"I hate him," she said, her bottom lip quivering slightly.
"You don't have to worry about him anymore," I said, sucking in my breath when the water hit my abdomen. "What did Pam mean that he was your manager?"
"I danced there sometimes. He took all the money."
"Did you do that in New York?" I asked and she nodded.
"But I did it for myself. That's how we met," she said, leaning back against the basin and sighing. The water covered almost all of her except the very top of her breasts. I tried not to look. It didn't seem right. "I found you right after the first time he—"
"Raped you, I know."
"You've always known."
"Yeah," I said and shook off the images of him attacking her right before I blew his brains out. My heart pounded in my chest and I took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry I didn't look for you."
"I'm sorry I left you."
"Maybe you had to leave," I said, swiping at a tear that snuck through.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe you had to so that he could die and you wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. Two years and you've always been afraid."
"Not when I'm with you. My instincts turned out right about that."
"A little late on my part," I said, glancing away from her. My mind screamed with the haunting images of him hurting her, the same way I used to envision Graydon being blown to bits. By the time I turned back to her, she'd moved across the tub to straddle my legs and cup my face in her hands.
"Do you hate me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Her hair cascaded over us, dark on the bottom from the water and crimson at the top. Her eyes bore into me, shimmering with the pain she'd been hiding. With her like this, everything crumbled away. Tears flowed freely now and I held my breath while our gazes locked. I shook my head and she dropped her forehead against mine.
Soft sobs filled the space between us and we stayed there until our skin shriveled to prunes.
***
"What did you do, Jess?" Jillian asked after we dressed. I urged her toward the guest room but she stopped me by holding fast to her footing. "My God…" She stopped to stare at the living room and, for the first time, I really looked at it, too. Shards of glass littered the floor along with splintered wood, overturned furniture and walls smeared with paint. My handprints resembled a crime scene mess and I remembered Rhoda's friend asking if it was blood.
"It doesn't matter," I said, urging her forward.
"Yes, it does. Why are we going in here?" She stumbled a little but obliged. The guest room for the most part remained untouched. In haste, I pulled back the sheets and fluffed the pillows a bit. She watched me, waiting for my answer.
"The bedroom's a mess," was all I could come up with.
"I want to be in our bed," she said, her eyes welling up as the stress of everything seemed to finally hit her. She cried softly as I took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
"Okay, it's okay," I said, softly, reminding myself of our reunion in Portland a few days ago. I released her and pulled clean linens from the closet, then together, we made up the bed. She closed the window on her way by and locked it after. Lifting my arms was painful so she took on fluffing the blanket over the bed.
We climbed in together and I couldn't lie in any other position except on my back without causing myself more pain. She watched me, taking swipes at her eyes now and then until I settled first. Neither of us made a move to turn out the bedside lamps. She moved closer, pulling the blankets over us and lay on her side facing me. I had so many feelings at war inside me that they seemed to negate themselves. The most prominent was disbelief.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice raspy. She scooted a little closer, inch by inch as if testing my reaction, or her own.
"Wondering if I'm dreaming. Or nightmaring, respectively," I confessed. "Wondering if you're really here or if I've gone psychotic."
"I'm really here. Not sure about the psychotic part," she jested and I smiled a little.
Her head found its way to my pillow and eventually my shoulder. Closeness felt both comfortable and strange all at once. She reached across me, caressing my stomach under my T-shirt and narrowly avoiding the bruises. I bent my arm that was under her and stroked her hair softly. We both sniffled on and off. When she draped her leg over mine, my hand fell to her thigh, immediately disturbing our peace. She jolted and cringed liked I'd burned her flesh.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I stopped touching her altogether and that only made it worse. She rolled nearly on top of me, burying her face against my neck. I lifted my hands away from her but touching her seemed like a bad idea. She cried hard and so did I. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear to see her suffering. I took the risk and hugged her to me. Her response was the same. She wrapped her arms around me and kept her face against my neck and hair. I held her until her cries cooled to sobs, then sobs to gentle hiccups.
We spent three days like this. And I held her through it all.
Paint
"You should eat something," I told her, brushing her hair from her face. She gazed up at me, groggy but she smiled. I slid my thumb over her bottom lip and she kissed it.
"Did you break the kitchen?"
"Yes." I laughed a little bit. "I'll order something."
"Burgers and fries," she said. "Onion rings, soda."
"Anything you want, Jilly. Anything."
"You?" Her smile continued and for just a few moments, we were normal again.
"You've already got that," I said and she stroked my cheek. I kissed her hand and reluctantly broke away from her to stand. "I cleaned the bathroom down here to use."
"Good 'cause I have to pee." She stretched a bit and sat up. I watched as she winced when she stood, just like last time. She smiled at me when she left the room though the pit of my stomach churned with my worry for her.
I ordered food then sat on the floor in the kitchen, surrounded by broken things and thinking about what the man I murdered had done to my heart. Because she is my heart. She's been my heart for two years and more. I listened to the water of her shower and hid my face against my knees as I attended to the intrusive thoughts. My hands covered my ears when her screams echoed inside me. The only satisfying end came from the blast of my gun.
