“That’s sad. What she and Jolie went through. Good thing Owen was there to save the day.”
Holland’s head gets swallowed by the palm of his hand as Owen holds her like a fragile piece of glass. “I hope she trusts us soon. She really needs to see a doctor after what has happened to her. I feel terrible that it was someone I knew,” Owen admits in sadness, but Holland’s coos have his lips tilting in a sad smile. He feels guilty.
“It isn’t your fault, Owen. Don’t think for one minute that you are to blame for this. You can’t control other people’s actions. Don’t look to place blame. It doesn’t help anyone, and it sure as hell doesn’t help you or Jolie. You can’t help what your first wife’s brother did. He’s a psycho. Be thankful you’re alive, Jolie is alive, and the girl you found is alive. It sucks for all those other women. It truly does, but just think about all the lives you have saved.” I start to get heated because there’s a part of me that is relating to him. I blame myself for what happened to Grace, but I didn’t commit the crime, did I? No.
But good people always get stuck paying for the dirty deeds of bad people, and it pisses me off.
“Thanks, Heaven. I appreciate that.”
“Anytime, Owen,” I say, still angry for him, for me, for everyone that gets fucked over by crazy people.
“Can you please bring my babies here! My boobs are leaking everywhere because you’re taking your damn time!” Quinn yells down the hall, words clipped and filled with annoyance.
I guess if my boobs leaked every few hours or when a baby cried, I’d be testy too. And I’m sure her nipples are raw from all of the sucking. I lift my hands up and place them over my own man nips. Thinking about it has the worthless beads rubbing against my shirt, throbbing with pseudo-pain.
“What are you doing?” Jaxon asks me.
“I’m thinking about those kids gnawing on my nipples. It hurts.” I rub them, and Jaxon slaps me on the back of the head before walking to the bedroom, where Quinn is waiting. Owen follows, chuckling at me, and all too soon, I’m left in silence.
Usually Julia is here. She and I had a few wild nights in the bedroom. She’s older, but I’m an equal opportunity lover, and she’s a wildcat, but I’m not feeling it anymore. I think she knows, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s why she isn’t around.
That’s alright. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved with her. I was an idiot.
A horny idiot, but an idiot nevertheless.
I close my eyes to get some rest, and that night when I was seventeen replays in my mind like it does every day. I wonder how the Thomas’s are doing since Grace died. She had succumbed to her injuries three days later due to brain damage. I spent six years in prison. I got sentenced as an adult, and no matter how hard my dad’s lawyers tried, they couldn’t get the assault and battery charges to drop since I was covered in her blood.
No one believed me that I said I saw a man leave the room, but that’s okay.
Like Owen, I convinced myself I deserved punishment. I did my time, I got out, but the guilt is still there.
I haven’t been involved with my family since that night. They wanted nothing to do with me. I was the troubled son, the fuck up, the mistake. My parents didn’t visit me. I didn’t get one letter.
Well, that’s not true.
I did get one.
From Heather.
But to this day, I haven’t opened it.
And I won’t.
That’s the past. The last thing I want to do is relive the worst days of my life. I need to let go and move on, but that’s easier said than done.
Two
Heather
The sheets are soft.
I rub my cheek against the Egyptian cotton, letting it soak up the tears. I haven’t been able to stop crying since I got here. I think it’s been a few days. I’m not really sure. I haven’t looked at a clock. I haven’t really spoken to anyone.
I just feel very…
Empty and confused.
Everything on my body hurts. I have bruises, scratches, and dark fingerprints on my thighs; I haven’t been able to look at them. It’s a reminder of what happened. Not that I need reminding. Every time I close my eyes, I see him there, hovering over me, gripping the space between my legs, scratching me with his nails, and spitting on his hand to get me nice and wet.
I can smell him too. If I think hard enough, he’s here, his soured whiskey breath huffing on my face as he grins at me, his yellow teeth rotted, and the insane gleam in his eyes as he believed I really wanted him.
No matter how many times I shower, I can’t scrub hard enough to get him off me. He’s in my skin. He has made himself at home in my bones. My soul is tainted, broken, and I’m used. I’m damaged goods now.
I’m dirty now.
I grab the pillow in my hands and shove it over my face, sobbing uncontrollably. I know I need to be strong. I know I need to get over it, but how? I don’t know how when every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Jolie’s boyfriend saved me, but saved me to what capacity? I’m just here. I’ll never know the woman I knew before I got kidnapped while visiting my sister’s grave. I wasn’t happy that day; I never am when I go to visit Grace, but life was good.
I was six months away from getting my master’s degree. Six-months. All that hard work, all the hours studying, all of the late-night phone calls with my dad to try and understand what the hell I was doing, and for what?
Because the thought of leaving this bed is too much. It’s safe here. I never want to open the door to the outside world again. This bed is warm, it is comfortable, it is safe. No one can hurt me here.
I turn over onto my back and wipe my cheeks with my hands, staring at the ceiling as if the fan has all the answers. The blades spin and the air conditioning comes on, letting the temperature of the room drop to freezing, which I love because I can cuddle in the blanket.
“Heather?” Jolie’s calls for me from the other side of the bedroom door that I keep locked. I don’t trust anyone. I don’t think I ever will. “I brought food. I thought you’d be hungry and some orange juice. That sounds good, right?”
I stay silent, curling up in the bed, and turn on my right side. I look out the window, watching the fog get thinner as the sun rises through the trees and peeks through the clouds. The waves crash against the rocks, creating a beautiful lullaby, and the seagulls sing to one another as they wake up.
I’m thankful I’m staring at such a gorgeous view with trees that disappear into the sky instead of a dirty, blood ridden floor and rusted stirrups.
“He’s dead. He’s dead,” I say out loud to myself, so I can hear the words on an exhaled breath. “He can’t hurt you here. You’re safe.” I clutch the down feather pillow and hug it to my chest.
“And then maybe after you eat, I can call the doctor for you? You really need to be checked out and make sure everything is okay,” Jolie says gently, sighing as she waits for me to say something.
I’m too tired to speak, and I don’t care about what the doctor finds or what they have to say. A part of me wants to die. I’ve never felt like this before. I have had an easy life, privileged, up until my sister died, and even after that, I had everything I wanted because my parents felt like they had to give me more. I am their only daughter now. They wanted to give me the world.