Broken Beauty (7 page)

“What about the picture on your phone?”

“What about it?” I return and stand. I pace, panicking again. “I want to go home, Dom!”

“Look me straight in the eye, and tell me you can’t remember.”

“Just … just let me sign it.”

Dom stands and moves to my side of the table, the statement in his hands. He sits on the corner of the table, his gaze at my level.

“Okay. Sign it.” His voice is soft, his gaze direct. He holds out a pen.

I take it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I found you. I heard you crying, walked into the garden and saw you there …” he drifts off.

I look away, trying to imagine my safe closet like Dr. Thompkins told me to. I feel like I’m about to have a meltdown. Some part of me wants to do what he says. Some part of me feels like I owe him.

But I can’t. I can’t betray my own family.

“I promised myself I’d do whatever it took to get whoever hurt you. Then I found out you weren’t the first they hurt. I had the name you gave us, the picture,” he says. His voice holds as much conviction as Daddy does during one of his speeches. “One signature, and this all goes away forever. They close your case. They don’t get the bad guys.”

I stay out of court, and Daddy wins his reelection. I look at the paper and try to convince myself it’s what I want to do.

“You’re the only one who can help all these girls get some justice,” Dom adds. “You’re the only one who fought back, Mia. Don’t stop now.”

I meet his gaze again. Once again, someone believes me to be stronger than I am. I wonder what’ll happen when they all learn the truth.

“I can’t,” I whisper. “You don’t understand.”

“Then sign.” His voice hardens.

I lose him if I do. He doesn’t say it, but I hear it. He found me, saved me from the garden where my life went to shit. He stayed with me in the hospital, called Ari when Shea wouldn’t. If I asked, I think he’d sit outside my room every night to make sure
they
don’t come back. He’s the kind of person I’ve never had in my life.

The look on his face says this is about more than a stupid form. He’s disappointed in me. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me. I only care what Ari thinks of me. I know what Daddy and his team think of me. I can’t help thinking none of them would’ve done what the stranger before me did.

After all I’ve lost the past couple of weeks, I’m not ready to lose Dom, too. The sight of my guardian angel is all that stands between me and full out hysteria right now. I’m trapped: I can’t choose the man who saved my life by betraying my family; and I can’t convince myself to obey the father who doesn’t love me, when I know it’s wrong to lie about this.

“No,” I say.

Dom lowers the paper.

“Call my lawyer, or take me home,” I whisper.

He looks at me for a long minute then sets the papers down.

We walk out of the room, and I see the DA in the hallway. He doesn’t say anything, but I have a feeling this was a set-up, that maybe he was watching or just waiting for Dom to signal him to return. Whatever is going on, I’m too stressed out to remain any longer.

Dom takes me home. I sit in t
he passenger seat of the police car. I don’t speak to him, and he doesn’t try to speak to me. I need my closet. I’m ready to scream.

The drive home doesn’t take long at this time of evening. We arrive, and Dom waits for the supporters to clear a path and the gate to open, ignoring the flashbulbs of the paparazzi. No doubt, this will end up on some tabloid with a sensational headline about me being brought home in cuffs.

I don’t care. I’ve tried hard to bury what happened, and the nightmare is on the edge of my mind again.

Dom stops the car in front of the house. I look at him finally, hurting as much from his betrayal as anything else.

“Dom, was the I.D. just an excuse?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. He looks over at me. “I’m sorry we upset you.”

“I understand … I think,” I reply. “You’re just doing your job.” I ignore the voice in my mind that tells me he’s like Daddy, Chris, Shea … everyone for putting their job ahead of me.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He gives me a small smile. “But yeah, I am just doing my job. I’m doing what I think is right and what I’d want someone to do if one of you girls was my sister.”

“I can’t hate you,” I reply, touched by his honest words. I can’t help thinking his sisters are so damn lucky. “You’re the only one who cares about what’s right.”

His smile fades at my words. I’m not sure why. I open the door and start to get out of the car.

“Here,” he says, holding out two business cards. “My sister works at a women’s center. If you need someone to talk to or if you run out of those trust funds, she can help.”

I take the cards.

“And if you decide to sign your statement or remember something you want to add, the other card is mine.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Dom, I’m sorry I …”

“You don’t have to explain. No one should go through what you went through.”