I was never more grateful for a piece of metal in my life.
We ate upstairs in the studio. I hadn't managed to destroy that but none of her portraits hung anymore. Everything I'd done was packed away in the storage cubbies like they used to be. We sat on the window ledge, listening to the spring rain patter against the slanted glass window. Jilly ate more than I did while she watched me. Her eyes never left me for longer than a few seconds. I wouldn't know that if I wasn't looking at her, too.
For as traumatized as she was, relief seemed its equal. She no longer looked over her shoulder or glanced to the locked doors to check on them. I had to remind myself that, for Jilly, she was used to the chaos and the pain. She came to me from that life.
"Have you called your brother?" she asked after a while and I shook my head. "You should."
"I will. Rhoda, too," I said.
"You haven't spoken to her?"
"I haven't spoken to anyone."
She stood to ditch our wrappers in the trash and when she came back, she sat closer to me, resting her chin on my knee. I ran my fingers through her silky hair and she stroked my calf. "We should pick up the living room and kitchen."
"I know."
"How do you feel?" she asked, reaching forward to rub my side gently.
"Better. Not as tender to touch or breathe."
"Good. Jess?" She cupped my face in her hands and I met her gaze. "You're really quiet."
"I know. Everything feels different," I said but when her expression fell, I quickly added, "I mean, it's hard to get used to. I still can't believe you're here. I'm afraid I'll wake up."
"I never wanted any of this to hurt you."
"I know, Jilly. O
ne thing you can be confident in is that you don't have to explain yourself. I saw Nate. I saw what he did to—" I stopped myself. "If someone told me that they'd kill you if I didn't do as they say, I might've done the same thing. I would have."
More tears welled in her eyes and she moved to me, the way she used to, to sit between my legs. I leaned back against the wall and rested my chin on her head. She pressed her ear to my chest and sniffled softly. "He knew where you lived. The things he said he'd do to you…" She hiccupped and I closed my eyes.
"He did them to you instead," I whispered and she hesitated but nodded. "But not anymore. Not ever again. No one's ever going to touch you again, Jillian. Ever." The last part came out between clenched teeth and mingled with my tears.
She sniffled and stroked my forearm soothingly. "South Dakota."
"We're going."
"Tomorrow?"
"I'll call the realtor."
***
We spent half a week cleaning up the house. Every room needed cleaning, either from neglect or my destruction. We did the laundry room first followed by gathering the laundry. The linens and bathrooms followed. Jillian hauled the broken items out the back door while I covered the carpet with drop cloths. We managed to salvage most of the furniture from the paint but the walls couldn't be saved. We picked a soft blue-gray for the walls with white borders. Decked out in old leggings and one of my paint-covered T-shirts, Jilly again looked comfortable and like herself. I wore my usual jeans and splattered, white button-down that used to be Graydon's. We pushed the table and the sofa out of the way along with the television and its stand.
"None of the TVs work," Jilly said.
"I haven't paid the bill in awhile. I think the phones are off, too," I said, pouring out the paint into the roller tray. Jilly had already taped the borders.
"What'd you do while I was gone? You haven't painted anything either."
"Slept mostly." And fucked around in disgusting clubs hoping to die. "And break things."
"You really trust me with this paint roller?" She picked it up and I showed her how to roll it out without being too drippy.
"Anything will be better than crazy handprints."
"Have you ever thought of painting a mural or something on this big wall?" she asked after a few messy strokes.
"Not really."
We moved in silence while listening to the slurpy slap of paint rollers. Jilly mimicked my movements though I felt her eyes on me every so often. She seemed to watch me now more than she ever did. For the past two years, we gazed at each other but now we seemed to watch as if looking for some sort of cue about what to do or say next.
The doorbell stuttered then rang and Jilly dropped her roller with a splat onto the drop cloth. Her breathing picked up and her expression melted from content to panic. I held my hand out to her and she took it.
"Go in the bedroom," I told her. "Close the door."
"Who is it?" She nearly squeaked when the bell rang a second time.
"I dunno, baby. Go in there until I find out."
"I don't want you to go alone."
"Jess, open the door. The gate guard told me you were here," my brother's voice boomed through the door and the bell rang again. Jillian relaxed almost immediately but I grew more nervous.
"Just Declan." She sighed out his name like it was a breath of ocean air.
I wasn't relieved. I opened the door while Jilly cleaned up the splattered paint. My brother stood there, with his Irish blond hair, freckled cheeks, and bushy beard. He rushed me and I nearly cried out with the force of his hug on my sensitive ribs.
"Where the hell have you been?" he exclaimed. "Mom said you didn't know where Jillian was and then you're phone was turned off. And your place exploded."
"I'm here," I said after he let me go, forcing the grunt from my throat. "Jilly's here." I waved him in and did everything in my power not to keel over.
"That's all you have to say?" His voice continued at a higher volume than usual. Jillian hurried over to me and touched my face just when I felt about to puke. She immediately solved the problem by distracting my brother.
"We went on a trip. Where've you been, De? I've missed you," she said, and he hugged her, too. He calmed down finally and rubbed her back a bit. When they leaned back, he looked the two of us over.
