Pretty Little Dreams (2 page)

“I’m not dressing up for you, Deacon.”

Faster than I can blink, Deacon is on me. I shrink back as much as I can, trying to avoid his nakedness from touching mine. Grasping me by the top of my arms, Deacon’s face is mere inches from mine, “You will wear the fucking dress, Olivia. This is not up for discussion.” As he speaks each word, he shakes me and squeezes me tighter, making me cry out in pain.

“Deacon!
You’re hurting me.”

“Stop making me hurt you.
Do you think I like this? Do you think I want to hurt you? Why do you keep making me hurt you? Just do what I tell you to do and we will be fine. I’ve told you over and over again that this is our future. You and me, princess. Once you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

“Okay.
Okay, Deacon.” I force the words out of my mouth because it is the exact opposite of what I want. I’ve learned the hard way what happens when I don’t keep my mouth shut or if I don't say or do what he wants.

“Good.
I will be back later. Make sure you are dressed and ready.” And with that, he grabs some clothes off the floor and leaves the room.

What must be
a few hours later, I’m running a brush through my hair. It’s one of the few personal items Deacon allows me. I have no idea what I look like. I have the hideous dress on and I keep pulling it down. The scrap of fabric barely covers my ass and my boobs are barely contained. I look like one of the very girls I tell all my readers on
Pink Sugar Couture
not to emulate. My inner fashion diva has officially curled up and died.

Entering the room, Deacon whistles low, “You look hot, princess.”

I feel revulsion internally and just stare at him. He’s dressed for dinner in what I can't help but notice is a well-cut, charcoal-colored, European suit and tie. Where he gets the clothes, I have no idea. Not for the first time I wonder where we are exactly, and how this house is associated with him. The things that I don’t know about this man continue to shock me. How I was ever married to him, I don’t know.

He walks toward me and places his mouth on mine.
I refuse to open for him and I know it will only make him mad, but dammit, I hate feeling helpless in all of this.

Pulling away from me Deacon looks into my eyes, “I’ll let that one slide, for now.
Come with me.”

Grabbing hold of my arm, already covered in bruises, I slightly wince at the discomfort, as he hauls me out of the room and down the hall.
Bringing me into a large sitting room that includes a dining table, I see that he has set up a candlelight dinner. Dread fills me. What is he up to?

Steering me towards a chair, I take a seat - or more accurately, am seated.
The table is set and there are even silver domes over what I presume are our meals. Deacon takes a lighter from his trouser pocket and lights the tall candles set perfectly in a silver candelabra at the center of the table. As he leans over, his suit jacket opens slightly and I see a gun tucked into the front of his pants. It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve seen it while I’ve been here, but it is just as disconcerting this time as the first. I secretly hope when he sits, the gun will go off and shoot his dick off. He certainly deserves far worse. I smile at the thought.

Deacon, seeing the smile on my face, returns it with one of his own.
“I knew you would like this, princess. I wanted you to see that we can have wonderful, romantic dinners like this. You don’t have to spend so much time locked up in your room. Once you finally realize this is where you should be, we can have dinner like this every night.”

“I don’t want to have dinner with you every night.
When are you going to get a clue, you fucking douche?”

The smile that was just present on his lips quickly vanishes and anger seizes his entire countenance.
I know I should just shut up and play along with what he says, but I can't; I will never stop fighting. Not ever. I will not let him strip away who I am.

After taking a few deep breaths, Deacon’s eyes once again meet mine, “Tonight, things are going to change.
The time for you to start accepting that we are together again is right now. I’ve apologized to you over and over for sleeping with Tracey. I’m so sorry you walked in on that, but I’m done apologizing for it. I’ve forgiven the fact that you betrayed me with that man, so you will forgive me about Tracey. I know once you forgive me, we will be fine. Everything will be fine, princess, and we will be happy.”

“Not for the first time, you are out of your fucking mind.
Tracey was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back. I quit loving you long before that.”

“ENOUGH!
I am done being easy on you.”

I laugh at that comment.
Easy? He calls this easy? My laughter only angers him.

He rips me out of my chair and yanks me against the front of his body.
“You are my WIFE and you will do what I say. You
will
provide your wifely duties. You are no longer allowed to talk back to me.”

“Fuck you, Deacon.
I am no longer married to you. I don’t love you. I love Luke. I will ALWAYS love Luke.”

He pulls me just far enough away from him to give him room to backhand me across the face.
I feel pain, blinding pain, and taste blood in my mouth.

“DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME TO ME!” He screams.
Then, while seething with fury, he continues, “I will not allow you to talk about the man you whored yourself out to. Do you hear me?”

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine.
I want to throw up. He pulls me tight to him and I can feel that he is obviously turned on from the violence. His erection presses against my hip and his hands are all over my body. I’m stiff and don’t move, refusing to participate in his complete violation.

Then suddenly, an idea enters my mind.
It’s crazy, but it may just work.

Hesitantly, I reach my hands out and run them up Deacon’s arms.
He stiffens, surprised at my touch. I never return his touch. Leaving one hand on his arm, I cup the side of his neck with the other hand and start returning his kiss. When his tongue enters my mouth, I shudder and Deacon mistakes it for pleasure, pulling me closer and moaning deep in his throat. I grab the hair at his neck, and squeeze it into a fist, deepening the kiss while my other hand starts unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time.

Deacon pulls away from me and looks into my eyes questioningly.
It kills me to do it, but I whisper, “I want you, Deacon. You’re right, we belong together. Kiss me.”

He wastes no time pulling me back to him and kisses me hard once again.
His tongue is brutal in its exploration of my mouth. He starts sliding my dress off of one shoulder and just as I reach the bottom button of his shirt, I quickly pull the gun from his pants and back up, pointing it at him.

“Back the hell up right the FUCK NOW.”
I feel like a bad ass. Finally, I have the upper hand and I feel euphoric.

Shock is displayed all over his face.
He’s breathing hard and his eyes are glassy. I can tell it’s taking him a minute to completely comprehend what has just happened. He takes a step towards me.

“I SAID TO BACK UP, DEACON.”

“You aren’t going to shoot me. You don’t even know how to use a gun.”

Calling his bluff I click the safety off the gun and see his eyes widen.

“That’s right, motherfucker. I guess you don’t know everything about me, do you?”

“You won’t shoot me, Olivia.
You don’t have it in you.”

Deacon starts walking towards me again and I take a step back for every step he takes forward.
Before I know it, my back is at the doors leading out onto a balcony. I’m trapped, but I refuse to give up. I reach behind me and open the doors, happy they aren’t sliding glass like the bedroom. The cold air takes my breath away.

“Just give me the gun, Olivia.
You don’t want to do this. Give it to me, and we will go back to dinner. I made your favorite, cheese ravioli. Come on, I will show you.” He takes another step towards me.

I keep backing up, “I said stay away from me, Deacon.
I am not afraid to use this. I
will
shoot you.”

I feel the railing at my back.
I don’t know what to do. I can shoot him and then try to find a phone and call 9-1-1. That’s what I will do. It’s all I can do.

I grasp the gun with both hands, and before I can get off a shot, I see the intent in Deacon’s eyes right before he lunges for me.

I overcompensate for his lunge and throw myself backwards, right over the side of the balcony.
I see his eyes widen in horror as the gun goes off and he reaches for me, but it’s too late. I’m falling.

The fall feels like an eternity, and my life flashes before my eyes as expected, but another thought occurs to me as well…
where are parachute pants when a girl needs them
?

2.

I DON’T WANT TO WEAR THIS FUCKING SUIT

Luke

H
er spirit lingers
here. Initially, I was afraid that being in her room, surrounded by the very essence of her would be too painful; that I would just be hurting myself more by staying here. Instead, I’ve found that it gives me peace, at least on some level I don’t quite understand, and I also feel closer to her here. Since that dreadful day, I’ve pretty much moved in. I can’t find it in myself to go.

At first, when I couldn’t leave, I told myself it was in case she came home or if the police had news, perhaps they would come here or call here first.
I think in part, that’s true, but the truth is, it comforts me to be here. I can bury my face in her pillow. Look at her pictures. Touch her clothes and the knick-knacks she keeps on her dresser. I’ve spent a lot of time doing that - trailing my fingers over her possessions – because I know her fingers and hands touched them before mine. Does that make me pathetic? Maybe. Probably.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I sit in her closet at my lowest moments.
The intoxicating scent that is uniquely hers – while everywhere - is strongest there. The simple act of smelling her perfume brings back so many memories. Seeing her for the first time again after seven years; wanting to kiss her so bad, but being afraid I would scare her away while I was still trying to win her back. Her kisses. Her touches. Each act is a memory that haunts me. And still stirs me.

