Pieces of Me (16 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Winter
break is quiet. I use the time to settle into my apartment, and I find a job at
a locally owned bookstore not far from my new apartment. Luckily the job gives
me something to occupy my time, and keep me from gong insane in the stillness
of my new place.

It's
an older couple who own the store and they pretty much let me write my own
hours, and when business is slow I have access to an unlimited supply of books.

I
had moved out of the dorm the week before finals began. The atmosphere in our
room had become strained to say the least. Grace had been incredibly hurt by my
moving out so suddenly, and coming so quickly on the heels of breaking up with
Cole, it appeared to be the final straw.

The
final two weeks of my U.S. History class were torture. Cole and Robby had
shifted seats, moving several rows down and several seats over. I had known it
was coming, but it still hurt. I found myself watching the back of his head
more than the professor.

He
never looked in my direction.

Not
once.

Robby
would smile at me every day, but he never spoke to me either. I wished I could
go back, wished I could make a different decision. Either to tell him the truth
regardless of how it might change his feelings for me, or to keep him at arm’s
length entirely, like I had originally planned.

As
my father had mentioned I couldn't be happy at home, but now I was terribly
afraid that I had ruined any hope for happiness here.

The
day before spring semester was to begin, I flipped through a book on
photography while keeping a loose eye on the few customers that milled around
the store. I was taken off guard by the sudden appearance of Ally.

“Delaney?”

I
glanced up to find her standing in front of me in her soft pink nurse scrubs.
Her pretty red hair pulled back away from her freckled face in a loose pony
tail.

“Ally.”
I close the photography book. “How are you?”

Her
eyes dart away from me and to the door of the store before sliding back again.

“I'm
good,” she answers. I slide off the stool I'd set behind the counter. “You?”

She
looks nervous, and her eyes slide away again just at the door opens and Cole
steps through. He holds the door open, not even glancing in our direction, as
he waits for someone behind him to come in. I feel my stomach clench the moment
red nail polish Beth steps in behind him.

I
jerk my eyes away, back to Ally, who looks apologetic.

“I
didn't know you worked here now,” she says softly. “He's helping me plan
Holden's surprise birthday party.”

“It’s
fine,” I say through clenched teeth, even though I want to scream.

“We’ll
be in the coffee shop; you don't run that do you?”

I
shake my head, thankful that the coffee shop next door is not part of the
bookstore, even though the wall between the two stores is open so you can move
from one to the other.

“Hey,
Al, you re--” His voice cuts off the moment his eyes land on me behind the
counter.

“Delaney.”

Oh,
God. It's good to hear his voice, even with the added layer of ice. “Hello,
Cole.”

He
turns to Ally without saying another word to me. “I'll grab us a table.”

He
walks away, and Beth smirks at me before hurrying to catch up with him, linking
her arm through his. The sight of them touching is like a physical blow, and
I'm afraid I'm going to be sick.

“They
aren't together.”

“What?”
I look to Ally.

“Cole
and Beth,” she says, softly. “They aren't together.”

I
shrug one shoulder. “It doesn't matter. Let me know if you need help with
anything in the store.”

I
hurry away, practically running to the back room so I don't have to watch them.
It doesn't matter that they aren't together. Hell, it doesn't matter that we
aren't together. He let her touch him.

And
all I can do is huddle in the tiny back room and cry.

**********************

It
doesn't get easier. I keep thinking it’s going to, but every day feels exactly
like the day I let him walk away. I make myself get up in the mornings and make
the motions required to make it through the day. I've been down this road
before.

Oh,
maybe not for this reason, not for a broken heart, but the pain mixed in with
the numbness is something I am familiar with.

It's
over a month into the spring semester and I've found a routine that works for
me. And I’ve fallen madly in love with May Baker and her husband, Cliff. They
are the older couple who own the book store, and they have taken me into their
lives like I have been there all along. So I find myself spending the majority
of my time at the store, even when I'm not working. They let me sit in the tiny
back room and read books, and it gives me the illusion of not being alone.

“She’s
back.”

I
glance up as Cliff clomps into the back room. His hair is gray and balding and
the top of his head gleams in the overhead fluorescent lighting. He has dark
brown eyes that wrinkle at the corner, and those wrinkles pull down into others
along his face.

He's
dressed in khakis with a white button down shirt tucked neatly into the pants
and a pair of bright red suspenders. He has quite the collection of suspenders.

“Who?”
I tuck a piece of paper into my World History textbook and fold it closed.

