In Control (The City Series) (21 page)

When I stepped out of the shower, I dried myself off, taking my time with each part of my body, getting every last water droplet. I secured the towel around me and went on to brush my hair, paying special attention to the tiny knots that formed when it got wet. I squirted some styling cream into my palm, which must have also been Ashley’s since she was the only other person with curly hair in the house. The cream smelled like lavender, and I couldn’t help but keep sniffing my hair after applying it. I decided to leave my hair down today, which I rarely did. I dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt that said
Hello, Brooklyn.
I’d found it last year at the Goodwill Mrs. Henderson worked at and was so happy when she agreed to buy it for me. It was on clearance, so only cost her 79 cents.

I looked at myself in the mirror, pleased with my reflection. My hair hung down in thick tendrils around my face. The bruises underneath my clothing were dark, but I was happy they could be hidden. Even though I didn’t know what to expect when I met with Porter today, I still felt hopeful.

I arrived ten minutes early to see that he had the same idea. As soon as I walked in through the back door, Porter ran up to meet me, stopping just inches from my face.

“Hi,” he said nervously. He smiled but then straightened his expression.

“Hello,” I replied. I was also nervous, not sure if I should reach out and hug him. I wanted to hold his hand, nuzzle into his side and forget all about what happened the day before.

“Listen,” he started. “I’m sorry about getting mad yesterday, I just—”

“I’m sorry too,” I cut in. “I didn’t mean to stop you. I didn’t mean to make such a mess...literally.”

Porter laughed and I joined in. Our eyes met and I knew that we were back on track. All was forgotten, and I was thankful that he had forgiven me. He reached out for my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle.

“I love you, Kingsley.”

His declaration gave me the ammunition I needed to jump into his arms. I wasn’t usually this forward, but hearing those words come from Porter’s mouth was sweeter than any dessert I’d ever tasted. I pressed my body against his, not fearing the outcome. I didn’t expect Porter to push me away, and when he did, I looked at him, confusion wracking my brain.

“I have a surprise for you.”

He took my hand and led me into the room we usually sat in, only it wasn’t so empty. There was a blanket spread out on the ground, a candle lit off to the side, and our flasks sitting next to the candle. I looked over at him, waiting for him to explain what was going on. Porter just smiled and sat down on the comforter, pulling me down with him.

I bent forward, needing to kiss him. I wanted to lay here on the blanket with him all day and never stop kissing him. Today I would shut out all of the awful images and only focus on this moment. My hands moved to Porter’s back and I pulled him closer toward me.

“Wait,” he said, pulling away. “I brought our flasks. Let’s have a drink first.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t need a drink. All I wanted to do was show him how much I loved him, to prove to him that I could be like every other girl on the planet. He handed me my flask, then brought his to his mouth. I watched as Porter took one large sip and swallowed it down, a smile forming on his lips. I followed, knowing that I didn’t want any whiskey, but also knowing that he would insist I drink with him. That’s the way it had been since we started in the beginning of the school year. We drank until our vision blurred, then we’d sit side by side, hold hands, and talk about the future. Most of the time, I’d just listen to Porter talk, taking in every piece of information I could.

I took two small sips and put down the flask, wishing he’d do the same. I enjoyed drinking, but lately it had become tiresome. Porter enjoyed it more than me, and because of that fact, I endured what I had to in order to be around him.

“I think I want to be an engineer,” Porter blurted out.

“A few days ago you said you wanted to be an athletic scout. Did you change your mind already?”

Porter’s cheeks were more rosy than usual and the way he was gulping his drink, I knew he’d had much more than me.

“I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that, right?” he said bitterly.

Another long sip and I knew his flask was now empty.

“Of course,” I answered.

“Aren’t you going to finish yours?” He pointed to the container sitting next to me.

“I’m not very thirsty.”

Porter rolled his eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I guess,” he mumbled.

“Why do we always have to drink? I mean, why can’t we just talk like we used to?”

“We have access to all the alcohol we want. Why wouldn’t we drink?”

Our alcohol source was the same homeless man that Porter hit up the day we picked our after school hobby. The man sat at the same spot every day and now considered Porter his best friend. Porter must have spent a fortune between paying for the alcohol and also giving the man a bonus, but told me he didn’t mind because it was something fun we did together. I didn’t think his parents suspected a thing, because he told them that he needed the money for different things going on at school. Football fees, new school supplies, buying new books from the store on different subject matters—Porter gave excuse after excuse and, because his parents trusted him, they believed it.

It wasn’t so easy for me. When I didn’t tutor younger kids at the library, which was now a legitimate excuse, I drank with Porter. I’d stay with him in the abandoned building until 6:45, then sneak into the Hendersons’ and immediately run down stairs. I never drank too much that I couldn’t walk or talk, but I always left Porter feeling really good, like courage only appeared after the alcohol cleansed my insides.

My thoughts ran to last night and how sore my body still was from the event. I’d found that alcohol did a really good job at numbing my pain, and because I was in so much today, I decided to drink my entire container. As I downed it, I coughed, but forced myself to swallow the contents.

“Atta girl.” Porter bent forward and kissed me, giving more affection than he had since I arrived.

My stomach was warm and it took only seconds for me to feel more at ease. I grabbed onto his collar and pressed my lips to his, feeling the same sensation I’d felt when we were in his room yesterday. He guided me onto my back, and this time when he pressed his body against mine, I didn’t become sick.

