A Cross to Bear (3 page)

He was caught, but he showed only a hint of guilt. Soon it was gone, replaced with rage. “You’re tracking my goddamned phone. What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t turn this around. You’re the one cheating.”

“What? Because some dumb-ass website said I was somewhere else? That shit hardly ever works. Just think of what a pain in the ass the GPS in the car is.”

He had a point, but . . .

“Gabs.” He took pensive steps toward her. “Babe—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, throwing up her hands and causing him to halt. “It’s been over ever since Jolene. I guess I was just the last to figure that out.”

“What are you talking about? That was two years ago.” He was closer now, opening his arms to hug her—to control her.

“No!”
She pushed him away as hard as she could, hurting her wrist in the process and hardly budging him.

“Gabs . . .” He had ahold of her now and was pulling her close. “You know I would never do that again.” His hands went from loving to groping in two seconds flat.

“Let me go.” She tried to stay calm, but his grip was like a vice.

One hand held her pressed to his body, the other dove beneath her sweatpants and found her sex. She wiggled around and pressed her thighs together, but his searching fingers found her.

“Let me go!” She thrashed, and all the while, he whispered drunken promises in her ear.

When she dug her nails into his beefy arms, he pushed her hard into the wall. She whacked her head but stayed on her feet. He ignored her and inspected his arms.

“What the fuck, Gabby?”

“You can’t control me just because you’re bigger!” she screamed.

“Oh, but you can make me bleed just because you’re smaller?”

“Just let me leave!”

“God damn it, Gabby! What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have to keep bringing this Jolene shit up all the time?”

Gabby moved before her determination failed her. She darted for the door as fast as she could. Derek lunged for her but missed, and she frantically ran through the living room toward the door. He caught her beside the couch and pushed her hard, causing her to fly forward and skid across the linoleum connecting to the kitchen. Before she could get up, he grabbed her under the waist and, with a heave and a twist, threw her onto the couch. She scrambled and grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and threw it at him. Derek ducked in time and received only a glancing blow. The lamp smashed to the floor behind him.

He flipped her over and fell on top of her back, forcing her face down against the couch. He squeezed her so hard she couldn’t move. His full weight was on her, and his rancid alcohol breath suffocated her. “You think you’re going to divorce me? Take half my shit? Is that what you and that whore sister of yours have planned?”

One of his arms was pressed against the back of her neck, and the other began tearing her pants off. Gabby tried to scream and fight, but Derek held her face so hard against the cushion that it was all she could do just to breathe. He was working himself into a rage now. Her sweatpants came off, and her underwear was torn in half.

“I’ll never let you go. You hear me?”

Derek was maneuvering himself now. She heard his belt unbuckle and felt his weight shift.

“No!” she managed to scream.

He punched her hard in the back of the head.

Everything went black.

***

When she came to, she didn’t know if it had been seconds or hours. He was inside her now, crying. He spoke words of love as he thrust into her slowly. She thrashed and kicked, but she was helplessly pinned.

“Let me go, you sick son of a bitch!”

“
Gabby . . .
” He panted, getting close.

She squeezed her eyes closed and imagined herself far, far away. Anywhere but here beneath him. He tensed and cried out, squeezing her left breast so hard it hurt. When he had emptied himself, he lay on top of her, panting.

He kissing her cheek lovingly. She could feel the heat of his seed inside her and nearly became sick. But she dared not move. Her ears rang, and her head throbbed where he had hit her. It had already been sore from hitting the bedroom wall.

After a time, he finally withdrew. She waited, not moving a muscle. His belt buckle clicked closed, and she heard him stagger to the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed, and a beer cap jingled into the sink.

“You want a beer?” He said it as though nothing had happened.

Gabby broke down then and finally pulled herself up. She found her torn sweatpants and put them on, not caring if there was a hole in the backside.

“I fucking hate you,” she finally erupted.

Derek stood, leaning back against the sink, unable to look her way.

