Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

  “So, if they back off Griffin, I will drop my complaint. Gotcha. I’ll call the D.A.’s office in the morning.”

  “Great, thanks Sam. He would never have asked. Actually, he’s going to be furious when he finds out I asked on his behalf.”

  “How is he?” I asked timidly.

  Hunter released a long-suffering sigh.

  “I don’t want to step in the middle of this shit-show, Sam. You are both acting like stubborn asses. If you two want to know how the other is doing, then cut the crap and pick up the phone. I love you both, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to lock you together in a room until your work this shit out. You need to have a conversation–with each other, not me. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I’ll consider your advice,” I said with sincerity.

  The following morning I followed through on my promise and called the D.A.’s office. The assistant D.A. seemed relieved to hear from me, promising to contact Robbie’s family and get back to me this week with an update. He suggested I proceed with the restraining order, and considering my luck with men over the past year, I decided to take his advice.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, I was surprised to find the same assistant D.A. standing before me at the Higher Yearning counter.

  “Miss Whitney, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m Mark Stuart, we spoke on the phone yesterday. Do you have a few minutes to spare?” he asked with a polite grin.

  “Sure. Why don’t you order a drink and I’ll join you in a moment?”

  He nodded at me before turning to face Meg, a huge smile spread across his face. Uh-oh, Meg had found an admirer.

  “You didn’t need to come all the way down here, but thank you,” I said, once we had seated ourselves in a quiet corner.

  “It’s no trouble. I’ve heard how great the coffee is here for years; it was a good excuse to try it.” He took a sip and hummed his approval.

  “Do you mind if we cut to the chase since I’m still on the clock? My manager understands, but I don’t want to take advantage.”

  “Of course! I wanted to let you know that Robbie’s family is amenable to Assault 3 for Griffin if Robbie escapes charges. They also promised not to protest the restraining order.”

  “Great.”

  “I also wanted to verify that you will be testifying at the trial against Heath Varbeck. We anticipate the deposition will occur in the next few weeks. I understand you have been the subject of intimidation tactics, and I wanted to ensure you weren’t considering backing out.”

  “You can count on me. I won’t be changing my mind, no matter what they throw at me. I will not allow him to get away with what he did. If I have to speak for all the other girls who are too afraid to testify, then so be it.”

  “Wonderful, I appreciate your commitment. Your testimony is key since you were both a victim and you witnessed Robbie’s observation and admissions in regards to Mr. Varbeck’s guilt. We will have you come in to prepare for the deposition.”

  “Can I ask you one question that has been bothering me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Everleigh hasn’t been threatened and she’s the one he actually confessed to. Why do you think that is?”

  “Miss Carsen was deposed and her testimony submitted during the grand jury hearing. Her account is already on record. If something were to happen to her or if she were to back out of testifying at the trial, we could move to have that deposition from the grand jury hearing introduced into evidence. It wouldn’t be as persuasive, but it would be sufficient. Mr. Varbeck’s attorneys will undoubtedly attempt to attack her character and the veracity of her account. That is why it is so important that we have your testimony as well. The judge and jury could possibly call into question a single account, but with corroboration, the defense will be unsuccessful.”

  Ah, it all made sense to me now. I didn’t have any previous deposition or testimony that the D.A. could use in trial since I was in a coma and semi-catatonic during the grand jury.

  He took another sip of his coffee. “Wow, this really is great coffee. The girl who served me was very helpful, too. Very sweet.”

  Was he fishing for a formal introduction after discussing prosecuting my rapist? What the hell was wrong with men?

  “Thank you again for taking the time to come here. Please let me know when you need me to come in and I will clear my schedule.”

  After shaking his hand, I returned to the counter and smirked at Meg.

  “You have an admirer,” I said, nodding toward Mark. “He was angling for an introduction, but I didn’t want to spring him on you. He’s a 7.5, and I would guess he has a Bachelor’s but is studying for his Master’s. You could definitely do better, but if you’re interested it would be a slam dunk.”

