Pretty Little Dreams (6 page)

“I dare him to try.”
Luke says with pure heat behind his words, “I will kill the bastard.”

Officer Timpleton and Detective Kline look at Luke, but say nothing.
I see understanding in their eyes when they look at Luke.

“Olivia, we have a few private questions to ask you.
I don’t know if you would prefer for us to conduct them one on one.”

“Privately?
Why?”

“They are personal in nature.”

At first, I don’t realize what he is trying to say to me, but then it clicks. And my whole body stiffens. Luke looks at me curiously. “We are her family, I’m sure whatever you have to ask, we can be here. Right, love?”

I feel like I’m going to suffocate again.
He can’t know. I don’t want Luke to know that Deacon had his filthy hands on me. What will he do? What will he say? Will he still want me? Am I tainted? I am. I’m tainted by Deacon. I’m not pure. I know that while it wasn’t in my control, my body was violated while my heart, my very soul belonged to Luke. Is that cheating? When it isn’t in your control? What will Luke think? I can’t… I just can’t…

I look at Detective Kline and I know he sees the pleading in my eyes.

“I’m going to need to ask that everyone leave the room, please.”

“What, why?” Luke asks, his eyes going from me and the detective like he’s watching a tennis match.

“We have a few questions that we must ask her privately.”

Luke looks at me, and I don’t say a word. I know he wants me to say that it’s okay, that he can stay. That there is nothing that they could ask that he, Pyper, or my parents couldn’t hear, but that isn’t true. I close my eyes, avoiding having to see the worry and confusion in his.

“Come on, son,” my dad says to Luke and under any other circumstances I would have smiled at the ‘son’ reference.

“I will be right outside that door okay, Olivia?”
Luke asks.

I open my eyes, look in his, and give a nod.

They all leave the room and Luke looks back at me once more. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I know it looks like a grimace instead. I’m sure he can see the residual fear in my eyes.

Once they are gone, Detective Kline hesitates, “I’m sorry Olivia, but we have to ask…”

I nod my head, waiting for him to say the words.

When the Detective takes a deep breath, I almost believe for a moment this is as hard for him as it is for me.
“Olivia, other than being drugged, were you abused in any other way - meaning, physically or sexually?”

My breath catches, tears fill my eyes as they lose focus,
“Oh God, you feel amazing princess. It has been too long since I’ve been with you. You belong to me. Do you hear me? You belong to me.”

“Olivia?”

A whisper, “Yes.”

6.

PUNCHING A STEERING WHEEL HURTS LIKE A BITCH

Luke

I
don’t want
to leave her. I feel hurt and confused that she didn’t tell me I can stay with her. What could they possibly have to ask her that I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be here for? Each step towards the door is a challenge; I feel like I’m trying to walk through cement. I look back at her and when our eyes meet, I hope she will tell me that I can stay. Instead, her eyes lower, and she look sad, scared and…ashamed? Why would she feel ashamed?

I’ve just gotten to touch her, hold her and see her again after fearing the worst - I don’t want to leave her.
I swear I’m not a pussy, and I know that I’m being irrational and unrealistic, but I don’t want her out of my sight. Even in a room with police officers. I just need to be able to keep an eye on her right now. To know that she’s safe – and okay, maybe also so I can keep reminding myself that she really is here.

Pulling the door behind me, I start to latch it closed, but then stop.
I know I shouldn’t do this. I should respect her privacy, but I can’t help it. I just need to be within listening distance. If something distresses her, I want to know about it. I want to be there in a second if she needs me, and I just feel better knowing she’s basically within my reach. This stupid door feels like a huge barrier, and the fact that it is all that is keeping me from her is putting unease in my stomach. I want to rip it off its hinges so that the obstacle is no more.

So, I make a decision.
I don’t close the door all the way behind me.

I’m not standing here long before a voice trails out to me.
I can barely make out what’s being said. I want to try not to listen, I really do, but I abandon all my best intentions at the words I hear.

“Olivia, other than being drugged, were you abused in any other way, meaning physically or sexually?”

I stiffen.

I can’t breathe.

I don’t fucking move.

My stomach has dropped to my ass.

I can’t hear the response from Olivia, but what I hear next confirms my worst fears.

“Okay, we are going to let our forensic nurse know.
She's the nurse who will help us gather evidence. She will do a medical exam, gathering samples required for the rape kit protocol, perform a vaginal inspection, draw blood for testing, and take some pictures.”

“Pictures?”
I hear her voice now and the sound of it, makes my knees shake. She sounds scared.

“Yes.
We need pictures for evidence purposes.”

Suddenly, it feels as if the walls are closing in.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and even though I’m standing still, my body rocks forward a little with each beat. No, it’s more of a thud. My heart may be exploding from my chest. My breathing becomes rapid and shallow and my face must register excruciating pain and shock, because pure alarm flashes across Pyper’s face. She steps toward me and takes my hand, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I open my mouth to reply, and find that nothing comes out.
My mouth and lips suddenly feel dry and I’m pretty sure if I don’t walk away right now, someone will be summoning a nurse for me. And some poor custodian is going to have to clean up the goddamn puke I’m about to project all over the damn place.

I’m rescued as Joy suddenly approaches us, “I know it’s awful here, but we are going to go get some more coffee.
Can we bring you anything?” She’s looking at me, and it takes extreme effort to make my lips move and give her a reply.

“No, thank you,” my voice sounds unsteady, raspy, “I’m fine.”
Part of me wants to break out in hysterical laughter at the word ‘fine’. I’m anything but fine.

“How about you, Pyper?
Can we bring you back anything?”

Pyper, with her eyes red from crying and looking extremely tired and disheveled, doesn’t look away from me when she answers.
“Some coffee would be great, thank you.”