“You hear me, you sick bastard? I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

“Then go!” He threw the bottle at her, but it missed her and smashed the screen on his precious forty-inch TV. “God damn it! Look what you made me do!”

She laughed and cried at the same time, trying hard to find her way across the living room with tear-filled eyes. He didn’t try to stop her. He went to his big screen to survey the damage. When she pushed through the door, he was calling to her. She stepped off the landing and misjudged it, falling hard on the concrete walkway.

“Gabby?”

The voice came from the porch next door. Jim, their neighbor and Derek’s buddy, was staring at her, shocked.

Derek called to her again, and something in the house smashed. She pulled herself up and noted the length of Jim’s cigarette. It was almost gone—he must have heard what had happened.

“Keep him the hell away from me!” she cried.

She ran to the road as the front door burst open. Her hands fumbled in her pockets until they found the keys, and she leaped into her car and slammed the door as Derek came around the driver side with Jim in tow. A commotion started between the two men as Gabby turned the key. Thankfully the ignition didn’t mistake her life for a horror movie—it started on the first turn.

Gabby peeled out and left Derek and the home they had made together behind.

Gabby pulled into Maggy’s driveway and locked every window and door after she got in the house. She peered out the windows in the living room when she was done and then went to Maggy’s room and found her lockbox in the closet. She knew the combination; it was their mother’s birthday. The lid opened to a plethora of small handguns and ammo. Their father had taught them both how to use guns when Gabby was little, but she had never shown the love for firearms that Maggy displayed. Still, she felt better when the .38 Special was pressed cold against her palm.

The shock of what had happened had been drowned by the fear, and now the anger swelled inside her. She began to hope that Derek came through the door. She would empty the clip in his rapist ass and spit on his grave.

Gabby waited, gun aimed at the door. For half an hour she stood there, until her arms ached from holding up the gun and her shakes gave way to shudders. Finally, she slumped to the floor, exhausted.

It was really over . . .

Her anger reared its ugly head once more—anger at herself. There she was, mourning the loss of a man who had just raped her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She slid into another rage then and wanted nothing more than to unload the gun into something, anything! Her body felt dirty. Her hair was a snarled mess. She was pretty sure Derek had pulled some of it out during the assault. She was in desperate need of a hot shower, but she didn’t dare put herself in such a defenseless position.

In the kitchen, the empty wine bottle on the counter distracted her from thoughts of soap and warm water. She went down to the cellar quickly and grabbed the first bottle of wine she saw before running back up again and checking the windows.

In the kitchen, she popped the cork and poured herself a tall glass of Spanish wine. The vodka was in the cupboard. Two shots helped calm her nerves. She glanced at the clock. Still not even noon. When was Maggy supposed to get home?

Then she remembered the police.

She should have already called them. Why hadn’t she? Her phone was in her pocket, along with her mother’s pendant. They were the only possessions she had. Aside from a soiled sweat suit and her car. But she just couldn’t go through all that right now: the bright lights, the forms, getting checked at the hospital, and answering questions for hours. Then the court hearings and tension . . . having to see
him
again and being forced to talk to a bunch of strangers about being violated . . . in detail.

When her glass was empty, she poured another one.

It was going to be a long day.

Her laptop was at the apartment, but Maggy’s sat in the living room by the big bay window, where Gabby would be able to watch the street. She sat her glass on the desk and logged into Gabby Gabby, hoping to pass the time until her sister got home.

There was a knock at the door that made Gabby jump. She clicked out of her blog like she was doing something wrong and whirled around in the swivel chair with her gun held by two hands.

The knocking came again.

She ducked down and peered out the window—a red Jaguar she didn’t recognize was parked in the driveway. It was dark outside, and the light above the door cast a long shadow on the steps.

“Hey, Gabby, it’s me. Uh, the guy from yesterday. Name’s Victor. Maggy sent me. Said you might be stopping by and might have some crazy dick after you.”

Maggy was a lifesaver.