  “You are terrible. The poor guy—you are picking him apart like a vulture,” she said, unable to completely hide her laughter.

  “Hey, as your tutor in the art of selecting the guaranteed O-man, it’s my job to dish the hard truths. They aren’t always pretty.”

  Meg rolled her eyes before muttering, “You are so bad.”

  Before I knew it, it was Thursday—Thia Thursday. I knew I must go since hiding wasn’t an option, but I hadn’t made any significant progress in sorting through my emotions, separating past from present, or discerning justifiable responses from projections. In truth, I wasn’t any closer to finding the clarity Thia had challenged me to pursue. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but at least today I could honestly say I had tried. I was no longer using distractions as an escape. I spent every minute outside of work stewing in the mysteries that were my convoluted brain.

  I arrived at Thia’s office and settled into a chair in the reception area. Five minutes after my appointed time, I stood and collected my belongings. I was tempted to just leave, embarrassed by her rejection, but she deserved a ‘thank you’ for the time she had invested. I only had to knock once on her closed office door before she opened it and smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Come in.”

  “Hi. I’m here.”

  “So I see. Do you have all the answers?”

  I shook my head, ready for her censure, but instead she laughed.

  “Of course you don’t, I never expected you to have it all sorted out in a matter of days. You’ve been trying though…I can tell.”

  “I have tried, but it’s a tangled mess. I did gain a pound so at least I accomplished one objective.”

  She tssked, “You’re still too skinny.”

  I settled into my chair and noticed a foil-wrapped plate on the coffee table in front of me. Thia sat across from me and handed me a tray with a napkin, fork, and knife before uncovering the plate and placing it on the tray. In front of me was a huge plate of homemade spaghetti and meatballs with filleto di pomodoro sauce.

  “You made this for me?”

  “I thought you might need a little help.”

  She was feeding me. She made this delicious lunch for me—with her own hands—because she had faith that I would return. She believed in me—I was totally her favorite. With a big smile, I loaded my fork and stuffed my mouth. Oh damn, it was delicious.

  “We’ll have to shuck social conventions for today and allow you to talk with your mouth full. Tell me about your week.”

  Between bites I shared the events of the week. Thia was pleased to learn that I had intervened on Griffin’s behalf and that I followed through on the restraining order against Robbie.

  “Are you going to talk with Griffin?”

  “What’s the point, Thia? It’s been two weeks and he has made zero effort to talk to me. You were convinced he would want the opportunity to explain and apologize—looks like you were wrong.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that he’s embarrassed?”

  I thought of Griffin’s face after the one-sided fight. He looked defeated and devastated. Those feelings could have transformed into embarrassment in the days that followed, once he had time to appreciate wh
at he had done.

  “Perhaps.”

  “You say that as if it’s surprising. I’m never wrong…ask my husband, I tell him all the time.”

  Poor Mr. Thia. I couldn’t begin to fathom what she would be like at home—he was either the luckiest man on the planet or he was karma’s bitch.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re the bomb, a genius among idiots, yada, yada. Even if you are right, does it change what he did? He may realize he went from psych boy to psycho, but he still has the potential to flip that switch again.”

  “This is why I suggested you have a conversation with him, to find the answers you need. I do not believe he is a danger to you. Based on what you’ve told me, I don’t think he is capable of intentionally hurting you. He is the only one who can explain what set him off and if there is a risk for a repeat performance. If you want answers, you need to ask him.”

  I nodded, hearing the truth in her words.

  “Sam, you need to understand something. You’ve likely heard this at TPC, but you need to internalize it. Most rape is about control and power—sex has very little to do with it. Rape, when coupled with extreme violence, is still about control and power, but the violence is often the hardest part for victims to process and overcome. Exposure to extreme acts of brutality, even if they are necessary or justifiable, may always remain a trigger for you. Even sports like boxing or mixed martial arts could trigger flashbacks. That is why I am encouraging you to try to untangle the conditioned response versus genuine concern for Griffin’s potential violent outbursts. Give it some thought over this next week.”