“Would you like cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay honey, we will be right back.”

Pyper nods at Joy, but I don’t acknowledge her leaving at all. I don’t think she noticed though. Pyper continues to stare at me, though now appearing to be in a state of confusion. I’m sure Pyper thinks I’m nuts. I’m not budging from Olivia’s door, and I know I have a look of horror frozen on my face. I can’t help it.

“Olivia, other than being drugged, were you abused in any other way, meaning physically or sexually?”

Those words are an echo…continually reverberating in my brain. “
Were you abused… were you abused…. were you abused…”

“Luke, are you okay?
Something is wrong. I can see it on your face. What am I missing?”

The last thing I want to do is tell her.
I don’t want to worry her, and as much as I want to talk to someone about it, I couldn’t ever betray Olivia that way. So I lie. “I’m not feeling so hot all of a sudden, uh…stomach upset” I mumble. “Gonna go to the bathroom.” I gesture down the hallway.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks.”

I can’t look at her as I walk away.
I’m trying to appear casual when all I really want to do is take off in a sprint at the fastest pace I’ve ever run. The overheard conversation is getting louder in my head. And won’t stop. I want to scream. But that wouldn’t help anyone. I just want to get the hell out of here. For a moment, I contemplate going to the bathroom, and shutting myself in a stall, but the lure of the outdoors and fresh air is far too strong.

Once I know I’m out of eye sight, I do take off in a run.
People look at me curiously as I pass - and I almost take out the nutritionist pushing her food cart - but I can’t bring myself to care. I mumble an apology, but I don’t stop. I can’t get out of the hospital fast enough.

Once I’m outside, I take big gulps of air like a fish out of water.

I brace my hands on my knees and stay that way deeply breathing in and out for several minutes.

“Were you abused….”

I hear someone exit the hospital behind me, which brings me to awareness of where I am. Standing here is probably not the smartest move. Nor is it far enough away. I race through the parking lot, making my way to my car. Once there, I unlock it, and practically lunge inside, still trying to catch my breath. I’m breathing so hard it sounds like I ran a 5K at a dead sprint. I clutch handfuls of my hair, as if doing so will get the words I keep hearing over and over out of my brain and the noise to stop.

“Were you abused…”

It echoes like a drum in my mind, beating against me until I scream out and start pounding on the steering wheel over and over and over.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK!”
I can’t hold it in. It feels good to scream. To rant and rave and punch. I keep punching the wheel until I feel my skin crack and bleed. The blood catches me by surprise because I just feel numb – the only pain is from my bleeding heart.

“Goddamn it.
God fucking damn it. Not my beautiful girl, not my Olivia. This is all my fault. All my fucking fault.”

I can feel beads of sweat on my brow.
My shirt feels hot, itchy and suddenly constricting and uncomfortable. And I am suddenly sweaty. I still can’t catch my breath, so I start my car and blast the air conditioner, looking for relief that I know damn well I’m not going to find in here. The kind of relief I need comes from just one look by a dark haired, green-eyed angel that has my heart in the palm of her hand.

Each slam of my heart in my chest feels like an accusation screaming, “Failure, failure, failure.”

Oh god, he touched her. He put his hands on her; hurt her. Closing my eyes, I picture her face. Her beautiful face. I wonder if she has any idea that her green eyes twinkle with love and a hint of mischief when she looks at me. Such expressive eyes. I can tell what she’s thinking by just one look. Those eyes are the window to her soul. I thought I would never see them again. The thought makes me groan in pain.

I picture her skin, her hair.
I hear her laugh. I can see the curves of her body. In my mind, she’s smiling at me. Then, like a flash of lightning I see her eyes alight with fear and I picture her lying on a bed somewhere, drugged up, with a monster. I see him touch her, look at her, want her. I imagine him kissing her. Squeezing her too tight and hurting her.

“Were you abused…”

Suddenly, the devil invades my mind like a thief in the night and my thoughts take an unanticipated flight, bringing me agony and pain. I’m consumed and tormented by thoughts I don’t want to have. Did she, oh god, did his touching her arouse old feelings; make her remember how she felt about him at one time? Did she like it on some level? I wrack my brain trying to remember what it’s called when you fall for your kidnapper. Did that happen to her? Does she miss him? Want to be back with him?

I whimper like the pansy-ass bitch I am - a hiding pansy-ass bitch.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would these thoughts even occur to me? I know better than this, how dare I even think such things; yet the thoughts invade my mind anyway, and all I can think is oh god, he touched her.

When I touch her, will she think of him?
Will she be able to stand being touched by anyone now?

He touched her.

What can I say to her to make everything better? How can I even begin to apologize for this? I don’t even know how. Can she ever forgive me? How could she? Can I even forgive myself? I should have been there. How could she possibly get over that when I don’t even think that I can?

He touched her.

What am I going to say to her? She doesn’t know I heard. Will she tell me?

I put my head in my hands.
And I cry. I just fucking cry, gut wrenching, soul screaming sobs. I cry for the woman she was before this. I cry for the woman I know that is forever changed because of what she endured. I cry because I didn’t prevent this. I cry for the fact that she has to go through this. I cry because I’m afraid things will never be the same. I cry because I wish my mom were here, and that she could offer me advice on how to help Olivia get through this. I cry because I love my girl so fucking much and I don’t know how, or if, I can make this better.

In the dark recesses of my mind I wonder… can I touch her again?
Will I be able to kiss her, touch her, look at her and love her without thinking about the fact that his hands were there too? Are Olivia and I strong enough to get through something like this?

I use my shirt to wipe my eyes and I put the car in reverse.

I’ve made my decision.

I need to get out of here.