Call Me Ana: A Novel

by Bonnet,Scarlet

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at me like he didn’t believe me and I resisted the urge to bite my cheek. “Rachel,” he started, his voice uncertain. “Is he hurting you?”

  I sighed. “No, he’s not hurting me.”

  “Look… you can tell me. I can help you.”

  That one statement validated everything I was worried about. I couldn’t tell him and I was finally doing the right thing. I kept my eyes on his and gave him a small smile.

  “He’s not hurting me, Grant. He needs me.” Those words were hard to say out loud because on some level they were true.

  Grant looked away and put a hand on his hip. The line of his neck and shoulders was hard and I could see the muscle in his jaw tighten. “What do you need?” he finally asked.

  The question surprised me, but the answer came to me in an instant. “I need you to go home.”

  Something in Grant’s posture deflated just a smidge when I’d said that and an ache throbbed through my chest at the thought of hurting him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him that I wanted to be with him, but instead I took a step back. When Grant didn’t stop me, I kept going. I slipped right out the door before I could do anything to stop what I’d set in motion. I closed the door and walked down the hall. A part of me wanted to hear him call after me. I wasn’t sure if I could’ve kept walking if that had happened. But it didn’t. A cold hardness settled in my heart as I walked back to the diner. At least it finally happened, a thought consoled me. It would have happened eventually anyway.

  * * * *

  I got through what was left of my shift in a barely conscious state. The diner was packed and that helped. I don’t think I smiled at one person. I was supposed to get out early, but it was so busy, I had to stay. I didn’t care. Pam stayed late so I couldn’t close early, but finally, finally it was time to close. I locked the door to the diner, flipped the sign to closed and turned the music on loud. I set it to the rock station. Then I went into the back room, sat down in Pam’s chair, and slipped the picture of me and Grant out of my bag. I had been telling myself all day I wouldn’t do exactly that. But with no one to distract me, my willpower was gone. My eyes drank in the picture, proving that the memory it captured had existed.

  We looked so happy. I looked so happy. I could feel how happy I’d been just by looking at my face and it hurt. Tears started running down my cheeks, and I didn’t even bother trying not to cry. I hadn’t had a cry in… forever. I hated it. I hated crying, but at least it was something to do. I leaned my head down on my arms and I cried until there was nothing left in me.

  When I was exhausted and hiccupping, I looked back at the picture some more, rubbing a line along Grant’s jaw. This wasn’t fair. I’d hurt someone kind and good. Someone who’d made me feel more in the past few days than I’d felt in the past few years. Maybe even… longer.

  I swallowed as I felt a swell of panic. I hadn’t even thought to get his number. It had been so long since I’d ever needed a person’s number. I’d never see him again.

  I sat on the couch, looking at the picture of Grant and me kissing for far too long, rubbing Grant’s face with my thumb. I wanted to feel his skin instead of the smooth paper. I missed him terribly. I had run by Billy’s after I closed to make sure Grant had left town. In a split-second decision, I’d been reckless and asked for his number. It was another thing I had told myself I wouldn’t do, but once the thought was in my mind, it was like my brain had already decided. I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again. The change in my heart that had started when I met him was taking over now. I had blurted out my request to Billy for Grant’s number, knowing it would further the avalanche already started by whoever had told Roy they’d seen me with someone. In that moment, I knew I needed to leave. When I was walking back home, it hit me. If I left, I would be free. I could feel that freedom. And I was ready for it. I wasn’t afraid of where I would go or how I would get enough money to put food in my belly. I was more terrified I’d lost Grant for good.

  I would call him. I’d have to tell him the truth about where I was from. I’d tell him my name was really Ana Marie. I could and would go all in and hope and pray that Grant would understand, that it wasn’t too late. It was crazy. It was rash. But what did I have to lose? The only way I saw myself losing was if I stayed in Rayburne and waited tables the rest of my life.

  But first I had to end things here. I had to give Pam two weeks and prepare Debbie as best as I could. I knew Pam would be mad as hell. I was hoping she’d be mad enough to just fire me. I’d avoid Roy until I could get out. I would probably have to make it a secret that I was leaving town. I finally set the picture down on the end table and went to draw a bath.

