Savage Lane (13 page)

“This was a mistake,” she said.

She reached for the door handle, but he grabbed her waist. There was another, brighter flash of lightning, as if someone had snapped a photo of the two of them, and then they were back in near darkness.

“Get your hands off me,” Deb said.

“What’s wrong?” He wouldn’t let go. “Why’re you freaking again?”

“I have to get home now.”

“Come on, talk to me, baby.”

His hand on her waist was like a claw. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she wasn’t in a car, she was in a coffin.

“Let go of me,” she said during a blast of thunder and she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“This is bullshit,” he said. “Why won’t you just chill? What did I do? What did I do?”

Who was this guy
? She didn’t even recognize his voice.

“We’re over,” she said. “
This
is over.”

His leg was on her now—how had that happened?—and with the hand that wasn’t clawing her thigh he was reaching under her shirt.

“I get it.” He was smiling again. “So this is how you want it tonight, huh?”

“Let go,” she said as lightning illuminated his crazed face.

“Like that time last year in the woods,” he said.

She knew what he meant—last summer, the time they met at Katonah Memorial Park. They’d met there a few times last summer, but she knew exactly what time he was talking about. She’d told him she wanted to pretend they were strangers, that she was walking in the woods alone and that he was following her, stalking her. The fantasy had been hers, not his, but now it seemed like no one’s. It seemed as if the images in her head weren’t memories of herself, they were scenes from a movie she’d once seen, or a story she’d once heard, and weren’t connected to her at all.

“This isn’t a fantasy,” she said. “I want you to stop.”

He kissed her with his slimy lips. Disgusted, she spit back at him.

“I like that,” he said. “Just like you spit at Karen today. Do that some more.”

His hand was lower now, fingers extended, digging under her panties. She tried to get to the car door but now, with the full weight of his body holding her down, he was able to remove the hand from her waist and grab her extended arm by the wrist.

Thunder blasted, but not as loud as before.

“Trying to get away, just like the woods,” he said. “That turns you on, huh, bitch? Come on, spit on me some more.”

She spit right in his eyes, but it only seemed to excite him even more. He was yanking on her panties, pulling them down.

“You want it rough?” he said. “You want it
nasty
?”

She was trying to wriggle free, but he was pinning her down too tightly. Her panties were down to her thighs, and he was unzipping his jeans. She knew that within seconds he’d be inside her, and she couldn’t let that happen because this wasn’t a fantasy; now he actually
was
a stranger in the woods.

So she did the only thing she could do to stop him. She lunged her head forward and bit down in the same motion onto the only part of his body she could reach—the side of his shoulder. She was pressing her teeth through his shirt, but there wasn’t much fat there—it felt as if she were biting into bone—and he was suddenly screeching in agony. He was trying to break away, but she wouldn’t let go, knowing that she had to make him feel the pain, that it was her only chance.

“Oh, God,” he wailed. “Oh… shit… stop it!”

He let go of her wrist, and she immediately stiff-armed his neck, pressing right against his Adam’s apple, and that made him pull his entire body back a bit, and she had to stop biting him. He was still on her lap, though, weighing her down, and she still couldn’t get out of the car. The rain had subsided, the storm passing as quickly as it had come.

“Ow,” he groaned. “Why’d you do that?”

He was crying—not just tears from the pain, actually crying. Now he
really
seemed like a child, and Deb had clarity about exactly what she’d done for the past two years. She was a filthy, horrible, disgusting, perverted person, no better than any child molester.

“You have to let me go now,” she said. “It’s over. Do you understand me, Owen?
Over
.”

Tears gushing, he said, “You aren’t supposed to actually hurt me. Isn’t that your rule?”

Had she actually made up rules for a rape fantasy game with a teenager?

“We aren’t doing this anymore, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said. “I’m not pretending to get away from you, I really want to get away from you, not because I don’t like you, or think you’re a bad person, but because what we’re doing, what we’ve
been
doing, is wrong. It served its purpose, but it’s time to move on, for both of us. You have to be with someone your own age. Someone like Elana Daily.”

“Elana Daily?” He was still crying, but he sounded angry. “Why would I want to be with Elana Daily?”

For a moment, Deb wondered,
Had Riley lied to her after all
? But with Owen still on top of her, this wasn’t her major concern.

She said, “You know what I mean. Somebody else… somebody more… appropriate.”

“No.” Owen took a few moments to compose himself, then said, “No. I don’t want anyone else but you. You’re the most important person in my life.”

There was desperation in his voice that she’d never heard before.

“I understand why you’re so upset right now,” she said. “I’m upset too. This is hard for me too. But you knew this wouldn’t go on forever, right? I mean we once discussed all that.” Had they ever discussed it? She thought they had, but she wasn’t sure of anything. She continued, “Anyway, now we have to say goodbye to each other. I know you’re a smart, perceptive person. You can understand this, can’t you?”

“Is it because of your stupid husband?” Owen asked. “Did he find out?”

“No, no one found out,” Deb said, “and it has to stay that way. It won’t be good for either one of us if anyone finds out. But I know I can trust you about that.”

