“Maybe it’s just me, but a real man wouldn’t throw away a good thing just because he’s going through a hard time.” Remy shrugs and holds up his hands. Before I can argue, he stands and squeezes my shoulder as he walks into the kitchen. “Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll walk you back to Evelyn’s when you’re ready. Sprite okay?”
I pull another puff of smoke into my mouth, down my throat, and out to the burning edges of my lungs. I hold it until I’m on the verge of bursting, watching the cherry flicker and sputter between my pinched fingers. I tip my head back and release the smoke from my pursed lips like a falling ribbon.
“How about a beer?”
Marlo
THE SUN FILTERS through my eyelids like a high beam spotlight five inches from my face. It’s like a baseball bat to my brain, and I can’t shut my eyes tight enough to make it go away. I pull the pillow down over my head and sigh in relief. I take a deep breath in and wonder who the hell sprayed old lady perfume all over my pillow. The smell makes my gut roll, and I lurch off the bed, fumbling my way to the toilet.
That’s when I realize I’m not in my dorm room. A quick survey of the antique four-poster bed and Audubon prints of blue herons and Louisiana pelicans on the wall tell me I’m in one of Evelyn’s many guest rooms. Thankfully, this room has an adjoining bathroom, and I make it just in time. Beads of sweat sprout across my forehead, and I swipe at the thick strands of hair plastered to my face. I rest my lolling head on my elbow to keep it from falling directly into the toilet. My body heaves relentlessly, making my already screaming muscles burn.
This must be what the seventh circle of hell feels like.
I rack my brain for the chain of events leading up to this morning, and after the memory of having a few beers with Remy to nurse my broken heart, I come up empty. Completely blank.
I’m still wearing my “let’s taco bout it” T-shirt from last night, but my legs are bare and cold against the tile floor. I run my free hand over the goose bumps on my calves, then up my thighs. I look down at my legs when my fingers touch something dried and cracked on the middle of my thigh. A tear escapes, splashing on to my cheek when I realize both of my inner thighs are caked with a thin sheen of dried blood.
I start retching again when I realize more than just my muscles are sore.
Evelyn and Oliver return home early afternoon, and they find me curled up underneath the freezing cold shower, skin rubbed raw, teeth chattering, body trembling.
They had to take the door off the hinges to get to me. I tried, I really did. I could hear Evelyn calling my name, like a muffled sound at the end of a mile-long tunnel. I just couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t wake up enough to move. Maybe I didn’t want to.
Evelyn runs her hands through my wet hair as I lay my head in her lap. Just when I think I have nothing left, another tear leaks out. I cinch Evelyn’s fluffy robe tighter around my waist and wipe my chapped cheek. It’s been a couple of hours since she brought me to her bedroom and sent Oliver away, and neither of us has spoken a word. I’m sure my time is almost up.
So many questions roll around in my brain, but the answers are hard to come by. If I could only remember. Who? What? When? Where? Why?
Why?
Why?
The only answer I know for certain is the one I wish I could forget.
I was raped.
I lost my virginity to a rapist.
I muster all the energy I have to push myself up to sitting and meet Evelyn’s searching eyes.
“I need to go the hospital,” I whisper as the tears continue to streak my face. “I need to be checked out.”
Evelyn wraps me in her arms and cries with me. “Of course, my darling. I’ll take you right away. Of course.”
“We must call the police this instant, Evelyn. I can’t believe you left the hospital without giving a statement,” Oliver whispers, his words sounding like a hiss from the other side of the bedroom door.
“I went to great lengths to keep them out of this, and you think I’m calling them now? This is what she wants, Oliver. She begged me. Sh-she b-begged me.” Evelyn voice breaks on a sob, and for a while, I hear nothing but her occasional sniff.
“Someone must pay. Someone has to pay.”
