Better Than Okay (15 page)

“Like you’ve become one with the atmosphere,” Brian teased.

“Well, we do have Cherokee in our blood,” Tori called from the
kitchen, “on your grandma’s side.”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Destiny didn’t
even know she could hear from in there. Dorian smirked and picked up the remote
control, flicking the TV on.  

“Can’t believe ya’ll don’t have the game on.”

He shot Brian a look of disappointment and sat down on the floor
with his back against the futon. Tori came back in the living room and handed
him a plate. She took a seat on the other side of Tweet on the futon, balancing
her plate on her lap. They all bowed their heads automatically and grabbed
hands to say grace like they always did when they were together with any of
their parents.

“I’ll say it,” Brian volunteered as Dorian released Destiny’s hand
to mute the TV.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for the food that Aunt Tori took the
time to cook. We ask that it be nourishment to our bodies. We ask for your
peace to be over each of our lives. And we thank you for the grace and love
that you continually extend to us, even as we deal with things that we don’t
necessarily understand. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”

Tori beamed at Brian and Dorian flicked the TV back on. Brian
squeezed Destiny’s hand as she gazed up at him, not quite knowing what to feel.
They settled back onto the futon and Destiny picked listlessly at her food.

“I’ve been trying to talk Destiny into coming back home with me,”
Tori said abruptly.

She glanced at Dorian then at Brian. Destiny’s head snapped up and
she stared at her.

“I really think you should come home,” Tori said, looking at her.

Destiny frowned and shook her head, studying the uneaten food on
her plate. “I live here, mom,” she finally said.

 
She didn’t know why
she chose to bring this up in front of Dorian and Brian, like they were going
to agree with her. Or had any say in her decision.

“I know you don’t want to leave your job, but you can always get a
job in Phoenix. Last week I saw a new magazine in the gas station… it was a
music magazine or something and…”

“Mom,” Destiny said gently, but firmly. “I live here.”

Tori looked over at Dorian but he was pretending to study the TV,
then she glanced at Brian.

“If you’re asking what we think, we don’t want her to leave,”
Brian finally said, meeting Tori’s eyes. “
I
don’t want her to leave.”

The way he said it made warmth spread throughout her body and she
dropped her head, studying her food. Tori looked at Destiny then back to Brian
and sighed.
 

“I know,” Tori said.

No one had mentioned her and Brian’s relationship. On the outside
nothing had really changed much anyway, but Destiny knew her mom and Dorian
noticed something had shifted. She was glad they hadn’t pressed her about it. She
didn’t know what to tell them if they did. They never had a chance to talk
after she left Dorian’s place that night, and now everything was different. She
was too numb and generally messed up to even think about being in a serious
relationship. Brian deserved better.

“I can’t run, Mom,” she said quietly.
 

Tori stared at her, tears welling her eyes. They didn’t fall
though.

“I know,” she said again.

They looked at each other for a second. Finally, Tori took a bite
of her pasta and focused on the TV and Dorian put a hand on her shoulder and
rubbed it. Brian reached for Destiny’s hand again, and this time brought it to
his lips. He kissed the inside of her palm.

 
Her mom didn’t bring
Phoenix up again for the rest of the night. The tension eventually faded and
they talked and laughed and shared stories about growing up and everything felt
sort of normal—for a couple of hours, anyway.
 
Brian never did let go of her hand.

Chapter
11

Tuesday, 8:45 p.m.

I
went to work again today. I’ve been back for three weeks now and nothing has
changed. But everything has changed, for me at least. I’ve learned to control
my thoughts at work. I just focus on trying to be numb. It usually works. But I
still dodge covering any concerts. So far, Gabe hasn’t sweated me about it. He
did ask me about the Roc D concert. He wondered if I went. I lied and told him
I never made it. It sucks.
Kind of like writing in this
journal.
Vanessa made me take one at group counseling. She says it will
help us “come to terms with what happened.” She actually said, “
come
to terms with what happened” like we were in the middle
of a fucking Lifetime special. She thinks that because I’m a professional
writer I especially should understand just how cathartic this journal is. I
guess because it’s
free church
counseling they
couldn’t afford a more equipped psychologist because that’s bullshit. It’s not
like I’m going to be writing poetry, or deep philosophies about the meaning of
life in here. I’m writing about being raped. And writing about Connor Dorsey is
bullshit. He doesn’t deserve the ink in this $7 pen I stole from work today.
Fuck. I hate being so angry. I hate being scared every time I drive by a
fucking parking lot.
I fucking
HATE HIM. I wish I
could stab him in the eye over and over and over and over and over and over and
over and over again with this $7 pen. Fuck. My hand hurts now. And I just
wrote, “fuck” at least 20 times. On second thought, that was fucking cathartic.
This is bullshit.

