The Gentlewoman (15 page)

He held her tightly by the throat as she struggled to
breathe, pinned by his weight. She listened to the pulsing and ringing in her
ears and wondered why she couldn’t feel the pain of her arm anymore.

She felt him tear away her pantyhose and push into her,
she marveled at how it felt the same, only more overt. It was surreal as she
stared at the ceiling and followed the cracks in the paint; she followed the
biggest crack over to the line where it met the wall.

She felt him thrust between her legs and looked up at his
face. This was the face she’d looked into as they made love for the past two
years. Slightly different, his angular features so brutal and dark, filled with
hate and anger. She knew the face and body pushing into her, but it was a
stranger looking at her through those eyes with disgust and loathing. A
familiar stranger causing her fear and pain.

She watched this happen to herself. She separated and
watched from the other side of the room. Very mechanically and in slow motion,
she felt his erection slam in and out of her, heard his grunts and felt his
breath on her face. All very physical elements of something happening to her,
yet she felt detached and disassociated.

He stilled and stared down at her with disgust before
jerking away and fastening his pants. He walked to the other side of the room
and poured himself a drink. She turned slowly and lay on her side, tentatively
pulling her knees up to protect her abdomen. She held her arm and stared at
him, not daring to move as he downed another shot of whiskey.

He was sweating and breathing heavily, his face contorted
with anger. He was highly agitated, shaking his head and rubbing his face with
his shaking hand. He took another swig and she noticed that his left hand was
devoid of his wedding ring. How odd, that it struck a chord in her. The memory
of slipping that ring onto his finger flitted through her mind, and was
divertingly absurd next to what she was experiencing at this moment. He turned
and set his glass heavily onto the bar and a new surge of panic raced through
her system at the sight of a pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.

“I thought I could make this work. That was my fault. I
knew what I was getting into, and I’m to blame for thinking that you were
smarter.” He turned and glared at her. “Roan knew. He told me that you and your
father were bad news, that this wouldn’t be good for business…but I argued with
him. I told my brother I was sure this was the perfect way to ensure our
expansion into the States.” He began walking toward her and all her muscles
tightened. He stopped in front of her, looking down into her bloodied face.
“Roan told me not to use a piece of ass like you for anything more than the
whore you are, but I didn’t listen.”

He grabbed her hair and jerked her up. He held her body
against his, one hand holding her hair, the other grasping her breast. “But we
did have some fun, didn’t we?” He broke into a hard fit of laughter.

“Where is my father?” Her lips were split and so swollen
she could barely speak.

She cried out at the hard blow to her abdomen. “I’ll be
asking all the questions, bitch, and I’ll tell you when to speak. That’s what
owners do with their animals.”

“Wake up!” Rory woke to Jackson hovering over her. Her eyes
shot open and she gulped and sucked air into her empty lungs. Her heart raced
and she clenched his hand tightly. She stared into his eyes, disoriented.

“God, baby,” he muttered when he could see she was finally
awake. “Are you okay? You were crying for help.” He brushed the sweat-drenched
hair from her face.

Rory lifted her shaking hands to her face. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered breathlessly. She tried to compose herself but still felt the terror
she had experienced in the farmhouse. She covered her face and wept.

Jackson lifted her naked body into his lap. He surrounded
her, rocking gently back and forth, comforting her in a soothing voice. “It’s
okay, baby. I’m here with you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

They stayed that way awhile, Jackson holding her as she
struggled to regain control of her emotions. He held her against his chest and
she smelled his skin, such an earthy, manly scent she had grown so accustomed
to in such a short time. It helped to ease the metallic taste of panic in her
mouth. Eventually her crying eased and she could breathe more freely, the
anxiety still present but no longer completely choking her.

Jackson headed into the bathroom, returning with a wet
cloth. He cradled her head as he wiped her face and held it to her nose and
made her blow. He leaned back on the bed and tossed the washcloth into the bathroom.