  The sound of someone bursting into my apartment gave me a start. Somehow, I’d forgotten to lock the door. My mind instantly pictured Grant’s face, and I felt a throb of excitement, then pushed it down. I’d have to convince him to leave even if it was him. It still wasn’t safe for him here. And besides… he wouldn’t have just walked in... and he definitely wouldn’t have come in like that. Feeling a little nervous now, I put down the towel I had taken from the cabinet and padded across the floor, the wood warm under my feet. I peeked into the living room, and Roy stood there, his eyes locked on mine in a death stare. The picture of me and Grant was in one of his hands, a shotgun was in the other.

  In that moment, I knew I had miscalculated things. I knew my life was in danger.

  Chapter 17

  Roy was so mad, he dropped everything and flew at me. I managed to dodge him, smelling a cloud of alcohol that followed him to the floor of my bedroom. My mind registered that as an advantage. I ran into the next room and tried to get to the door, but just as I reached it, Roy was behind me. Instead of grabbing me, he put his hand on the back of my head and shoved me, making me trip and slam face first into the wall. It happened so fast, I wasn’t even surprised. Lights exploded in my vision and the next thing I realized, I was lying on the floor, my head in agony.

  I grabbed onto my head as the pain pulsed in my temples. That’s when Roy started kicking me, swearing and screaming. I was in complete disbelief. I couldn’t understand much beyond that, but as I started to fight through the throbbing vice that gripped my head, I panicked.

  I thrashed and fought, trying to figure out how to get out. I almost managed to break free, but he got me hard in the ribs. I balled up to try to protect myself. I tried to yell at him to stop, but I couldn’t hear my voice, I could only feel it jarring my head. He just kept going. It was like a bad dream. I caught a foot with my face and this time my vision went black. I could still hear what was going on, but my body had gone limp, and I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t even try to move. I couldn’t. The room was spinning. He’d stopped.

  My world became a jumble of motions again, this time something squeezing both my arms. Roy slammed me against the wall in a sitting position. I tried to open my eyes, but only one would open. The left side of my face felt enormous and throbbed and burned. He was staring, his eyes wild.

  “Years, Rachel,” he whispered.

  “Roy,” I squeaked out.

  His eyes shut, and he slammed my head into the wall twice as he shook me by my arms. The back of my head was buzzing, but now it didn’t hurt as bad. I opened my eye, staring directly at Roy’s knuckles right before he punched me in the face. I started to black out but was brought to by Roy shaking me, growling like a wild animal. Something hot and wet was running down my left cheek. I was toast and I knew it, but I was starting not to care. Then a wave of pain washed over me, turned to nausea, then rolled back to pain. It kept doing that, back and forth, sloshing through my body. I was going to puke.

  “This whole time you lied to me, Rachel. I loved you and you lied to me.”

  I opened my eye, not dumb enough to risk saying anything again, but I pleaded with him to stop. All I could smell was blood and alcohol. That, combined with
the pressure in my stomach… I have to puke. Something was wrong with my stomach. Oh, fuck. I shut my eyes and felt the awareness hit my mind. Something was horribly wrong with my stomach.

  I opened my eye, seeing nothing but Roy. His eyes darted around my face. He looked like Roy, but I didn’t recognize this man. The Roy I knew got pissed at me and lost his temper, but he never would’ve done this to me. He had gone insane.

  “Who is he?” he finally yelled at my face.

  “He’s gone,” I choked out. Thank God for that.

  He slammed me into the wall again and I wanted to fight, but my arms and legs felt heavy. I had to squint to keep the room from pitching. It made the left side of my face burn with fire.

  “You’re lying!” he screamed as he leaned even closer to my face.

  I squirmed, trying to escape the mounting pressure in my stomach. I just barely found my voice. “He left… yesterday,” I said, trying to convince him. Maybe he would stop if he knew Grant was gone. I was grasping at straws, but with him on top of me and some terrible pressure that increased by the second where he’d been kicking me, I knew it was past the point of being able to run away. A thought flickered into my head. My gun. My bag was over by that picture, hopelessly far away.