She tossed the pen and plain beige journal on her bed and rolled
over onto her back, studying the ceiling as she released a breath. She tried
not to think about him. Tried not to think about why God had let this happen to
her. She was failing miserably.

The apartment was silent and it seemed like every creak it made
was magnified by a thousand. In the three weeks since her mom had left, she’d
gone out of her way to make sure she didn’t have to be left alone with her
thoughts very often. She took extra work home. She’d reached out to all of her
freelance contacts and took on as many extra assignments as she could, which
honestly wasn’t a lot. She’d even agreed to start blogging for a terrible
startup music and culture site that wasn’t even paying her, just to have some
busy work.

And she’d started a self-defense class at the YMCA around the
corner from her apartment complex. For just five-dollars a class she was
learning exactly what she wished she would’ve known that night. Brian had
actually told her about the class although he always joked he shouldn’t have
because now she could probably kick his ass. It’d only been about a week, so
she knew that wasn’t even remotely possible, but it made her feel better in a
weird way.

She’d also started practicing yoga. Raven kept insisting on its
never-ending wonders, so she started going to a class Lina from work had
suggested on Mondays and Thursdays.

It had taken her an entire week to tell Raven about what happened
but she felt sort of obligated to share it with her. She knew something was up
anyway, when she kept calling and getting no answer. Finally, Tori had answered
the phone and Raven really started freaking out. Destiny knew she had to stop
dodging her then. She of course cried, and Destiny had listened patiently.
Eventually Dorian had taken the phone and talked to her. That seemed to calm
her down. When she talked to her again she didn’t bring up that night, she just
kept going on and on about how relaxing and freeing yoga was.

 
She actually really
enjoyed it, to her surprise. The teacher was older than Madonna, but was as
limber as an eighteen year-old. Destiny was mildly ashamed at her own lack of
flexibility, but the stretching wasn’t really what she liked most about it
anyway. It was the peace, the unforced calm. When she was doing yoga, it didn’t
hurt to close her eyes. She didn’t see him.

But she wasn’t doing yoga now. And the memories were slamming
against the walls in her mind, invading her. A month had passed, but the
unwanted thoughts were still coming with almost the same frequency and
intensity. She just wanted it to stop. She tried to think of something else,
anything. She squeezed her eyes shut.

It hurt, it hurt so badly and he
wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop thrusting into her again, and again even though
her body was physically rejecting him.

She opened her eyes, her stomach churning. She jumped up and ran
into the bathroom, shedding her clothes before she even closed the door. She
turned on the shower and stepped in, releasing a breath she didn’t even realize
she was holding, until the stream of water starting beating down on her skin.
It wasn’t even totally warm yet but she didn’t care. She grabbed her washcloth
and started scrubbing.

She was only on her second scrub when she heard someone knocking
at the door. She figured it was probably Dorian. She quickly rinsed off and
wrapped herself in a towel. Still dripping, she walked quickly into the living
room and peered through the peek hole.

“I gotta get dressed,” she squeaked as soon as she swung the door
open. Brian had barely stepped in and she was already darting back down the
hallway, into the bathroom. She heard the new Esperanza Spalding album pouring
through the small speakers in her living room as she quickly dried off and
pulled on sweats and a tank top. The bruises on her body were gone now, but she
still felt better in sweats.

“Hey,” she greeted him when she walked back into the living room.

He looked up from his phone and smiled in a way that made her
blood rush and the pit of her stomach tighten.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes traveling quickly over her.

“Hey,” she said again, grinning.

“
Come’ere
.”

He smiled, beckoning her with a head nod. She crossed the room and
sat down next to him, pulling her legs up under her. He was wearing a t-shirt
and sweats too, like he usually did when he came over her house after work. His
laptop bag was on the floor next to him, which meant that he probably had work
to do. He’d actually told her he wasn’t going to be able to come by tonight
because he needed to finish a project. She felt a pang of guilt because she
knew that he felt responsible for her and she hadn’t done anything to deter
that notion.

He came by to check on her almost every day. But to be honest,
besides her self-defense class and yoga, it was the only thing she really
looked forward to. She didn’t want to stop him.

“So how are you today, cutie pie?” he asked.

She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“I’m fine. How was work?”

He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Long.”

She frowned, studying him.

“Stop looking like that, I’m good,” he said, cocking a half-grin
at her that made her pulse race. He let his eyes travel over her again. “How
many showers today?” he asked, keeping his tone light even though his eyes were
serious.
She looked away. “Just three,” she said finally.