“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to find out who did this and see justice done, but Marlo has no memory of it. She can’t recall one thing from last night. We don’t even have a jumping off point.” Evelyn releases a heavy sigh. “She just wants to forget about it and move on. Lord knows, I understand her position. The doctors examined her and gave her the medications she needs to … mitigate any damage, and she wants that to be the end of it. They did collect evidence—what was left of it—but she was very clear nothing was to be done.”
“You and I both know that’s not the end of it. And what about her father? He has a right to know what’s happened.”
My eyes fly open and burn holes into the wood separating me from them. I’d begged Evelyn not to call him. I’d made her promise and she’d reluctantly agreed. I can never bear for him to know what happened. It would kill both of us, I know it.
“She made me promise not to tell Marcus.”
“You can’t do that.”
“She’s eighteen, Oliver. She’s an adult.”
“I don’t care how old she is. She’ll always be his child!” Oliver’s voice breaks on the last word, and moments of tense silence follow.
“I know this isn’t the way you think things should be handled,” Evelyn says calmly. “And I can appreciate that, but please understand where I’m coming from. This is the first time in eighteen years that she has asked anything of me, and I’m not going to let her down. I’m going to be there for her, and I’m going to hope for just this once, that I can be enough for her. I need you to respect that.”
When the doorknob turns, I shut my eyes.
Marlo
THE SMELL OF stale smoke and rancid weed creep into my nose, and I turn my face away. I push to turn my entire body away, but my limbs feel too heavy, as if they’re buried in a bucket of concrete. I push against the resistance, and he shakes me. He grabs me by the chin and turns me to face him. I try to force my heavy lids open, beg for the focus to make out his features, but they’re just a faded blur.
His tongue slithers into my mouth, and I try to pull away, but he has me pinned somehow. Or maybe I’m just too weak to move. My limbs are liquid, incapable of following a simple command. They seem to melt into the ground, utterly useless.
I feel the tears building and seeping silently out of the corners of my eyes. He licks my cheek and laughs. He leans down, his hot breath making my ear feel wet and itchy.
“Don’t try to act like you don’t want this. Spread your legs, and shut the fuck up.” He licks my ear before pulling away, slathering it with spit.
He shoves his tongue back down my throat, and I try to scream. Something, maybe nothing, comes out; I’m not sure. It’s all so muffled and muddy. It’s like screaming underwater. My lungs, my body, my very soul burn from the useless effort.
And then piercing pain…
I wake up with a jolt, desperately clawing for breath. My body is covered in a sheen of sweat and my heart pounds out of my chest. I race to the toilet to empty my stomach, my body’s way of trying to rid me of this ugliness. It’s useless, and I know it. I’ve scrubbed my skin clean, raging red from the friction, but there’s no cleansing a dirty soul.
The violation feels all the more raw as the memory seeps its way into my dreams.
I can’t run.
I can’t hide.
I can’t escape this feeling of worthlessness because it’s inside me, growing like a poisonous vine, creeping its way into every single part of me. It feels like chains. Like bindings shackling me to that one dirty act that will forever define me.
Why does it have to be who I am now? I don’t want that, but it feels inescapable. He branded me.
And while I may not be able to make out a face, I
know that voice.
I know it.
And I would give anything to wipe the memory clean. A stronger woman would feel empowered by the knowledge, but to me, it only feels like another link in my chains.
I walk into Creole Market like it’s any other day, Evelyn’s grocery list in hand, although I had to pry it from her fingers.
“I can go myself, Marlo. You stay here and rest. There’s no need to worry you with this,” Evelyn pleads.
I shake my head and barely manage a smile. “I haven’t been outside in days. I need the sunshine. It’ll be good for me,” I say, my voice artificially chipper.
After a back and forth that’d nearly resulted in a torn grocery list, she’d finally relented. It’s only a few blocks away, and I know I have a short window before she comes searching for me with worry. She and Oliver eye me like I’m a bomb about to blow at any second.
Maybe I am.