“Baby, you weren’t kidding when you said you were prone to
nightmares.”

She pulled the sheet around her and looked down. “I know.
I’m sorry.”

He reached out and pulled her chin up. “You don’t have to be
sorry. I’m not sorry that I’m here with you.”

She looked at him somberly. “You are too sweet… What time is
it?”

“Five. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“No…I don’t think I could, but you should.”

He looked thoughtfully at her for a moment. “Rory, tell me
about your dream.”

She looked at him with renewed panic. “What? No!” she
gasped, shaking her head.

“Yes, tell me.” He grabbed her thighs, pulling her closer
and sitting upright, their knees touching. The sheet snaked around her toga
style and he was in nothing but boxers.

“Obviously it’s about what happened to you, what your
husband did to you. If you talk about it maybe it’ll stop torturing you.”

“I…I can’t do that,” she stammered and looked around the
room, avoiding his gaze.

He put his hands on her knees and held tightly. “Look at me,
Rory,” he ordered as he captured her stare with his own. “I’m here for you. I
want to be here. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not afraid to hear what
happened to you. I think you need to talk about it before it eats you alive.
Now tell me what happened in your dream.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Yes you can. Look, I remember the news reports. I know it
was bad, but don’t be scared. That’s how it gets the power over you. Talk to me
about it.”

Rory sat paralyzed with fear. She stared into Jackson’s
eyes, then dropped her gaze to the floor. She couldn’t respond. Moments passed,
and she remained silent.

“Tell you what.” Jackson finally broke the silence. “We’re
going to exchange information, quid pro quo style.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are.” He squeezed her thighs and took her hands in
his. “I’ll go first. I’m going to tell you a bad memory that I have, and then a
good memory. Then you’ll tell me about your bad dream, and then tell me a good
memory.” Rory looked at him incredulously again. “It’s called sharing, Rory.
You can do this. Besides, I think it’s about time you replaced some of those
bad memories with good ones.”

She really wanted to do this for Jackson. He was so caring
and giving. She was torn between her absolute panic over talking about what had
happened and the need to be close with him. Finally she gave him a tentative
nod.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” He clasped her hands, holding them
snugly on his knees. “When I was thirty-two I worked Special Crimes and was
gone a lot of the time. Ryan was four, and my wife, Lauren, was a full-time
mother. My absences aside, we had a happy life. Three weeks before Christmas I
was in Oregon on a dead-end lead, so I packed up and decided to go home early
for Christmas. Lauren had been complaining that I was gone too much so I wanted
to surprise her. I hopped on the red-eye and made it home by noon the next
day.”

Rory was staring entranced into his eyes. “When I arrived at
the house everything was quiet. No cars in the drive, nobody downstairs, so I
figured they were out; Ryan was in preschool and Lauren helped out there
sometimes. She did a lot of volunteer work with the Women’s League and Dorn
Foundation activities too, so no big deal. I thought I’d drop my luggage in our
room, make myself a sandwich and wait for my family to return home.”

Rory grasped Jackson’s hands tighter. She could feel it
coming, building in him. His eyes became distant.

“I climbed the stairs, suitcase in hand, and opened the door
to our bedroom. It took a minute before I could make sense of what I was
seeing, but when I finally realized that my wife was fucking one of my closest
friends, I just went crazy. I almost ripped that guy’s head off.

“I left the house. I didn’t know where I was going, but if
I’d stayed, I really think I would have killed them both.” He shook his head at
the memory and took a cleansing breath. Rory wanted to climb into his lap and
comfort him. She reached forward and put her arms around his neck and he pulled
her the rest of the way. She reached up and rested her face in the crook of his
neck, kissing his smooth skin, hoping to distract him from his bad memory.

“That is one of the worst memories I have,” he whispered.
“Now for the good one.” He untied her arms from his neck, kissed her and sat
her back in front of him.