"You both look like shit. What kind of trip was it?"
"You want some tea? Jilly made passion tea," I said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
"Quit sidestepping my questions and no thank you." He frowned at me and crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't come here for nothing."
"Well then, pick up a paintbrush and get to work if you don't want to stand around doing nothing," I said and Jilly laughed a little.
To my surprise, he did it. The three of us finished a wall, in relative silence, in just a few minutes. When we moved on to the next one, Declan broke the mood.
"You really upset Mom," he said.
"I know," I said, glancing at Jilly whose brows furrowed.
"She said you were acting the way you did after Graydon died," he continued.
"I get it, De, really. We're just…" I sighed and turned to face him. "We're just painting the living room, okay? That's what we're doing."
Declan looked between the two of us, his eyes falling on Jillian first. "You're letting her get away with this?"
"For now," she answered, her tone more confident than it had been over the past few days.
We went on this way for an entire wall more until Declan finally gave up. He leaned against the arm of the sofa and watched us quietly.
"I still think you should paint something on this wall." She nodded toward it, her hands on her hips while she looked at it as if mapping out the placement on a canvas.
"What'd you have in mind?"
"I dunno."
"I'll paint a wall for you in our new place," I said and she smiled.
"Your new place?" Declan asked.
"We're looking at a place in South Dakota," I said. "Put a bid in."
"Did you really?" His eyes widened a bit. "When?"
"Yesterday."
"Where in?"
"Black Hills National Forest area. It's perfect," Jillian said, her eyes lighting up a bit. I set the paint roller down and she approached me, the bounce in her step returning. For the first time in months, I actually felt myself smile. Not just on my face but on the inside, too.
"You're serious about this?" Declan stared, his mouth hanging open a bit.
"Yeah." I nodded and slipped my arms around Jilly when she moved to me. She hugged me then leaned back, smiling while she toyed with my ponytail. I watched her lips, ruby and wet, and wondered when I'd last kissed her. We hadn't since we'd come together again.
"Have you told anyone yet?" Declan pressed.
"No. We were going to wait to see if we won the bid," I said, my hands falling to Jilly's waist. Her smile melted to a grin and I felt her stomach quiver against my hip.
"You're both acting strange. You know that, right?" Declan looked between us again. "Will you call Mom already?"
"Yeah, I will," I said.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked.
"Paint the living room."
After the final coat, Jilly cleaned up first while I capped the paint. We'd do the borders tomorrow.
***
I showered and joined her in the bedroom in time to see her combing out her hair. It was longer now and darker when wet, but I liked it just the same.
"Why haven't you told your family anything?" she asked while I pulled on my shorts.
"It's not their business."
"Declan's worried about you. You could tell him if you wanted…"
"Tell him what, Jillian? That I killed a man while he raped my girlfriend? It's not exactly something I'm comfortable with saying." The words left me in a tone I didn't mean and Jilly's expression changed from calm to hurt.
"You don't have to say it like that…"
"I'm so
rry. I just...I don't know how to talk to them. Or anyone." I sat on the bed and leaned my elbows on my knees. She set the brush down and watched me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh."
"I know," she said softly.
"C'mere." I held my hand to her and she took it, joining me on the bed. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry you had to do that," she said. "And I'm sorry I left you."
"Either way, I would've ended up killing him."
"At least this way you didn't go to jail."
"That's the bright side." I laughed a little and she smiled a bit.
"And I'm not dead," she said.
"No...You're not." I reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of my hand. "Part of me expected to never see you again and now I don't know what to do."
"Me either. You're hard to read right now."
"Declan hurt my side." I rubbed my ribs a little. "When he hugged me."
"That makes you hard to read?"
"No, but it makes it harder to breathe."
"And makes your expression blanker. You're really blank," she said, brushing wet strands behind my ear.
"I feel that way. You were afraid then blank, then afraid again."
"What am I now?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Better. More like yourself."
"I'm still me, Jess," she said, scooting back to lie against the pillows. I followed her and turned on my unbroken side to face her. "I'm still me. And I still love you. More than anything." Her words traveled the space between us and brought a sting to my eyes, setting my stifled emotions alight.
"When I got out of the hospital the first time, I walked around downtown Portland. There was this boy. He was looking for his sister who was on drugs. He was just a kid looking for his sister, someone he cared about a lot. I didn't even look for you, Jilly. I just accepted that you left on your own accord. That I wasn't good enough and wasn't what you needed. Or wanted." My voice cracked at the end and I couldn't hold on to myself anymore. I let the blankness go and choked on a sob. "I keep thinking that if I just looked for you, if I made any effort, I could've stopped him before it got too bad for you."
"One day, one hour with him was 'too bad,' Jess. Nothing you could've done would've stopped that. It was my choice to leave. I knew what I was going back to, but I also knew what I risked leaving. I figured, one day, he'd get bored of me and I could just leave. He'd forget about you by then and I could come back." She paused to caress my face while a fresh set of tears streaked her cheeks.
Indigo [Try Pink Act Two] Page 3