Gabby ran to the door and threw it open, ushering him in quickly. She glanced up and down the street and closed the door.

He threw up his arms when she turned toward him. “Hey! You mind pointing that thing somewhere else?”

“Oh. Sorry,” she said, putting the gun away. “I’m just a little tense.”

“I’ll say. You look like you could use someone to talk to.” Victor walked into the kitchen like he owned the place. He noticed the open wine bottle and gave her a mischievous smirk. “You’ve got the right idea already.”

“Look, have you talked to Maggy? I can’t get her on her cell.”

He shook his head and pulled the cork from the bottle—she couldn’t help but notice how his biceps bulged with the quick effort.

“She won’t answer it until her little date is through. Says it kills the mood.”

“You don’t mind that she’s . . .”

“What? Screwing some dude for money? Babe, if I could make money with my cock, I sure as hell would be.” He poured himself a glass of the good stuff and topped her off.

She didn’t doubt that he could make money with his . . . goods, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“So what happened?”

“Huh?” She snapped herself out of her ponderings.

His smile was award winning.

“Maggy said you might be in some sort of trouble.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She moved to the window and glanced out nervously.

“You can chill. Nobody’s going to get through Sven.”

She turned to him, puzzled. “Sven?”

He stood beside her at the window and pulled back the curtains all the way. Gabby craned her neck to see the front of the house. There was a big-muscled guy in black pants and a white tank top standing on the walkway. Gabby turned to Victor slowly.

“Who the hell are you?”

He laughed and sauntered back to the kitchen to rummage through the cupboards. “Just a spoiled politician’s kid with his own personal detail. You can relax. If that dickless wonder comes here, Sven’ll put him in a body bag. Want a shot?”

She laughed. Sven or not, she felt safe around Victor. “Dickless wonder. You sound like my sister.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Never, as long as I live.”

“Fair enough. You hungry?”

She raised a brow to that. “You cook too?”

He offered her a delicious smirk and grabbed the makings of an omelet out of the refrigerator. “I eat, therefore I cook. But the question is, what goes good with ham and Swiss cheese omelets?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! Mimosa. Aaand . . . we need music.”

He ran over to the computer and gave it a few clicks. As he hurried back to the kitchen to start his cooking, the music began. Gabby couldn’t help a laugh. “Sarah McLachlan?”

He tied off Maggy’s “Kiss the Cook’s Ass” apron and extended his muscled arms wide. “What?”

She could only shake her head and giggle at his absurdity. It felt good to laugh.

For the next ten minutes, she watched him masterfully prepare the food with a passion seldom found in your average rich-boy hunk.

What was she thinking about?

She put down her glass and tried to clear her head. Remembering the danger she was in, she went to the kitchen sink and spread the blinds. Sven was still standing there like a statue.

“How long can he keep that up?”

Victor squeezed by her to toss some eggshells into the sink, and she caught the scent of a well-groomed man.

“At a hundred thousand a year with full benefits, he’ll stay there until he drops. C’mon, watch this.”

He pulled her close.

She was surprised how natural it felt after what she’d been through. His scent was intoxicating. She tried not to breathe him in but found that she couldn’t help it.

“Now a big mistake is to use butter. While awesome, it is completely unnecessary here. Coconut oil works much better. It is soaked up less easily, and tastes just as good.”

He poured the beaten eggs into the pan, and they instantly bubbled. With a shake, he loosened the mixture, causing more bubbles to form in the middle.

“See how the eggs begin to solidify on the edges? Now watch this.” Victor pushed the edges in with his spatula, forming folds in the middle and causing the liquid egg to fill in the empty spots. He lifted the pan and flipped the eggs perfectly. They landed with a satisfying sizzle. “Now we dress!”

Gabby couldn’t help a smile. She tossed on ham, cheese, green peppers, and a pinch of smoked sea salt. Victor gave the pan a shake. Just then the toaster popped up two perfectly browned pieces of peasant bread. “Now this, of course, is where the butter comes in.”