“That
hussy looking girl.”

His
words bring a small smile to my face. I never said a word, but both he and May
picked up on my dislike of Beth, who has made it her mission in life to rub
whatever sort of relationship she has with Cole in my face, every chance she
gets.

While
Cole himself has not been back into the store in the last four weeks, Beth has
made it her personal stomping ground. She sits in the coffee shop either on the
phone with one of her friends, or on occasion they join her in person, and
discuss Cole at great length. And loudly.

It
makes me sick to my stomach every time I hear his name cross her overly painted
lips. But I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing it get to me.

“Well,
she brings a steady stream of business with her.” I point out reasonably.

“Screw
the business,” he mutters. “You should let us ban her.”

I
raise one eyebrow. “You can do that?”

“Of
course we can, it's our place. We can refuse to serve anyone we'd like, and I'd
like to refuse her.”

I
shake my head, shifting in the chair. “It's fine, let her keep coming in. She
doesn't bother me.”

“Well
now, that's just bullshit.”

Cliff
sits in the other chair in the small room and studies me with those intense
brown eyes. “You can't lie to me girl. You aren't that good at it. Every time
that girl walks in the door you flinch.”

“Do
I really?”

I
hope she wasn't seeing that I thought, frowning.

“You
do, and whoever this Cole fella is, he’s a moron if he chose that girl over
you.”

He
leans back in the chair, the springs creaking with the movement.

“He
didn't. Choose her, I mean. I practically gave him to her.” I shake my head.
“It doesn't matter either way. You banning her would just give her the
satisfaction of knowing she got to me.”

“It
does matter.”

“What?”

He
tilts forward in the chair again, leaning in closer to me. “It does matter if
he chose you. If it bothers you this much to hear her talk about him then
obviously you care for him. Why'd you give him away?”

“What
are you, Dr. Phil?”

“No,”
Cliff smirks. “I'm just older and wiser than you. You've got unhappy written
all over you girl, and if it’s because you told this guy no then maybe you
shouldn't have told him no.”

“It
isn’t that simple.”

“Well,
now that's bullshit too. It is that simple. He makes you happy?”

“Yes.”
I say with no hesitation.

“Then
why in the hell would you make yourself miserable by turning him away? That
just seems stupid to me.”

I
shake my head, “He doesn't think I trust him. There was something about myself
that I couldn't tell him.”

“You
kill somebody?”

I
strangle on a laugh. “No, no I didn't.” Although I had pictured doing so a
million and one times.

“Then
tell him.” He leans back in his chair again. “You control your happiness,
Delaney, but if this guy contributes to it then you need to do whatever it
takes to keep him. Life sucks, so make it suck a little less. Tell him.”

Chapter Twenty

Hours
later I couldn't get his words out of my head. What if it was that simple? Didn’t
not telling him and losing him make me if not miserable? But wouldn't telling
him and having him turn me away hurt just as much?

Either
way I would have lost him.

But
what if I didn’t?

What
if I told him and he still wanted to be with me? I wouldn't know for sure
unless I told him, and just because everyone else had looked at me with pity in
their eyes, or turned away because they didn't know what to do or say, didn't
mean that Cole would do the same.

And
if he did, I would be no worse off than I am now.

But
would he listen to me? He had said we were over the moment he walked out the
door so maybe I had already lost whatever chance I had.

I
had to find out.

Which
explained why I was standing in front of his townhouse in the middle of the
night in the pouring rain. I had driven here in a mental haze, unsure really of
how I had managed to make it in one piece. The rain dripped down my face,
soaking my hair and clothes causing both to stick against my body.

I
had knocked on the door and rang the bell several times, but it didn't look
like anyone was going to answer the door. I knew if I stood there much longer
trying to will the door open my teeth were going to start chattering.

Just
as I turned, arms crossed under my chest, and headed for the car, the porch
light flipped on and the door swung open. Cole stood on the other side, clad
only in a pair of dark gray athletic shorts, with his hair scattered messily
around his face.

“Delaney?
What are you doing here?”

“Is
she here?” I know he has to strain to hear my whispered question.

“Who?”
He runs a hand through his hair, then down the side of his face. “It's fucking
freezing outside, Delaney, and raining. What are you doing?”

“Is
Beth here?”

“Beth?
Why the hell would Beth be here? Is that seriously what you're knocking on my
door at two in the morning to ask me?”