  “I will, promise.”

  “Okay, homework time. Try to watch a boxing or MMA match on TV and see how you react, just invite Ev or Hunter to watch with you. And have an honest conversation with Griffin. Don’t worry, I will permit an extension next week if you aren’t yet ready to tackle that one. Write a list of things you love to do, the things that comfort you or relieve stress. Also—”

  “Keep eating…I know, will do. Thank you, Thia,” I said, gesturing to the now empty plate of food, “for everything…for not giving up on me.”

  “My pleasure. Like I said, you are one of my favorites…and you always pay on time,” she said, straight-faced, but I caught the telltale glimmer of humor in her eyes.

  I left feeling heavier with the amount of information I needed to consider, but lighter for having verbalized my feelings and concerns about the beat-down.

  The following night I invited Huntleigh over for a dinner of veal scaloppini and spinach salad with squash, gorgonzola, and garlic-infused olive oil. Beating the crap out of the veal cutlets was incredibly therapeutic and served as my mental preparation for the night’s goal. After dinner, Hunter found a channel broadcasting an MMA match—after only two punches and one kick I was shrieking for Hunter to turn it off, in the midst of a mini-meltdown. After I calmed down and talked with Ev and Hunter, we turned the match back on and I was able to watch about two minutes before needing another time-out. We repeated this process several times until I was able to uncomfortably watch five minutes of the match without losing my marbles. I was shaken and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat anytime soon, but it was enlightening.

  Thia was right—acts of violence, even in the context of sporting events, were a trigger. Too many sensory memories resurfaced and overwhelmed me. It wasn’t the same level of breakdown as the night at The Stop, but I now understood the lesson she wanted me to learn. I was still not prepared to dismiss Griffin’s sheer brutality and absolute loss of control, but I felt better able to compartmentalize the effects of his actions.

  That night I fell asleep alone again, but this time I positioned my pillow parallel to my body, resting my head on it as if it were a person, a man…Griffin.

  I spent the better part of the following week trying to make sense of the mess my life had become. I saw Ev every day at work and while she was as supportive as ever, she refused any inquiry I made regarding Griffin. While Ev declined to give me any details, she was happy, however, to suggest I talk to him, hear him out, cut him some slack, try to see his perspective. Questions to Hunter were met with a simple, “Just talk to him.” Despite myself, I was beginning to feel desperate to know how he was doing. Three weeks after our last contact, fate intervened, answering my questions for me.

  Ev was stuck in a meeting with a supplier and I made a run to the Restaurant Depot in her stead. I was pushing a platform cart loaded with an obscene amount of chocolate and caramel sauces, exiting the aisle, when I nearly crashed into another shopper. As we exchanged the requisite apologies, my eyes saw him frozen a couple aisles down. The way he stared at me, anguish etched across the beautiful face I loved and pure agony radiated from the eyes I’d once lost myself in, broke my heart. I quickly turned back to finish apologizing for my almost collision, but in the second it took to clear my path, Griffin was gone. Had I imagined him? No, even my twisted mind couldn’t have conjured the raw pain openly on display. I was haunted by our almost encounter and began obsessing like an addict.

  When I arrived back at Higher Yearning, I unloaded my car in silence, hauling jug after jug of caramel and chocolate and slamming them into place in the storage room. By the time I was done unloading, my arms ached almost as badly as my head and heart.

  I joined Meg behind the counter and made myself a latte.

  “I’m guessing it would be a bad time to mention I just used the last of the caramel sauce,” Meg said.

  I shot her a death stare.

  “I thought so. I’d go grab one, but I’m afraid of what you might do if a customer tried something crazy like, I don’t know…order a drink.”

  “Someone took her funny pills today,” I said sarcastically.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not according to the chocolate and caramel. I overheard them in the back saying ‘puta es loca,’ and you know chocolate never lies.”

  “Chocolate does not speak Spanish…French maybe,” I argued for the sake of arguing.