“If I hadn’t gone that night, if I hadn’t worn that dress or drank or trusted him…” My throat gets too tight to speak, and I take a deep breath. “They’re right. It’s my fault. I did this. I can’t make it leave my head, and I can’t tell you what you want me to. And I’m truly only sorry for one th
ing, and that’s if
you
hate
me
.”

“I don’t hate you, Mia. You don’t deserve any of what happened to you. I want to help you and the other girls find closure. I can do that, Mia. I can find these men and put them away, but I need your help to do it,” he says with emotion in his voice. “We both know that you know who did this to you. There’s a reason you didn’t sign that statement. I want you to trust me to do my job.”

I’m not sure what to say. There’s a part of me that knows he’s right, but I can’t betray my
daddy and family. My head hurts.

“Thanks for the ride.” I get out and close the door then hurry inside.

I run to my room, lock the door and go to my closet. I have about a million texts from Ari and I read through them quickly. The trauma of my afternoon is soon replaced by the surprise of her own news.

I call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Seriously, Ari? You send me a text saying one of your brothers is in rehab and now you don’t answer your phone? You are so lame. I had a shitty day. Call me back,” I order her. I grew up with her brothers; they taught us how to play basketball and soccer. With a father like theirs, I have no idea how one of them is in trouble.

My phone vibrates as soon as I hang up and I check it fast, expecting to see a text from Ari. Instead, there’s a text from Chris.

Come downstairs, please.

I swear Chris has turned into a second father the past few weeks. I have two dads, and both of them suck. I take a few deep breaths as Dr. Thompkins taught me then force myself from the closet. My hands are still shaking. I look at the business cards in my hand then tuck them away.

I go down to the study, heart pounding. I wonder if the DA called Chris and told him I hadn’t signed the statement. I don’t know what I’ll do if he tries to make me.

“What?” I ask, stepping into the study.

“I wanted to make sure you were treated well.” Chris tosses his pen on the portfolio in front of him.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You cooperated? I won’t get a phone call later?”

“I told them everything I know about the fake IDs,” I reply.

“Good. Have a seat. We need to talk about your community service,” he says.

“Can we talk later? I’m stressing about leaving the house.”

“Dr. Thompkins says we need to encourage you to leave the closet. Ten minutes, then you can go back.”

Pissed, I throw myself into the chair across from him.

“The judge is agreeing to let Dr. Thompkins do your alcohol abuse counseling,” he starts. “Which leaves the community service. One hundred hours doesn’t sound like much, but it’ll take you awhile. You may have to do it even when you’re back in school for a few hours here and there. Understood?”

“Whatever.”

“With your … newfound status, anywhere you go, you’re going to have press. We’re arranging to have a bodyguard hired.”

“Won’t that bring
more
attention on me?” I ask with a sigh.

“There’s no avoiding it now,” Chris says. “In the spirit of reelection year, we’re going to put you in a spot that benefits your father. Your father has a few issues where he’s losing ground. Do you want to choose or shall I?”

“Like I have a choice!” I put a hand on the table then drop my forehead against it.

“You do. His support is softest among women’s rights groups and –”

“Humane societies?” I ask innocently.

“- lower-income voters.”

“Those are my choices? Can I work in a salsa club?”

“Women’s center or soup kitchen. You pick.”

I’m struck by his words. I tug free the cards in my pocket without lifting my head from the table.

“St. Mary’s Women’s Center,” I say, reading the card. I raise my head and pass him the card.

“St. Mary’s,” he repeats. He picks up the card. “Not exactly in line with the family’s Baptist roots.”

“You asked me where I wanted to go. That’s where.”

Chris flicks the card, and I’m surprised to see he’s actually considering it. I wonder again how my uncle gives a damn about me when Daddy doesn’t.

“Anything else about today? Any strange questions? Inappropriate comments?” he asks.

I hesitate then lie. “No.”

“I’m a lawyer. You can’t lie to me. I know the signs,” he says, looking at me.

“I forgot to sign my statement the other day,” I say slowly. “They asked me to sign it.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

Chris studies me. “Why not?”

“Maybe because I don’t understand why I’m doing community service when the people who hurt me are out there clubbing and partying! I can’t sleep at night, Chris! I can’t even spend more than an hour outside the closet without feeling like I’m gonna have a meltdown.” My voice is hysterical by the time I’m done.

He gazes at me for a long moment. He’s troubled. I’ve never seen that look on his face before. “I’ll make the arrangements with St. Mary’s,” he says. “And recommend to your father we add another day with Dr. Thompkins.”

