Anabel Unraveled (19 page)

And so, I lamented, I had spent day after day, hour after hour, reading this, watching that, studying this, wearing that . . . I sighed. If I had been smarter, I would have realized this before. He had trapped me, and I really hadn’t put up a fight.

“But why is that?” I murmured aloud. Oh, who was I kidding? I knew the answer to that, too. It was because I liked my possessions. I liked them a lot. If I were to leave, it would be sort of ridiculous to pack up my library. Books were heavy, and it would cost all sorts of money—money that I did not have—to ship them anywhere. We only got supplies from the mainland three to four times a year, after all, because of the high costs. We were self-sufficient otherwise. Some of the convicts worked the land, and we also had a small meat plant.

Possessions couldn’t make me happy, though. I longed for friendship. I longed for any sort of relationship, really. Maybe even a dog. Perhaps, I thought, resigning myself to the idea that Jonathan wasn’t going to let me go, I could get a dog. He wouldn’t deny me that, would he?

But staying here—well that meant a lot of things, really. It meant only spending a week or two out of the year with my brother, and our situation dictated that we didn’t get to spend any time together in private. He always had Secret Service with him, for one thing; for another, Jonathan did not like it when we talked. Perhaps because Sam always talked about taking me away from the island.

It also meant no Jared. Not that I had even presumed that he would be a part of my life, but we may have seen each other. If I had made the decision to stay in Washington, and he was still working for my brother, the chances were there that our paths would cross. I hated liking him, I really did. No good could come of it, especially if my father had won him over. How could Jared have such a lack of strength of character?

I stood up and tossed my robe aside. I walked over to my desk and sat down, flipping open my laptop. As it booted up, I contemplated what I had decided to do. It was a bit sketchy, but there was a reason everyone thought so poorly of Jared, wasn’t there?

So I plugged his name into Google.

Before, I had only read one or two things about Jared. This time, I looked at all the websites that came up with renewed interest. There was an article which told the story of a married woman who he purportedly had an affair with, whose husband confronted Jared in a restaurant. Apparently they came to blows. All these women. Gorgeous women. They came to life on the screen before me: vivacious redheads, blonde bombshells . . . apparently brunettes were not his style, I thought, tugging at my own chocolate locks. Shaking my head, I began to read more and more suspect articles: more lists of women he had gone through, a minor banking scandal that looked like it had been hushed up, shady deals he had been entangled with that had my brother standing up for him. When he had said he did side jobs, it had never occurred to me that it might be something not quite right. Perhaps Jared was doing dirty work for Sam—but I tossed that thought out the window. In my mind, my brother was perfect, and I could not countenance the idea that Sam would be involved in anything that fell in the “shades of gray” area. Still, I mused, he did have Jared on staff for a reason .

And why, exactly, was Jared here, dealing with me?

My discomfort mounted. Maybe I was a “shady deal”. Maybe I was something that Sam wanted kept quiet. That would explain Jared’s involvement, I thought, and that made me uneasy.

I picked up my phone, but then stopped. I should probably let Sam get a good night’s sleep for once.

Throwing it down in frustration, I climbed onto my bed and tucked my knees under my chin. So much was swirling through my brain at the moment. I felt numb. My heart was hurting me.

Oh, come on, Anabel, I thought. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is ridiculous.

“Today,” I proclaimed aloud, “is the first day of the rest of my life.” I was not going to be lost in a sea of self-pity anymore. All I had to do was act calm, and that would convince Sam I had not gone all crazy. I would just prove to him that I needed to leave. If that did not work, then I had less than a year and a half to tough it out until I could get my hands on Cassidy’s money. Then, if I had to, I would charter myself a yacht and get the heck off of the island. Really, I thought, straightening, squaring my shoulders, I did not need anyone but myself to get out of here.

That thought empowered me. I had not been all whiny until Jared came to the island. He was the one who brought on my self-doubt. I did not need him. I took a deep breath and smiled.

That was when my introspection was interrupted by a wild pounding at my door. “ANABEL! AN-A-BEL!”