With a sigh, I stand up from my corner in her closet and unzip my garment bag, taking in my dark suit, crisp white shirt and tie.
I don’t want to do this today. At all. Carrying my clothes, I grudgingly walk to the bathroom so I can change. Once I’m dressed, I take in my reflection in the mirror before me. My eyes look sad. I have dark circles that have become a permanent fixture, given that a good night’s sleep hasn’t been easy to come by lately. My shoulders appear to be drooping slightly. I sigh. Not much I can do about it.

I want to rip this fucking monkey suit off my body.
Every part of me is begging me to do it. I just want to head back to her bed and shove my face in her pillow again. I want to pull the covers over my head, drown myself in her essence, and escape from reality for a little while longer. Wanting her here has turned into a physical ache; a pain deep in my gut and chest that can’t be calmed or relieved.

I catch myself rubbing at my chest like I can smooth the pain away.
It doesn’t work.

“Luke?
Are you almost ready?”

The sound of Pyper’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
Walking out of the bathroom, I look at Pyper, taking in her appearance. She looks nice. She’s wearing a black dress and smiling a little at me, but it quickly falls, as if smiling on a day like today is sacrilege. She’s sporting dark circles under her eyes as well, and there is sadness in her eyes too.

“I don’t want to do this today, Pyper.” I confess.

Closing the distance between us, she starts straightening my tie. “I know this is something neither of us wants to do right now, but it will be okay. You can lean on me for support, and I will lean on you. It’s all we can do, okay?”

I give her a slight nod, my thoughts drifting elsewhere.
I can’t look at Pyper anymore without my mind automatically going back to that awful day. It’s the day that my life took a brutal nose dive into the fucking abyss.

“Olivia!
Pyper! It’s Luke! Open the door!”
I become more and more frantic as my hard pounding on the apartment door goes unanswered. Why aren’t they answering?

Nothing.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The echoes of my fist pounding on the door resonate through the hallway. An old lady down the hall peeks out of her condo and gives me a look of death, but I couldn’t care less. She should just mind her own damn business. “OLIVIA! PYPER!”

When I was at the office and received Olivia’s message, I just knew something was wrong – Olivia’s text didn’t make any sense.
Thanking me for flowers I didn’t send. Telling me she would see me in a moment. “Please God, let me just be worried for nothing.” Grabbing my car keys, I ran out of my office and out of the club as fast as I could, ignoring the questioning calls from a few staff members as I flew by. I immediately try calling her cell phone and she doesn’t answer. I try again, and again. When my calls go unanswered, I can’t think about anything else aside from getting to the condo, and making sure everything is okay.

Something’s wrong.
I can feel it in my bones. It’s a monsoon of fear that starts at the top of my head and runs all the way to my toes, like a bucket of cold water over my head. I’m not going to wait anymore. I start trying to beat down the door by ramming my shoulder into it again, and again, like I’m some fucking linebacker. It isn’t working. I frantically search the hallway looking for something – anything- I can use to help me break down the door. I exhale sharply when I see a mini fire extinguisher enclosed in a glass case, in case of emergency. Fuck it. If this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is, and I don’t have anything else. I open the case, yank out the extinguisher and just start beating the shit out of the door knob until it is so beaten to hell it’s just hanging there so I can get inside. If Pyper is pissed, she’ll have to get over it - and maybe she’ll even laugh at my trying to be the hero.

What I see when I’m finally through the door makes me freeze.
The back of Pyper’s head, she’s just sitting stiffly, not moving, on the couch. She makes no attempt to look at me. I immediately know something is wrong; I know she would have answered me if she could have. Running to the couch and rounding to the front, I see Pyper tied up from head to toe, her mouth taped closed, and tears leaving trails down her cheeks.

“Oh God.
Oh God. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” I try to reassure her as I place my shaking pointer and thumb fingers at the corner of the tape across her mouth and whisper a hurried, “I’m sorry,” before I rip it off her mouth so fast that the skin around her mouth tears in a few places.

Pyper screams in pain, “Oh God.
Luke. Olivia. He has her. She’s gone. She’s gone!”

My world freezes.
For a moment things feel like they are moving in slow motion. My heart; my heart feels like it has stopped. My breathing becomes difficult, I feel like fear is suffocating me, paralyzing me, and it takes effort to force that fear to the side. I can’t help myself from reaching out and grabbing Pyper’s upper arms, shaking her. “What? What do you mean? Who has her? Where is she?”