  “The earliest records of chocolate are from the Mokaya in Mexico—chocolate definitely speaks Spanish,” she said with triumphant laughter in her voice.

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Chocolate is the great love of my life.”

  “That is either the saddest or smartest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Smartest. Chocolate has never let me down and it’s brought me a lot closer to the elusive-O than any man ever has. Tastes better, too.”

  “Okay, that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, but she made a valid point.

  She shrugged as if unconcerned, which I found impossible to believe.

  “Enough about my love life. What happened?”

  I sighed heavily. “I just saw Griffin at Restaurant Depot and he looked about as good as I felt. He ran off before I could talk to him…not that I’m sure I even wanted to speak with him. I don’t know. Everything is so fucked up.”

  “I understand why you freaked after all you’ve been through, but what is stopping you from working it out now that the drama has mellowed?”

  “How can I trust him not to lose it again? How do I know he won’t hurt me one day?”

  “Do you really think he could ever hurt you? He looks at you like you are the reason he draws his next breath. It is as if he’d do anything for you—even kill to protect you,” she said emphatically. Her point was not lost on me. “I know bad men, Sam…dangerous men. I know men who put themselves before anyone else. I know men who hurt for the sake of hurting. I know the darkness you are so afraid is hiding in Griffin—it’s not there, I’d recognize it.”

  Okaaaaaaaayyyyyy. Happy, sweet, beautiful, easygoing Meg has danced with darkness. You would never suspect, she had no tells. I guess we all have our stories and our demons.

  “Meg, are you—”

  “Oh no you don’t. I’ll tell you my story one day, but you are not redirecting this conversation, lady.” />
  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sorry, I’m not trying to be bossy. But you were so sad and skittish when you first started working here. Then you were so happy you glowed. Now you’re sad and so-not-glowy again. I liked it when he lit you up and made you glow. You deserve happiness after what you’ve been through,” she finished quietly.

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me ask you this—if someone shot Griffin in cold blood and he almost died, then the same son of a bitch was standing in front of you, threatening to do the same thing again, what would you do?”

  “I’d kill the bastard,” I answered instantaneously.

  Meg looked at me expectantly.

  Well damn, I saw her point.

  “I don’t think Griffin sees a distinction between the guy who…hurt you…and your ex. He holds them both responsible. Seeing Robbie forcing himself on you, restraining you, scaring you shitless—it was as if he was there when it all happened. What man worth loving wouldn’t turn into a homicidal maniac when the woman he loves is in that situation? I wouldn’t respect him if he didn’t do everything in his power to protect you, and he sure as hell wouldn’t deserve your love. I’m not in love with you and even I probably would have tried to stab the punk.”

  Blood thirsty, wasn’t she?

  “No one can understand the scars left on your soul, but you can’t believe you are the only one who bears scars from your suffering.”

  She was right. Those closest to me had all been changed; they had all suffered alongside me. It never occurred to me that Griffin was as marred as Hunter and Ev—that he might feel the same depth of grief, regret, bloodlust, and vengeance as they did.

  "Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires." -Francois de La Rochefoucauld

  I didn’t know if I was the strongest man alive or the biggest pussy ever. Maybe both. I had been obsessing over that very question for the past six hours, since the moment I saw Sam at Restaurant Depot…Restaurant-fucking-Depot. For the past three weeks I had taken every possible precaution to avoid her, including painstaking planning and inconvenience, as well as changes to my daily routine to guarantee a run-in didn’t occur. One hasty decision to pick up pickles and all my efforts were wasted. Was there nowhere I could hide from her? I decided to make the Restaurant Depot trip to escape Sam’s ghost that haunted me everywhere I looked at The Stop. I had practically moved into my office, sleeping on the couch because my house was filled with her memory, her scent, her belongings—pieces of her I couldn’t bring myself to let go of and return to her. I was sleeping with her goddamn robe clutched in my hand like a little kid with a teddy bear—I was pathetic. I didn’t deserve those small connections to her. I was only able to justify their comfort because of the pain they brought in equal measure.