  Roy was watching me, and I him. I was trying to find a piece of him left in there, trying to work every last angle I had left.

  “You probably hit on every out-of-towner…” He slammed his fist into the door right next to my face, making me startle. It hurt everywhere when I jumped. “Slimy asshole. Don’t you?”

  “Roy, please,” I begged out of desperation. He was pushing into me and my stomach felt like it was splitting open.

  “Please, what, Rachel? Love you? Because that’s what I’ve been fucking doing while you’ve been fucking behind my back!”

  He grabbed my face in his hand, squeezing my jaw and cheeks between his thumb and fingers. It hurt so bad I made a desperate attempt to get away. My movements were slow and it caused excruciating pain. It also angered Roy.

  He grabbed me by my throat and shoved me into the door, choking me. This is it. I’m going to die in this shithole. Right now. I struggled as I fought to breathe, catching shaky glimpses of the lavender walls in my kitchen.

  “Did you lie about the rape thing, too? Lie to make me feel bad? Use me?” he screamed.

  The accusation almost angered me. Roy was the only person I had told about Chad. I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t even do that. He had a vice grip around my neck, crushing my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to wedge my fingers into his hands. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe! I clawed, feeling fire on my throat. He stopped and yanked me down onto the ground, and I gasped for air. For a second, I thought maybe he’d come to his senses, but then I felt him reach up my dress and rip down my underwear. In a moment of horror, I realized what he was doing and my blood ran ice cold. It wasn’t like before where I let it happen. I fought as hard as I could, fought and tore through the pain. I tried to scream but it came out a choked gurgle. I didn’t want this. I’d rather he choke me to death. Anything but this.

  His weight pushed down on me, and I knew it was coming even as I fought with everything I had, but it was no use. I felt it happen and it was over. I went numb and shut down, my fight gone. I was aware of him moving on top of me and those awful sensations that brought everything back. The lavender walls. That’s all I could see. Shaking rhythmically to the gasps of Roy’s disgusting breathing. I stared blankly at my lavender walls in the kitchen.

  In a matter of moments, he shuddered and collapsed onto the other side of my face… the side that wasn’t enormous. He was breathing hard and crying, the stench of alcohol wafting around me. The skin of his face was slick with sweat as I felt it slide and burn against my cheek. His hand was jammed up against my neck, twisted in my hair. He was still breathing against me and I wanted to scream for him to get off, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

  “All you had to do was love me, Rachel,” he whispered.

  I did love you, you piece of shit. Not the way you wanted, but I did.

  He eased his face off me, breathing through his mouth. I saw his glazed eyes full of tears and I hated him. He touched my face and my throat tightened as I flinched. He slapped me hard across the face and then wept into his hands. To my disgust, I realized I felt bad for him. He knew what he’d done. And I was positive he could feel my hatred radiating from me. Then his naked legs were in my view. A beat of silence passed where I could feel him staring at me. I heard him drag the metal shaft of the gun across the floor as he picked it up. Next came the mechanical noises of the weapon being readied for fire.

  I let my good eye fall shut, marveling that I didn’t feel an ounce of fear. For a brief moment, the pain throughout my body paused, as if taking a last breath in preparation. I didn’t even startle when the gun went off. Roy crumpled to the ground. I felt nothing except for a touch of remorse that his bullet hadn’t been for me.

  * * * *

  My brain had gone into that numb, dead place where almost no emotion existed. I knew I had to get help if I was going to make it. I knew there was something terribly wrong where Roy had been kicking me. But even amongst all that, the wretched feeling of being covered in stink and dirtiness loomed in my mind. I tried to push my skirt down. It was rumpled up behind me in a lump under my back. I tried to lift myself up so I could get it unstuck from my underneath me. I just barely succeeded. I flopped back against the floor, then rolled as much as I could and threw up. It relieved some of the pressure, but there was blood. It made me throw up again. This time it hurt more than helped and I lay there for a minute. I have to get out. I have to get out of this place.