Actually, Deb didn’t know if she could trust him. Actually, she was terrified.

Then he was kissing her, his tongue part way into her mouth.

She turned her head and said, “Stop it, Owen,” the way she would discipline a child.

Owen, getting that she was serious about this, shook his head a couple of times, then said, “No… No, this isn’t happening. I… I’m not losing you... I
can’t
lose you.”

“Don’t think of it that way,” Deb said. “We’re ending, but I’m not ending. I could always be in your life. We can be friends.”

She had no intention of maintaining a friendship—that was the last thing she needed. She figured she’d email with him a couple of times, maybe exchange a few texts, then gradually distance herself. Hopefully by then he’d meet somebody else, forget about her.

“I’m not your fucking friend,” Owen said.

“Okay,” Deb said, trying to calm him. “Friend was a bad word. We’re more than friends, we just can’t be…” She was going to say “lovers,” but went with, “…like we’ve been. We just need to take a break from all this, but everything will be okay. I promise you that.”

He was crying again. She didn’t feel like she was getting through to him at all.

“You have no idea,” he said. “You don’t know. You just don’t.”

The rain had completely stopped. She just wanted to be in her car, driving, hitting the gas.

“Yes, I do know,” Deb said, touching his hand in a sweet way.

“No, you fucking don’t.” Owen swatted her hand away. “Raymond makes my life hell.”

“I understand,” Deb said, “but it’ll get better. You’re young, your future’s bright.”

“Bullshit,” Owen said. “Raymond’s a fuckin’ asshole.”

Owen had told Deb about his abusive stepfather. Deb used to feel sorry for him, wanted to help, but now she couldn’t get in touch with those feelings. She just didn’t want to be here, in a parking lot in the dark, counseling a teenager.

“You can move out,” Deb said. “You can get help. You have options, Owen.”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “He doesn’t just hit me. He does more,
a lot
more.” He sobbed, seemed out of control, on the edge of a breakdown. Then he said, “It started when I was a kid, like, ten years old. I was just a kid and didn’t know what was going on and sometimes Raymond, he’d come into my room when my mom was sleeping and… and he’d…”

Owen was so upset he couldn’t continue. As he cried, holding his hands over his face, he shifted off her a bit, and Deb thought if she reached for the door handle and moved fast enough, then she could get out, and if Owen came after her, she could slam the door, maybe giving her enough time to get to her car, start it, drive away. She wasn’t sure she could make it, but if she had a chance she had to take it. Later, she could call him, text him, calm him down, which would be better than trying to calm him down here.

Then Owen said, “…he’d get in bed with me. I’d feel his big, hairy, disgusting body next to me, and he told me if I told my mother, if I told anybody, he’d kill me. So I did what he said, I never told anybody, except you, right now.”

He was looking at her, eyes widened, not saying anything. She knew he was waiting for some kind of response, but, thinking about the door, she wasn’t sure what to say.

When she felt too much time was going by, she had to say
something
, so she said, “I’m so sorry that happened, Owen. Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

He was still staring at her. He looked angrier, unless she was just imagining it.

Then he said, “I am talking to someone about it. I’m talking to you.”

“No, I mean maybe you should get professional help,” Deb said. “You know, from a psychologist.”

“Why can’t
you
help me?”

“I have to go now, Owen.”

“No. You can’t.”

Deb knew she wasn’t imagining it—his eyes had narrowed, and she could see his jaw shift as his teeth grinded. Worse, he’d shifted his weight back onto her, and he’d grabbed her shoulder, pinning her back again.

“Say you need me,” he said.

“
What
?”

“You heard me. Say you
need
me. Say it.”

“You need help, Owen.”

“Say it, you old fucking bitch.”

He was looking at her, but he wasn’t there anymore. It was like she was looking at the eyes of a dead person. Her instincts screamed:
run
! She glanced at the door handle, wishing she’d reached for it ten seconds ago, and then she couldn’t breathe.

“Say it,” he said. “
Say it
.”

It took a few seconds before she realized
why
trying to gasp was useless, but she still didn’t understand what was actually happening because, even as full blown panic set in and she was staring at Owen’s crazed face, trying to kick and flail her arms, do
anything
to get free, she kept telling herself that this was just a fantasy, a game, like the games they always played, and the game would end soon and everything would be fine, because everything was always fine, but then she got weaker and dizzier and could hardly move, and then, near the end, she knew it was real, all of it, and her life and the whole world had never seemed so stupid.

W
E NEED
to talk

The text Karen sent Mark when she got home from the country club.

Following the crazy, drunken scene Deb had caused she’d wanted to call Mark immediately, but she was too upset and didn’t want to say something that she’d end up regretting. Despite how furious and humiliated she was, she knew it was always best to let things settle and think before responding in these sorts of situations.

She went into the kitchen where Elana was standing, leaning against the breakfast bar, FaceTiming, saying to whomever, “Wait, can you hold on?” and then going past Karen, toward the stairs.

“Hello to you too,” Karen said to her back.