In my haste, I didn’t even bother throwing on my robe. I flung open the door and came face to face with Jared. Sweaty, red-faced, completely inebriated Jared.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, letting him in lest my father see him.

“Anabel, I need—I need to talk to you,” he panted. He leaned over onto my bed.

I stood staring at him, unimpressed. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He stared at me. “Your nightgown . . .”

. . . Was definitely not the sort of thing I should be wearing around him. I reached for my robe, but he stopped me. “No,” he said, “I like it.”

“I don’t want you to like it.” I was growing angry. Something about this did not feel right. “I need you to go now, please.”

“Anabel,” he whispered, his voice intense. “Anabel come here, I need to tell you something.”

I was growing more and more uneasy, but I came and stood close to him.

He was about two inches taller than me, so I had to look up to see his eyes. He looked so serious, despite his feverish face. We were inches away from each other, and he started to put his arms around me. He drew me close to him, and briefly I thought about how earlier I had longed for him to do this, longed for him to sweep me into an embrace, but this . . . this did not feel right. It felt very improper when he firmly planted one hand on the small of my back, and one arm around my neck, drawing me into a kiss. I could taste the whiskey on his breath, and I drew back, repulsed. But he continued to kiss me, at first gently, searching, and then harder. And harder, and I tried to pull apart from him. Then he seized me, and the look in his eyes scared me. “Let me go, please let me go,” I begged, panicking, but he was intent upon me, and then I realized what was about to happen.

And then it was over, and I felt a strange warmth on my leg as he pulled away from me, and calling me “Natasha,” he passed out on the floor. I pulled myself up, unsteady. Then I looked down, and I was shocked to see that blood was streaming down my leg, on my nightgown, and onto my rug.

I had said no. I had said it over and over. I had screamed, even though I had known that no one would ever come to rescue me. I had flailed and tried to pull myself away. In the end, I had been overpowered. Shaking, I looked down at my wrists and noticed bruises were starting to form on them, and on my arms. Something inside of me felt bruised and broken, as well.

I sat there, frozen to the spot, for a long time. I felt like I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Words would begin to form at my lips, and then disappear. Tears would form in my eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. I could not think; I could not feel. My mind was reeling and my heart was pounding and the only thought that was going through my mind was that I had lost my virginity—it had been stolen from me.

And I could never get it back.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I began tugging at my hair. Pulling at it. I tucked my knees under my chin and started to rock myself. My hair fell around me. I closed my eyes and thought this is just a nightmare, it did not happen, when I wake up it will all go away, oh please, oh please go away, please.

Then he stirred. He looked at me, blinking. “Anabel?”

I stared at him, unable to say anything, incredulous that he would even presume to speak to me.

His eyes wandered to the stain on the rug. “Oh no,” he said.

I found my voice. “I really need you to go now,” I croaked.

“Anabel, I—”

“Get. Out. Now,” I ordered.

“How did this happen?” he whispered. He took in my mussed hair, my cowering position, and he realized. “I hurt you. Oh Anabel, I hurt you, honey, I’m so sorry—”

I looked at him, unable to believe my ears. “Do not call me honey. Do not pretend like you care. Just get out. Now.”

“You must know I never—that is, I—I don’t know how this happened.” He kept tripping over his words. It was all an act, I knew, which made me burn with rage.

“You don’t know how this happened? Are you kidding me? You burst into my bedroom completely drunk and you force yourself up on me, and YOU DON’T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED?” I screeched.

He looked at me, abashed.

“You don’t even care about me.” My voice broke on the end, and I took a deep breath. “I heard you tell Jonathan that you don’t. So why would you do this?”

Again, Jared didn’t have a response for me.

“Get out now, or I will tell my father.” It was the best threat I could come up with, and it was a good one, too—I saw the color drain from Jared’s face. “You have until the count of three,” I warned, sounding much braver than I felt.

He got up, grabbed his clothing, and walked to the door. “Is there anything I can say?”

