the floor. It’s then that I realize that I am still dressed. He simply lifted my skirt, ripped off my underwear and found his release.
I sit on the floor, but I don’t cry.
I don’t panic.
I don’t do anything.
I just sit on the floor of my entryway. Numb.
Why did I just let that happen?
Why didn’t I fight back?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I need to get to a meeting. I know it will be hard to admit my situation, but group meetings are a safe place. I haven’t been in a long time and I know now is the time.
The one thing I do feel right now is shame. I am filled with so much shame.
Thank God he’s going home for a couple of days and I’ll have at least two days to myself to figure this out. This won’t happen again. I have to make that clear to him. I need to make him see that I am not interested in a relationship with him.
I lift my sore body off the floor. The top of my head is starting to sting from where he grabbed me and pulled me down the hall. I’m walking gingerly as the pain from where he entered me when I wasn’t ready is starting to burn. Feeling the damage he’s done to my body brings me back to the present. And now I’m feeling too much.
I feel weak. Full of shame, disgust, fear and guilt. I’m confused and I feel hollow.
I manage to make it to my bathroom just in time, unable to stop the convulsive vomiting that follows as all of my feelings take over. I may be present again, but I am not in control of much of anything.
&nbs
p; How have I let myself become a spectator in my own life?
“Alex, he’s here. I just saw him down the hall with Pam and it looked like they were headed this way.” Olivia warns me as she walks back into the office we share with Amber.
I didn’t tell her everything that happened, but she knows that I plan on ending things today.
Again.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say as I get up and grab the manila folder on my desk. I can’t get out of here fast enough and decide that I’ll head out to the consultation I have starting in 20 minutes. I don’t need to leave just yet, but I’m not ready to see him. I’m a person who avoids confrontation at all costs. Especially, at work. It feels like the safest place to have an unpleasant conversation with a man like him, but it still isn’t something that I’m looking forward to.
Just as I cross the threshold of the office door I have to jump back as he steps into my space. As always, just a little too close for comfort.
“Where are you off to, Alexandra?”
“Hi, Kevin. Just heading out for a consultation that I have in a few minutes,” I say hoping he doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.
“Do you have time to chat for a minute or two before your appointment?” He asks the question but I can tell it’s not really a question. It’s an order. Even though I already know the time, I still look at my phone like I’m checking—I’m doing anything at this point to stall long enough to avoid alone time with him.
“Um, sure…but only a few minutes. I don’t want to be late,” I answer, trying my best to emphasize I have work to do, but I might as well get this over with.
He pokes his head into the office and gives his hello to Olivia. Then he puts his hand on my lower back and walks me down the hall and into the mail room. The mail room that, much to my dismay, is currently empty. I really don’t want to be alone when I tell him Thursday night can’t happen again, but at least we’re at work. He is our HR manager. He won’t cause a scene, will he?
As we walk further into the room, he turns me so that my backside is against the counter. His hands are on my hips while his fingertips press into me. “Thursday night was great, baby. When can I see you again?”
The nausea begins to build.
I’m looking at the ground when I say, “Kevin, I don’t think we should continue seeing each other outside of the office.”
One of his hands leaves my hip and grabs my face, a little too hard—just like the other night—and he brings my attention off the ground to his threatening eyes.
“Now why is that, Alexandra?”
“I just need to focus on my work and I don’t want anybody to think that I’m getting preferential treatment because I’m dating somebody in management. Corporate management at that,” I say just like I had rehearsed in my head all day long.
“Oh love, you don’t need to worry about those sorts of things. I’m kind of in charge of Human Resources, and I don’t think you have to worry about any of that.”
“But my reputation and my work are really important to me, Kevin,”
Now his hand holding my face is squeezing even harder as he growls, “Alexandra, you don’t get to brush me off again. I let you do that once before, but it’s not happening again.”
Not letting the fear get to me, I jerk my face out of his grip and stand my ground. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Kevin. It was good to see you again, but now really isn’t a good time for me.”
“You really are cute, you know that?” He says as he looks at the door to make sure that we’re still alone. Once he sees that the coast is clear he grabs my hair and pulls it so hard that I let out a surprised squeal and tears start to form in my eyes. Not from emotion or fear, but from the stinging sensation I’m feeling on my scalp. “I don’t recall asking you if it was a good time for you. I did ask you when I could see you again, and I expect an answer.”
When I don’t reply, he pulls even harder. “Don’t make me ask again, Alexandra. You do want to keep your job, don’t you?”
Trying to appease him and get out of the room I say, “How about lunch tomorrow?”
“That’s a good girl,” he says releasing my hair from his grip. “It’s not the correct answer, but since I have plans to drink and hit the strip clubs with the rest of senior management, I can’t see you tonight anyway.”