But for now, I’m perfectly pulled together, trembling fingers hidden as they clutch the grocery list, my other hand in my purse, wrapped around the mace Oliver bought me just yesterday. I keep clicking the latch on and off of safety, knowing that I can make myself safe, should I need to.
I spent over an hour on my face, lining my lips, applying a generous amount of liquid eyeliner. My makeup is impeccable, reminding me of Evelyn. It feels like a mask … like I’m hiding the real me behind a wall of steel instead of concealer, and I wonder if she feels the same way. Is her perfect appearance a way of coping? If it is, I understand it now. I may not be invincible, but I’m stronger now than the whisper of a person who woke up gasping and sobbing this morning.
“I didn’t expect to see you today, my pretty one. What a wonderful surprise! Don’t you have tests?” Etienne beams at me from behind the deli counter, and I feel a pang of sorrow at seeing him.
I’ll miss Etienne terribly, but I know this will be the last time we see each other. I don’t have any plans to tell him, though.
“I’m spending some time with Evelyn and Oliver. They arranged for my tests to be taken online.” I smile and pray he doesn’t question my response.
It took some coaxing on both Evelyn and Oliver’s part, but when they stressed the importance of my staying close to home due to a family trauma, the school finally relented. All of my exams will either be taken online or administered by an in-house proctor, paid for by Oliver.
It’s amazing what money can do. Too bad it can’t fix the things that mean the most. It can’t erase what’s already been done.
Etienne doesn’t question me, so I hold up the piece of paper to show him. “I’m here to grab a few groceries for Evelyn, if that’s all right.”
He waves me away. “Of course, of course. Take your time,” he says as he stirs a black iron pot that smells a lot like gumbo. “And be sure to tell that lazy bag of bones, Remy, I’m nearly done. He’s been hiding out in the storeroom all afternoon. Sometimes, I think he should pay me to work here.”
He continues to mumble to himself about long smoke breaks and sampling the food as I draw in a steadying breath.
What am I doing?
What am I actually doing?
Am I crazy? The short answer is yes. Yes, I am.
So I walk down the aisle and open the storeroom door before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. A wicked smile creeps across my face as Remy does a double-take when he sees me.
You should be afraid, motherfucker.
I feel the fear like a tidal wave, threatening to roll me over, make me run, but I plant my feet and keep my fist curled around the mace in my purse. I’ll take any small sense of comfort I can scrounge right now, because I’m feeling foolish for coming here. Downright reckless.
“Hey Low, how’s it going? I didn’t expect to see you at the market today,” Remy says, turning his back and continuing to unpack boxes. His words, the easy lilt in his voice sound as casual as if I’d stopped by to borrow a cup of sugar, but his ramrod straight posture gives him away. It’s like a blinking sign in a store window advertising: “GUILTY.”
I’d practiced all the things I would say as I’d blotted my lips and blushed the apples of my cheeks. The words had rolled off my tongue with such fluidity and immense anger, I hadn’t thought for one second I’d show up here and be silent. But now, as I look at him standing there, just standing there like he didn’t forever alter my life, I’m left breathless … wordless.
“Hey, did you get in touch with Ever this weekend. I told him you were looking for—”
“Stop,” I whisper, the hiss of my voice only just loud enough to get his attention.
“Huh?” His hands drop to his side, the boxes forgotten as he looks at me confused.
“I said STOP!” I jump, just as surprised as he is at the sheer force of my words. I turn to the door, hoping I didn’t alarm Etienne, but remember my company almost as quickly, and whip back around.
Remy raises his hands in front of his chest and gives me a placating smile. “Hey, I don’t know what I did to—”
“Shut. Up.”
He closes his mouth and stands stock still, except for the almost imperceptible change in his demeanor. I don’t want to hear the sound of his voice. I’m not sure I can stomach it. Hearing the gravelly tone brings me back to my dream—not my dream, my reality.
My reality.
Remy raped me.
Who could have known four syllables, three tiny words, could wreak such havoc on my soul. The very marrow of me feels somehow altered by what he stole. By taking away my choice, he took so much more than I can ever hope to restore. Everything about me feels fake and forced. Pride has been replaced with shame.