His face transformed into a huge smile and Rory couldn’t
help but smile back at him. “When Ryan was born. He came out screaming and he
was completely red and covered with ick, but he was the most beautiful thing
I’d ever seen. I cut the cord and the nurse carried him over to the little tray
they put them on to weigh them and such. She began poking and prodding him, and
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was here, and he was my son. I turned to
ask the nurse a question, then I looked back down and he had craned his little
alien head around and was peering at me like he knew me. He was so alert and
aware. The nurse said he recognized my voice. She swaddled him and handed him
to me and I held my son for the first time. And he looked at me as if he’d been
wondering what I looked like too.” Jackson’s incredulous, happy laugh brought
tears to Rory’s eyes. “That was a good day.”

She hugged him again and wiped away a tear. “That’s a great
story,” she whispered. Jackson kissed her softly.

“Now you. Quid pro quo. You can do it.”

Her story was much worse than his. And she didn’t know if
she had a good story to tell afterward. But worse, she didn’t know if she could
put voice to what had happened. She didn’t want to put voice to her fear, her
shame. She was quiet.

“It helps when you say it out loud. I know that firsthand.
Tell me about your dream.”

After a long time, she breathed in and closed her eyes. She
didn’t want to fail him. Her eyes frantically searched the sheet and their
hands for something to say. Finally she spoke in a whisper.

“I dream…about what happened to me…that day. About what he
did to me, and…” She fell silent.

“Keep going.”

Her eyes swept up to his. They were compassionate and
caring. She looked into them and found a helping of strength. “About what he
did to me and my father.”

Jackson urged her through her fear. “Go on. What were you
seeing in your dream?”

She looked at the wall just over Jackson’s shoulder. “He had
beaten me and broken my wrist.” She grasped her left wrist. “He said he had my
dad at the farmhouse and he took me there and beat me.” Her breathing
quickened.

“Tell me about it.”

She looked back at him. “He…he was so angry, he was so
different, and I knew he was going to kill me. I was so
scared
. He said
he had Daddy. He beat me all the way to the farmhouse and when I tried to get
away he broke my wrist for running from him. I didn’t fight again because I was
worried about my dad. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jackson took her into his arms, holding her tightly and
cradling her. She was shaking again. “Of course you didn’t. Nobody would have
known what to do.”

“I remember that in my dreams, that I didn’t know what to
do. It was so frightening. He beat me and raped me and all I could do was look
around and wonder how to save my father before Aidan killed us all.” She
breathed quickly, too quickly, and couldn’t fill her lungs. Jackson took her
hands hard in his.

“Steady, take it easy, baby,” he said. “Look at me. You’re
safe here with me. Breathe with me, Rory.” He gazed into her eyes and forced
her to match her inhales and exhales to his. After several minutes, she was
much better off. They sat calmly for a while.

“Now tell me about a good day.”

Her mind drifted, searching. Her breathing had regulated,
more or less.

“I don’t have anything as good as your son’s birth,” she
stated, regretting how much it hurt. “All my good memories have been tainted by
him.”

“That doesn’t matter. I want to hear a good day of yours.”

She looked down, and when she finally looked back up, she
had a silly half smile on her face.

“The night I won the race for clerk of courts,” she said,
beaming into his eyes. “My dad brought me the news.” She looked down again and
shook her head, gave a little laugh.

“My opponent was my father’s longtime rival for head of the
party. They had some sort of falling-out years before. He was older than dirt
and had been in the clerk of courts seat since before I was born, which,
incidentally, was probably also the last time he had improved processes, but
that’s another story.” She snorted and Jackson chuckled, looking into her eyes
incredulously.

“It was a long campaign. It was hard, as you can imagine, a
young, untested candidate trying to unseat the longtime incumbent. Toward the
end we were neck and neck and, although we tried to run it clean, it got dirty.
He accused me of running on name recognition. I answered those accusations, as
anybody should. The media hit it hard and had a field day. My dad was right
there with me, helping me, guiding me. He wanted me to beat that bastard so
badly he could taste it. I could taste it.