And then she utters words that set my whole world ablaze, “Deacon.
Deacon has her.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shove the image of that day out of my mind.
Pyper and I have spent exhaustive hours going over everything that happened. She told me how Deacon knocked on the door, shoved his way inside, tied her up, took Olivia, and...well, the rest is history. I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned, in hopes of absorbing any hint about where he took her. I know it all – I know Deacon was nervous, but excited about what he was about to do. I know everything he said to Pyper and Olivia, I know how he looked at Olivia with what Pyper called a ‘menacing hunger’ in his eyes. I even had Pyper tell me every excruciating moment from the time Olivia showed up until he took her. Pyper’s account was complete, precise and likely very accurate, even if only from her perspective. I can still close my eyes and see it vividly, even though I wasn’t there. I even dream about it. The worst is when I dream that I show up and rescue her, only to open my eyes and realize I was too late and I wasn't there and didn’t save her.

I wasn’t there.
It echoes over and over in my mind like an accusation. Sometimes I hear it in my own voice, which is painful enough. But when the accusation takes Olivia’s voice, it’s crippling.

I will never forgive myself for going into the office that day.
I was going to just wait at her condo for her to get back from lunch, but instead, I figured I would get some work done while she was out doing her thing. Maybe if I had stayed there and waited for her, things would be different. Why didn’t I just do that? All I had to do was stay there.

I follow Pyper out into the kitchen and she automatically walks to the refrigerator and grabs me a bottle of water, as well as one for herself, and hands it to me wordlessly.
I glance at my watch, “The limo should be here by now. We should head down.”

“Okay, let me grab my sweater.
It’s always freezing in funeral homes.”

I wait for Pyper at the door, holding it open for her and when she walks through, I follow her to the elevator, but spin back quickly and catch the door before it closes, realizing I forgot something.
“Just a minute.” I walk back into the kitchen and take the vase full of pink roses off the island counter. “I almost forgot them.” Pyper gives me a sad smile as we close the door behind us, heading to the last place on earth I want to be.

“I’m so sorry
for your loss.”

I take in the woman currently grasping my hand, and see the sincerity of her words in her eyes.
I nod at her, “Thank you for coming.”

I make my way through the sea of black, with Pyper at my side, her hand on my arm silently lending support.
I’m happy she’s here. She and I have gotten a lot closer lately, leaning on one another, just taking it one day at a time. I feel like it’s a moment-to-moment battle, trying to prevent the madness that so desperately seeks to claim my mind and my soul. There are moments when I know I’m toeing the line between sanity and complete and utter devastation.

Reaching the front, I take a seat and take in the room around me, purposely avoiding looking at the casket in front of me.
I’m not ready for that. I head to the table next to the casket and place the pink roses there.

The viewing room is large.
Chairs and couches are placed sporadically around the room, I suppose so people can sit and share memories or just be still with their thoughts. The sickly sweet smell of flowers is everywhere. You can smell them as soon as you walk into the room. Boxes of tissues are conveniently located in every nook and cranny and on every table top in the room. I can hear several whispers and sniffles around me, but I try not to make eye contact with anyone. While I appreciate them being here, I already know I’m only going to be able to handle so many sad looks, before I want to scream.

“Are you doing okay?” Pyper looks up at me from her seat beside me.

I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way, “I’m fine, I was just thinking that there is going to be a limit to how many sad looks and condolences I can handle before I want to lose it and scream my freaking head off.”

Pyper smiles just a little, humor glimmering in her eyes for just a moment, “Scream?”

I shrug, “A manly scream, of course.”

She full on smiles now, “Well, of course.”

“Excuse me, Luke?”

I look away from Pyper and see a woman who looks vaguely familiar.
“Yes? Hi.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry for your loss.
If there is anything you need or anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

“Okay…thanks…umm…”

Thank goodness my father chooses that moment to save me, “Thank you so much Mrs. Donovan, that’s very nice of you. Thank you for coming.”

Mrs. Donovan smiles, nods her head, looks at me another moment, and then walks away.
My father squeezes my shoulder in support and I give him a reassuring smile as I stand to face him. Pyper looks from me to my father, “Luke, I’m going to the ladies room, I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

“How are you doing, son?” My father’s brows are furrowed in concern.

“I’m doing fine, dad, please don’t worry about me.”

“As a parent, that’s an impossible request. You’ll understand one day when you have children of your own,” he says as he pats my shoulder.

Again, there’s that stabbing pain in my heart.
Something must register on my face because my father gives me a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Clearing my throat, I change the subject, “There are a lot of people here.
That’s good.”

“Yes there are, but I’m not surprised.
It’s going to be a long couple of hours.”