I want him to feel shame, too. I want it burned into his skin, deep down into his gut. I want him to cringe at the thought of what he did to me.
But deep down, I know that will never happen. Men like Remy don’t feel sorrow for their actions. He’s nothing but a monster disguised as a poorly groomed pothead. He looks so harmless, but now I know better.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
“I know,” I say, watching his eyes widen. “I know what you did.”
He lowers his head, and, for a brief moment, I think he may feel something in the vicinity of regret. He might be bordering the neighborhood of an actual apology.
He peers up at me from lowered lashes. “What we did.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what we did. And, as far as I remember, you enjoyed the fuck out of it, so why don’t you wipe that accusing look off your face.” His voice never wavers, his tone even and steady, so much so that I genuinely wonder if he believes the lie.
His words hang heavily in the air, trying to muffle my resolve, cloud what’s abundantly clear.
“You slipped something in my drink, Remy. I only remember bits and pieces of the night because I was unconscious. We didn’t do anything. You raped me.” I gasp after saying the words, finally admitting them out loud, as if it was only a possibility before, but now it’s etched in stone as the God’s honest truth. There’s no taking it back. No do-overs.
Remy chuckles, low and menacing, my accusations waking up the malicious part of him I only saw pieces of before now. How could I have been so blind?
“You see, I remember it differently. You were high within minutes of showing up at my house. You got that, Marlo? You showed up at my house. Then, after you were already flying like a kite, that wasn’t good enough for you, so you moved on to beer. I drugged you? Come on, like I had to.” Remy sneers at me like I’m a pesky roach under his shoe, and I barely repress the urge to lunge at him, claw his eyes out.
“You’re twisting things, you son of a bitch.”
“I could say the same for you. And who wouldn’t believe me? Every time you and Ever had a hint of an argument, you threw yourself at me. ‘Taste my cupcakes, Remy … Walk me home, Remy…’” He shakes his head, and a victorious grin curls on his disgusting lips. “Friday night was merely your ultimate revenge on your little boyf
riend. You’ve been pitting the two of us against each other from the beginning. Speaking of Ever, what do you think he’d say about our little date?”
“Fuck you,” I spit out, teeth clenched so tight, I wait for them to crumble like chalk onto my tongue.
“I already have.” He draws out each syllable with wicked satisfaction.
I release the mace from my grip, honestly afraid of what I may do. The anger vibrating through me is overwhelming, intoxicating, and utterly disturbing. In this moment, I have a clear understanding of the term “crime of passion,” because nothing would please me more than to hurt Remy in some irreparable way.
Get yourself together, Marlo.
I suck in a deep breath and release the pent-up fury threatening to consume me. It takes several breaths before I can see past the red rage. I shut my eyes for a moment, and reopen them with a new perspective.
“I went to the hospital first thing Saturday morning,” I say flatly, my blank stare boring into his wavering smile. “I was there for hours. They collected all sorts of things. Hair, fluids, blood … blood that I’m sure will show much more than marijuana and beer. Photographs of bruising and trauma far outside of the realm of consensual sex.”
“You like it rough,” he says, trying to look smug, but the man who’s obviously grasping at straws is making himself known the more I talk.
“Who do you think they’ll believe, Remy? A truckload of tests pointing the finger at you, and the testimony of Evelyn and Oliver James? Or the word of a two-bit pot dealer created from the dirty bowels of the French Quarter? How do you think that investigation would unfold?”
“Are you threatening me—”
“You’re fucking right I am, and don’t you dare forget it.”
I love the fear in his eyes. Fucking love it. It feels like a drug to me, the only thing that I can control in my life at this point.
I hear Etienne’s faint whistle in the front of the store, and it serves as a reminder that he’ll come looking for me sooner rather than later. I need to leave before then. He’ll see right through me.
Low Over High (The Over Duet #1) Page 21