I stared at him stonily, trying my hardest to hold it together. After he closed the door I sprang up and locked it behind him. Then I climbed into my bed and then, and only then, was the moment that I began to sob.

Chapter 20—Anabel

I met Meghan’s eyes. “I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” I told her.

“Anabel?” she ventured.

“Mm?” I looked at her, trying to force away the tears that had appeared.

“I know we don’t know each other very well, but I feel like, um, that is . . .” She gave a frustrated sigh. “I want to hug you. I think you need it. Can I?”

I blinked away my tears and held out my arms. She stood up and walked over to me, and held me, stroking my hair, in a way that was almost maternal. “Thank you for sharing that, it must have been really hard,” she said.

Jared had not said a word. I glanced at him through my watery eyes. He looked strained.

“Anabel,” he choked a bit on my name.

“You don’t need to say anything,” I told him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Please don’t say anything else.”

“But Anabel . . .”

“I can’t do this.” I pulled apart from Meghan.

She snapped into action and looked at Jared. “You should go home and rest up for tomorrow. I will take the Princess to your hearing, so all you have to do is show up.”

I knew he was looking at me, but I couldn’t return his gaze. I knew that if I looked at him, I would lose it, and I had to hold it together. That was all I could focus on. I was aware of him saying goodbye to me, to Meghan, and then I heard the door close, but I was lost in my own thoughts. Which is why it took me a few minutes to realize that Meghan was sitting next to me, holding my hand and looking at me, her eyes filled with compassion.

“You know,” I broke the silence, “you couldn’t stand the sight of me earlier.”

“I know, Anabel. I’m sorry. It’s just the kind of women Jared finds himself entangled with usually . . . well they aren’t like you.” Meghan looked away from me, as if she was searching for how to explain this. “I just have developed a certain cynicism whenever he gets involved with a woman. Mostly they’re airheads who want to be connected with his power and prestige. Do you know how hard it is to have all of your friends be in love with your brother? Wait, don’t answer that,” she said, and I couldn’t help but smile. Meghan continued. “Besides, you turned up pregnant, so it caused me to judge you prematurely. Again, I am truly sorry,” she apologized, and her voice was sincere.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I replied. “We don’t even know each other. How could you possibly have any idea who I am, what I’m like? Everyone I have loved is isolated from me or dead, I’m not exactly the most popular girl right now.”

“Well, I’d like to be your friend, if I could, Anabel.”

“For the love of God, why?”

She started to laugh. “You’re funny, for one thing. You’re certainly interesting. Also, I wrote my senior thesis on Jane Austen, so I know a kindred spirit when I see one.” She smiled. “Besides, it appears my brother actually does care about you, despite what you may think.”

I snorted. “One moment I believe he does, the next moment I relive . . . that.” My speaking skills were deteriorating rather rapidly. “What a lucky girl I am, I get to do it again tomorrow.” I put my head in my hands. “I wish I knew who Natasha was. I had forgotten he had said that to me. Do you know?” I looked at her through my fingers.

She looked away. “I really think that’s something he ought to tell you, not me.”

“I understand.” And I did, even though I was dying to know.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she admitted. “So what I think we should do is get you into your pajamas and into bed. Can I make you some hot chocolate?”

I smiled at her. “I would like that.”

I had gotten into my pajamas and was letting the air mattress fill when she brought in the cocoa. “It’s very hot, so be careful. I’m going to go get your sheets.”

“Thank you,” I accepted it gratefully. She came back into the room and started making up the bed. I shifted, unsure of what to do or say.

“Why are you fidgeting?” It was like she had eyes in the back of her head.

“I guess, well, I don’t know, I invited myself over here, I feel very thankful that you took me in. Is there anything you want to ask me?” I dropped into a chair.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to you, except that I’m so sorry you went through that, and my brother is a jerk sometimes.”

“Why did you call me Princess?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” She turned to look at me. “It just seemed to fit, somehow.”

“That’s my codename, is all,” I leaned back in my chair.

“I guess I’m just psychic then,” she laughed. “Who came up with it?”