“No.
I mean, not the only reason. She really isn't here? She talks about spending
the night with you all the time.”

“Then
she’s lying, Delaney, not that it's really any of your business. You made your
choice.”
Oh, God. He wasn't going to let me explain. I had lost my chance with him.

He
studies me for a moment longer before he says, “Is that all you needed? I'd
like to get back to bed.”

“I
was raped.”

The
words slip out in a whispered rush before I can think about silencing them. It
is only the second time that I have ever said the words out loud and the weight
of them hangs heavy between us. The rain is picking up, the drops slipping down
over me as I watch his face carefully, holding my breath as I see the words
sink in. He closes his eyes, just briefly, and when he opens them again they
burn bright with understanding.

He
pulls the door open a little further. “Come out of the rain. You're going to
get sick.”

I
step into the townhouse, my arm brushing against the solid warmth of his chest
before I stop in the small entryway. I stand there, dripping on the linoleum
floor, arms still crossed over my chest as I try to keep whatever warmth I have
left inside my body.

“Stay
here. I'm going to get you a towel and some dry clothes.”

He
heads up the stairs as I feel the cold really start to seep in. My entire body
starts to shake with it. Or maybe it’s the shock of what I had done.

I
had told him.

But
only part of it. And now there would be nothing left to do but tell him the
rest.

I
look up when I hear him coming back down the stairs. He has thrown on a t-shirt
and carries a towel and blanket in one hand and what looks like a pair of sweat
pants and a shirt in the other. I watch him silently as he tosses the blanket
over to the couch. He hands me the towel.

“Dry
off, then you can get changed. They'll be big, but dry. I'm going to get you
some coffee.”

I
shake my head. “No thank you.” My voice is small, shaky with the chattering
teeth. “I'll take a bottle of water if you have one.”

I
see it in his eyes, the moment he makes the connection. I only drink bottled
water. After a moment he nods his head. “I'll get you one.”

He
moves away and I hurry to dry off as much as I can, peeling my wet yoga pants
and long sleeve shirt off after making sure he is still in the kitchen, I leave
them in a heap on the floor, rolling the waist of the sweat pants several times
to try and make them fit.

It
doesn't work, so I'm holding them up as I head into the living room, swallowed
whole by clothes that smell like him. I settle in the corner of the couch,
pulling the blanket he had brought down around me. Coming back into the room he
places the bottle of water on the coffee table in front of me, and sits on the opposite
end of the couch.

I’m
afraid to say anything else to him. And not just because I don't want to tell
him, but just thinking about it sends me back to the darkness. I can only
imagine what actually talking about it will do.

“It’s
alright, Del,” he says softly and I choke back a sob. Nothing has been alright
for a long time.

So
with a deep, somewhat steadying breath, I start, because the longer I sit there
thinking about it, the more I will convince myself that telling him is a
mistake.

“I
was fifteen. My father owns a finance firm, and every year they throw a huge
party, a charity event that is really more of a chance for them to all get
together and show off how nice they are, donating some of their money to the
less fortunate.” I shake my head. That doesn't matter really.

“I
remember being at the party. I remember arguing with my mother because she
didn't like my dress, and I wasn't talking to the important clients enough.
Then nothing. There is a huge black hole where my memory should be for the rest
of that night.”

I
lick my dry lips as I reach over to grab the bottle of water, but I don't open
it. I just squeeze it in between my shaking hands.

“The
first memory I have is waking up tied to a bed in a tiny room with no windows.”
I look up to see him now, and find he is watching me closely. His jaw is
clenched, I can see the hard line of it where it is pulled tight over the bone,
and his hands are fisted in his lap. Those are the only signs that he is
listening to me.

“I
remember it. I remember every moment of every second he had me. I've only ever
talked about it once.” I shake my head. “I can't give you all of it, Cole. It's
to much for me to go back there.”

“How
long?” His voice is hoarse with the question.

I
swallow quickly before I answer. “He had me for three days.”

“Jesus.
Jesus, Delaney. Three days?”

I
twist open the water, hugging the cap so tightly in one hand that I feel it
biting into my skin.

“He
kept me drugged, enough that I wouldn't fight him, but not enough that I wasn't
aware of what was going on. Later it was determined that he had drugged my
punch at the party, and that was why I had no memory of how he took me. So I
only drink bottled water ever since, which I know is irrational, but I can't
seem to change it.”

“He
was a guest then, at the party?”