There are voices in the hallway so he steps back. I quickly brush my hands through my hair and over my clothes and stand up straight while I try to gain control of my nerves.
Just as my manager, Pam, enters the room I say, “Okay, well I’m off to my consultation with the Patterson’s. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night.”
“Yes. See you tomorrow, Alexandra,” he says, but I don’t look back to acknowledge him.
I rush down the hall and to the bathroom.
How did I let this happen? How did I get myself in this situation? How did he go from overbearing and a bit rough to this?
I check my phone for the time and find that I have less than five minutes to gather myself and get to the hotel lobby for my appointment. I’m doing my best to push aside the fact that my boss pretty much raped me last week and that he’s now threatening me. He basically just told me that if I don’t let him do it again, I’ll lose my job. I have this undeniable urge to vomit, but I don’t have time for that. Instead I stand in the bathroom stall leaning against the closed door and do what I do best.
Compartmentalize.
Block it out.
Put myself back together again.
Stop my body from shaking.
Present to the world the version of me that I want them to see.
I always told myself I would never let a man treat me this way.
I would never be this weak and yet here I am.
I clearly am my mother’s child.
CHAPTER
NINE
Treat You Better
Mick
“What the fuck?” Sitting in the cab of my truck in my driveway…this is the only response I have to the words in front of me.
Sweet Thing: Mick, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to communicate anymore. I’m seeing Kevin again, and out of respect for him I won’t be texting or calling you.
Why would she ever go back to that douchebag? I saw how he was with her, and I don’t trust him not to hurt her. None of this makes sense. I don’t understand what could make her go back to him. I’ve had so much going on with losing Bob, Jonathan getting shot, Emily’s broken heart while Jonathan recovered and then the break in. I know I haven’t had much time to see or even talk to Alex, but I still don’t understand how she could go back to somebody who treats her so poorly.
Sexy Beast: WTF?! What do you mean you’re back with that asshole?
Sweet Thing: You wouldn’t understand.
Sexy Beast: Try me!
Sweet Thing: Mick, it doesn’t even matter. He found our texts and he got pissed and asked me to stop talking to you.
Sexy Beast: Why him, Alex? Why can’t you go out with somebody else? Not him!
Why would she want to be with some tool that manhandles her in public? This is not the Alex that I know.
Sweet Thing: I don’t love him or anything, Mick. I just don’t want to be alone right now and at least my heart is safe when I’m with him.
Her last message nearly stops my heart. What does she mean by that? Is she referring to me? Is she saying that she would be with me but that her heart wouldn’t be safe? If she is, she’s probably right. I don’t know how to date one person or how to be in a relationship. That doesn’t mean that she needs to go back to her asshat of an ex.
Sexy Beast: If he lays a hand on you I expect you to call me. You call me day or night and I’m there, Alex.
Sweet Thing: Thank you. Bye, Mick.
And just like that she’s gone.
My friend.
My more.
I’ve always known it, but today, I’m certain. She’s my more. She’s the one that I should t
ry with. The one that I should give up all the others for, but she doesn’t feel the same way. She would rather be with cufflink wearing, uptight, manhandling douchebag, Kevin.
Fuck this! I need to go out and get drunk. Riley’s working tonight so I’ll start at Kells and see where the night takes me.
I know the minute I walk into Kells that I’m not in the mood for a night out. But I’m here. I’ll just sit at the bar and keep Riley company. It’s a weeknight so it’s not too busy.
“What are you doin’ here, Mick?” Riley asks.
I take my seat at the bar. “Just need a lot of alcohol and to get laid,” I say matter-of-factly.
Riley throws his white bar towel over his shoulder, crosses his arms in front of him and just stares at me. Looking me in the eye without blinking.
“I know I’m pretty, Ry, but you’re really not my type. I mean I like 5’ 10” brunettes, but beards aren’t really my thing.” I say trying to deflect the fact that he knows something’s wrong and is looking for an explanation.
“Did something happen with Alex?”
How the fuck does he do that? I can’t hide shit from him.
“What does Alex have to do with anything, Riley?” I snap back at him.
He steps away to help a customer and after serving up two whiskeys and opening a tab he heads back my way and slides me a Kells Lager, my favorite Irish beer, and carries on like our conversation had never stopped. “I don’t know, Mick, let’s see…you guys are playing this ‘friend’ game, but I don’t remember the last time you hooked up with anybody. You guys text all day every day and now here you are acting like you want to get drunk and get laid. Two things are wrong with this equation. One…you aren’t a big drinker. You have always said you don’t want to be like your dad and for me to put the brakes on if you ever seem like you’re imbibing too much. Here you are, wanting to do just that. Two…since when does Mickey Jacobs have to announce he wants to get laid?”