He nodded but said nothing else about it. “I brought you a pita
from Marsita’s,” he said, referencing her favorite restaurant. “Dorian said you
didn’t meet him for lunch today so I figured you didn’t eat.”

He was right, as usual. Her stomach grumbled as if it heard him
and he laughed. He got up and headed toward the kitchen.

“I can get it,” she said, following him.

“Who said I was getting your food?” he asked, smiling as he got
down two plates.

She pushed his shoulder and turned to get a couple of glasses out
of the cupboard.

“Wine?” she asked, pulling out the red blend that Gabe had given
to her at work earlier that day.

An advertiser had sent a few samples to the office and he’d
discreetly let her take one. He nodded and finished stacking their food onto
the plates while she popped the cork and poured the wine.

“I’m glad you’re here, Brian,” she said abruptly.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
 
“I’m glad you’re here, Destiny,” he
grinned.

She shook her head and smiled softly. “I’m being serious,” she
replied, pushing the cork into the bottle.

“I am, too.”

She bit her lip and looked at him. His eyes trailed to her mouth.
His fingers twitched and he looked like he wanted to touch her, but he balled
his fists and kept them at his sides.
 
She released a breath and picked up their wine glasses.

“Soggy pitas are gross,” she said, trying to lighten the mood
again as she headed back into the living room.

He followed behind her. “You know what’s even grosser? Slathering
mayonnaise all over a chicken pita to make it soggy in the first place,” he
teased her.

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “So, I think tonight we should
watch
Purple Rain
,” she said as soon
as they were situated comfortably on the futon.

They’d been watching movies together for the past week. A couple
of times she’d even fallen asleep. She didn’t dream at all either of those
times.

“Again?” he asked, frowning. “That movie is pretty terrible.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You lie!”

He chuckled. “Okay, the acting is pretty terrible. Which makes the
movie pretty terrible by default.”

She stared at him like he’d grown horns. “Take it back.”

“Nah.” He looked at her and smirked.

“Prince is probably the most talented musician of this generation,”
she argued.

He shrugged, biting into his pita. “We’re not talking about his
musical talent, we’re talking about his acting ability.”

She rolled her eyes. “Prince is hot.”

He smirked again. “Sorry to burst your bubble, love, but he’s also
pretty gay, so I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be into you.”

She shook her head and took a small bite, covering her mouth as
she chewed.

“He is so not gay. Artistic? Okay. Gay? No. Besides he was
married, more than once.”

“And that means, what exactly?” He shot her a look. “Ass-less
pants? High heels? Shrieking and humping microphones? A female alter ego? Gay.”

He took a sip of his wine.

“Whatever, we’re watching
Purple
Rain
,” she said definitively, daring him to deny it.

He grinned and shrugged, then brushed his finger down the tip of
her nose. “Whatever you want, cutie pie.”

“Yay!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “And stop calling me
‘cutie pie.’”

He chuckled. “I think you like it.”

She grinned and hit play on the DVD. “I actually kinda do,” she
admitted.

“Exclamation point.”

*
* *

“See, that right there is why Prince is sexy as hell,” Destiny
said, glancing over at Brian.

He stared blankly at the television screen and then looked at her.
“He’s playing the guitar.”

“I know, and it’s hot,” she said, grinning.

She didn’t know whether it was the good food that she was actually
able to finish, the nearly empty bottle of wine or Brian, but she hadn’t been
this relaxed since that night.

“So he’s hot because he’s playing the guitar?”

She relaxed completely against the futon and turned her head to
look at him.

“Yes.”

“You never said that about me all of those times I played the
guitar for you,” he pointed out, with a crooked grin.

“You never played with your shirt off.”

He laughed and relaxed against the cushion too, stretching out his
long legs. He’d finally closed his laptop about an hour into the movie, which
meant he was probably behind at work. She felt bad about it, but not bad enough
to tell him she didn’t need him to come over, which made her feel even worse.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, turning his head to look
at her.

“You,” she answered softly.

She studied him, watching his chest rise and fall a bit quicker as
his breathing increased under her gaze. She wanted to tell him how he was the
only person she completely connected with lately. That he was the best part of
her day. That with his crooked grin and thoughtful eyes he’d morphed into the
personification of comfort for her. That he felt like home.

“You know on the nights when you stay really late I don’t have
nightmares,” she said instead.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. She let her eyes travel
slowly over his face, the light from the TV illuminating his features. She took
in the shape of his lips, the stubble that marked the hard line of his jaw
before settling on her favorite feature, his eyes and those unbelievably long
eyelashes. He was watching her look at him, and the want in his eyes was
unmistakable. Before she had time to think about it, she leaned over and
pressed her lips to his.