I
nod my head. “He was one of my father’s biggest clients. They played golf
together once a month, he and his wife had been to our house for dinner.”

“How
did you get away?”

“On
the third day, he was so mad. He kept muttering under his breath, nothing that
made sense to me, but enough for me to know exactly how pissed he was. I don't
know what it was that had set him off, but he had to get rid of me. I remember
hearing him say those words, and honestly by that point I just wanted it to be
over and I didn't care how it ended.”

I
force myself to take a breath, to take a drink of the water in my hands to ease
the burn in my throat.

“He
had a knife and he stabbed me in my stomach.” My hand automatically covers my
stomach and the puckered scar that rests there. “I guess he thought he had
killed me because I passed out. I hadn't eaten in three days, hadn't had water,
I was so dehydrated and weak that my body just gave up. He ended up dumping me
in a dumpster behind a grocery store. Lucky for me the store manager was still
there. He thought his stockers were stealing beer and was personally doing a
physical inventory and he stepped outside to have a cigarette and heard me.”

Taking
a deep breath I meet his eyes as I say, “I didn't talk for the first six
months. I couldn't. Every sound, every movement, everything made me think I was
back with him. Being in the dark gave me panic attacks. I could hardly sleep,
barely eat, everything was too much effort. My parents didn't know what to do.
Our relationship had never been normal anyway, but they didn't know how to
handle me, so they just didn't after a while.”

“He's
in jail?”

I
nod my head. I flick my nail across the peeling label of the water bottle.
“Yes, and he will be for a very long time. There’s a part of me that doesn't
think that's enough. For a long time it was a very large part of me that
thought that way. I wanted him to suffer like I had suffered, I wanted him to
feel as broken and beaten and worthless as he made me feel. He damaged so much
of me. Coming here, away from that place, it was my only chance to try and get
something back.”

I've
peeled the wrapper off the bottle of water, and I'm rolling it in the palm of
my hand now.

“Nobody
here knew. The story hadn't made national headlines, but everyone within the
state of Oregon knew who I was and what had happened to me. Knowing, it changes
the way people look at you, how they act around you.” I lift one shoulder in a
shrug, listening intently to the crunch of the water bottle wrapper as it rolls
in my hand. “I wanted a chance to have a life where nobody looked at me like
that.”

“That
day, in your dorm room, what was that?”

“I
have to live through those three days every year for the rest of my life, Cole.
They come back around, every year, and it doesn’t matter how much stronger I
think I am, how much better, they lay me flat. I used to have nightmares every
night. Eventually they tapered off. Except for during those three days. So I
hole myself up and I take as many sleeping pills as I possibly can without
risking overdose and that's how I make it through.”

The
silence that follows stretches between us. I want to get up and run out of the
house. It takes every bit of will power I possess not to bolt as I wait for him
to say something. Anything at all.

“I
know I made mistakes with us, Cole. I know that my... insecurities got in the
way, and that me being here tonight, telling you this, won't change anything
between us.”

I'm
not sure what to do. I've never voluntarily told anyone this story. When I had
finally started to talk, six months after, I had provided an interview to the
police, which had been taped and then later used during the trial. I had
detailed every horrible second, every beating, every rape; I hadn't left a
moment of it out.

Then
I had never spoken of it again.

“What
do you want now, Delaney?”

His
voice is soft, and I'm reminded briefly of the first time I heard it and how I
felt like it had seeped into every part of me.

“I
want you.” I whisper. “I want us.”

I
watch as his hands uncurl in his lap, first one then the other. He lifts one
toward me and I see the hesitancy in his eyes. It makes me want to cry, because
this is what I was afraid of, his knowledge changing everything between us.

“I
understand,” I finally say when his fingers never quite make contact with me.
The words nearly choke me as I shove them out. It's harder to say them than
anything else I've said tonight.

“I'll
go.”

It
takes me a moment to unwrap myself from the blanket. I can't look at him, won’t
look at him, or I will lose the little control over my tears that I have left.

I
hold the waist of the pants up as I struggle to my feet. I've turned towards
the door before he says anything else.

“Don’t
go, Delaney. I just.” He sighs, “You have to give me a second.”

His
fingers circle my wrist, pulling me around to face him. They reach up, tilting
my chin until there is nothing left for me to do but look at him.

“You
look tired,” He murmurs, his hands stroking down my neck, stopping at the base
so his thumb rests against my pulse that beats there. “Are you tired?”

I
nod, unable to form the words.

“Let’s
go get some sleep.”