It’s been months since the night
it
happened. Mr. Henderson hadn’t tried coming into the basement again, and every time we ended up in the same room, he avoided my eyes at all costs. I wasn’t sure if he felt bad (I doubted he did), but I was thankful the nightmare wasn’t a recurring one. Being with Porter, kissing him and feeling his touch, eased those dark memories enough for me to move on from that horrible night.

Not completely, but enough.

“Is this okay?” Porter asked, moving his hands up my shirt.

I nodded. Whenever the ugly images tried working their way into my thoughts, I kissed Porter harder, discovering that his lips had the power to expel every one of them. His hands moved across my stomach, gliding over each bruise and stopping at the top of my jeans. He studied my face, and I nodded again, allowing him to continue his exploration. Instead of remembering how Mr. Henderson touched me, I’d be rewarded with knowing how it felt when Porter did it.

Porter reached into his bag that sat off to the side and grabbed what I knew to be a condom. I stared at the ceiling as he put it on, telling myself whatever was necessary to not change my mind.

He loved me and I wanted to do this.

Using the blanket to mask our bodies, I was able to hide myself enough that Porter couldn’t see the black and blue marks on my skin. He didn’t even try peeking under the blanket, always keeping his eyes focused on mine. Until the day came that he saw me completely undressed, I could pretend that I wasn’t covered in bruises.

Our bodies met and the comfort of his warm skin kept me from wanting to push him off.

I didn’t mind those few minutes. I thought if I were to have sex again, my body would shut down. I thought I’d cry throughout the entire thing, because that’s what I did with Mr. Henderson. But none of that happened. Porter was gentle. He didn’t hold me down or whisper dirty things in my ear.

In those few minutes, I felt like my body was actually being worshiped and not brutalized.

“You were what?”

Shock laced his voice. Wren’s eyes were glued on mine, his chest heaving up and down, and when I looked at his hands, they were clutched into tight fists.

I walked into his bedroom, dodging past the suitcase on the ground, and sat next to him. Before speaking again, I took two calming breaths, closing my eyes with each one.

Wren scooted his body closer to me, taking my hands in his. “When did it happen? Who did it? Did it happen when you were living in the foster home with all those other kids?”

His interrogation made the palms of my hands sweat and I pulled them out of his grasp. I shouldn’t have told him if I didn’t want to reveal everything, but I couldn’t say Mr. Henderson’s name out loud. I didn’t think I could go over every last detail without wanting to throw myself off a cliff. I swallowed back my tears, forcing my eyes to stay open. If I closed them, the images would feel too real again. I concentrated on the guitar sitting in the corner of Wren’s room. I counted the strings at least a dozen times before feeling Wren’s hand on my knee.

“Kingsley, please,” he urged, his voice hoarse with emotion, “let me help you.”

I looked down at his hand and started counting the blue veins beneath his skin. He knew I was avoiding his questions, but he also knew that if he wanted me to open up, he had to allow me to do it on my own time. We sat in silence for a few more minutes before I was able to speak again.

I turned to face him. “I need you to know that sometimes when I drink too much, these horrible images from my past flood my brain,” I started. “They flood them to the point where I feel like I’m drowning.”

Wren took my hands in his again, this time keeping a firm grasp on them. He searched my eyes for clarification.

“It happened one time—”

“One time is enough,” Wren interrupted.

“It happened one time, in the middle of the night. My foster parent, Mr. H—” I stopped myself before speaking
his
name. I felt bile rise in my throat, aware that I wouldn’t be able to say it. “
He
told me it was my punishment for being so pretty.” I wasn’t able to keep the tears at bay any longer. I never recounted this memory, because all it did was bring on pain and anger. It made me feel like I was out of control.

Wren pulled me into his body, whispering his apologies. I placed my ear to his chest, the melodic pulse of his heart remedied my broken one.

“The entire time it was happening, I didn’t try moving,” I continued, speaking so softly I could hardly hear myself over the pounding of memories in my ears. “I
couldn’t
move; I didn’t speak. I hummed.” I shook my head, feeling the pain from that night resurface. “He was too strong to push away, Wren. The entire time all I was thinking was why me? Why did he
only
do it to
me
?”

I was crying in a way Wren had never seen. Throughout our relationship, he’d witnessed me secretly cry over a sappy commercial or movie, but I always denied it ever happened. As I sat there on his bed though, I wept without shame. I sobbed. I let go.

Wren wiped away my tears, hanging on my every word. Each description made his jaw clench, and I knew he was holding in his anger.

I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, but it was no use. “After it was all over, I immediately moved off of the bed. I couldn’t bear to feel the fibers stick to me. I couldn’t handle breathing in his scent leftover on my sheets. I lay face down on the concrete, completely exposed. I was relieved that it was over, but at the same time, it felt like he was still there, all over me, under my skin like a parasite.”

I was hyperventilating. I tried taking in deep breaths, but wasn’t able to. The more I tried, the worse it became. Wren quickly ran out of the room, saying something about the kitchen. I remained on his bed, my chest heaving in pain, as tears continued to stream down my face.

When he returned, he held up a brown paper bag, forcing the opening over my mouth and nose. “Breathe in and out,” he ordered.

I took a breath in and out, the bag collapsing and filling with each one. I did this several times until my breathing seemed to go back to normal.

“K, I’m here for you,” Wren said, sitting back down and taking my hand in his. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, and I now understand why you’re so closed off. It makes sense.”

I wanted to tell him that what happened that night when I was thirteen turned me into a different person. My innocence, the only thing I felt was truly mine, was ripped from my hands. The innocence could never be replaced, but it made me a stronger woman. I learned from it and ever since then, a man has never used my body for his own pleasure.