  I pulled myself to the door on one elbow, the floor sliding past my face an inch at a time. For a while, the floor sliding past was all I was aware of. I made it over to the wall by the door and rested, focusing on the chunk of hair plastered to my face. I wanted it off, but I needed to rest. Throwing up had helped some, but it was already getting hard to breathe again. I made myself look up at the door. Thanks to the crooked foundation, it hadn’t shut completely. I took in the height of the knob. There was no way. I dug my nails into the wood, and pulled and clawed. It wouldn’t budge. My stomach was really feeling bad after straining so hard, so I had to rest again. I looked at the door, and decided to try one more time. I wedged my fingers in, then put everything I had into it. I pulled with all my strength and it popped open. I let out a whimper as I pushed the door wide open. Then I saw the stairs. Somehow I’d forgotten about that part.

  I tried to push myself up, but my arm was shaking and much too weak. I didn’t have any strength left in me. I let myself fall back to the floor. It made that hard-to-breathe feeling so much worse, but I couldn’t get back up against the wall. I laid there, partly in and partly out, listening to the night breeze rustling the grass below me and the rattles in my breathing. It felt like something was lying on my chest, smothering me. But I couldn’t get it off. It was in me. I fought the panic that made me want to tear at my chest, knowing it wouldn’t do me any good. My mouth tasted like blood. The numbness was starting to wear off and everything hurt. I wanted to feel how I did in that moment when I thought Roy was going to shoot me… like it was okay to go. But I didn’t want to die there in that apartment.

  My last hope was that someone from the diner would come check on me when I didn’t show for work. I’d only missed two days of work when I was seventeen in the entire five years I’d lived here. I hoped it was enough, and if it wasn’t, I hoped I’d lose consciousness soon. I stared at the sky through one eye, looking at the stars, reminding me of how much had been destroyed in a few short moments. I remembered the way it felt to be nestled against Grant, the hard metal of the truck bed holding us up.

  As time passed, I watched the stars. They got harder and harder to see. I didn’t know if it was because the morning was coming or if it was because it was harder to focus m
y eyes. I stopped caring so much about whether someone would find me or not. I could feel myself weakening, but I tried not to think about that. I just wanted the pressure in my stomach to go away. Eventually, even that didn’t seem so bad. By then I knew I was dying. I knew it was over. I reasoned that I wasn’t really in that apartment at least. My head was out the door.

  Then I felt it, like I was sinking down into something as my body chilled. I was slipping. It made me panic, and I fought against it. That made me aware of just how far I’d deteriorated in however long I’d been laying there. I couldn’t move. I could barely draw in a breath of air. My mind tried to grab onto ways of getting out, but then I realized… there were none and that wasn’t what I wanted to spend my last moments doing… panicking.

  I wished that picture of me and Grant wasn’t so far away. I focused on that day we went trail riding, trying to remember the feeling of calmness, of soaking in the sun while being swayed by my horse. Back and forth.

  I wanted someone to get my hair off my face. I hadn’t been able to do that myself before my strength faded. I wanted to get the wretched stench of blood and Roy off my skin. I wanted someone to hold my hand. I didn’t want to be alone. It’d been so long since I’d seen Sam. I wanted Sam.

  A bird began chirping like everything was fine in the world. It sounded like morning. I felt that strange sinking feeling again, gently, firmly tugging me down.

  The first rays of yellow sun were streaking across the sky. This is the last day I’m going to see. I didn’t want to die. I’d never see Sam again. I’d never be able to tell Grant I’d only been bluffing to keep him safe.

  But there was nothing I could do about it now. I was sinking. Sinking. Sinking.

  In my last moments of consciousness, I thought about my mother. Strangely, the memory that came to mind of her was comforting. I remembered her brushing back my hair when I had been sick with fever as a young child. She had brushed my hair back for what seemed like hours, and I could feel the sensation of her thin fingers spreading flat the mat of curls on my head. I felt it then, like she was there next to me. There was no pressure on my part to take care of her, to save her from herself. There was no angst. It was just… her. And somehow… peace.