“God, Chris, can’t you stand up to Daddy and help me?”

“Mia, I’m doing everything in my power to support you, but I must respect your father’s decisions, even if I don’t necessarily agree with him.”

“I have you and Daddy, and I still don’t have a real father!” I get up and head towards the door.

“Mia,” Chris’s voice is raised for the first time since I’ve known him.

Surprised, I face him. He doesn’t look flustered, but I hear it in his voice.

“You and I are both doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt,” he tells me. “We can’t change our circumstances, but we can deal with them better.”

“You’re my daddy’s lackey. At least you can leave whenever you want,” I reply. I storm out of the study and run towards my room. The panic is back, and I’m about to freak out. The world is too big. There are too many places for bad people to hide, and if I don’t make it to my closet, they’ll get me.

My phone rings. It’s Ari. I slow enough to answer it.

“I’m having an awful day, Ari!”

“Then I have good news for you. I’m coming over for a few days!”

“I’ll be in the closet.” I hang up and take the stairs two at a time. When I reach my room, I don’t even bother to close the door. I run into the closet, collapse on the floor and sob.

When I feel more in control, I grab my journal.

Dear Diary,

Today sucks. Bad. No one understands what it’s like to be me right now. I feel trapped. Dom wants me to come forward about Robert, and Chris is sending me to community service. Can it get any worse?

I’m too upset to write more. I put the journal aside and close my eyes, calming myself. I’m still curled up on the closet floor when Ari arrives. She opens the door, and I look up. I’d been in a half-doze.

“So … how’s life?” she asks, studying me.

“Awful.”

“You up to going out?”

“No.”

She enters the closet and sits down near me, her huge, designer bag taking up as much space as she does.

“We’re going shopping tomorrow,” she informs me.

“I don’t ever want to leave.”

“Well, you have to. I guess Dr. Thompkins told Chris, and Chris told Daddy that we need to help you get out of the house. So, we’re going shopping.”

“I hate them all,” I mumble.

“But you love shopping. We haven’t been in weeks. It’s almost fall; the clothes are all changing over! My bag is a summer one!” Ari sounds panicked. She motions to her handbag, as if I don’t already know she owns dozens of fall bags. “My reputation is at stake here, Mia.”

I push myself up. “Okay, we’ll go out, for the sake of your handbag.”

“I promise, we’ll be back by dark. We can do brunch at our favorite spot.”

I nod. The idea of leaving and being around people I don’t know sends cold fear running through me. But I know she’s right. Someday soon, I’ll have to leave the house again. I can practice now.

“So what’s this about your brother?” I ask.

Ari’s face lights up, like it always does when she’s got gossip. I lean back against a wall and prepare for what will probably be a typical, long, Ari-type story. Right now, I need her to distract me from my shitty world.

We sneak out the back the next morning to Ari’s car, parked one block away from my house. I survive brunch, and we head to the mall. It’s not too busy midmorning, and I’m surprised that I don’t feel like screaming when we walk in.

“Louis Vuitton first?” Ari says hopefully.

I nod. We walk through the mall and ascend to the second floor. I stick close to her, looking around. There are lots of places for bad people to hide, but I don’t feel alone or vulnerable here. I’m just one more face in the crowd, not someone bad guys would be after.

We both buy new handbags then head to the make-up counters in one of the upscale department stores. Two bottles of fingernail polish, three eye shadows and a pair of shoes later, we leave the store and stroll through the mall.

I almost,
almost
feel normal. I’m shopping with my best friend, gossiping about the kids at school and family. My hands aren’t shaking, and neither are my insides. Loud noises still startle me, but it’s okay, because I’m just another face in the mall.

We pass by the music and video store, and Ari stops to window shop. We go inside, so she can grab some DVDs. I stop beside her as she searches through a rack and glance up at the television playing the news a few aisles over. The sound is off, but the newscasters look cheerful. I glance at Ari as she moves away then back up at the television.

I read the ticker and gasp.

Latest trend among political heirs: Senator Henry Jakeson’s son ditches politics, intends to follow Keith Connor’s son into the NFL next spring.

The footage from last spring shows Robert grinning and talking to an attractive sports reporter. He’s just come off the football field from something called the Combine and carries a water bottle in one hand. His stance is easy, his smile confident. Arrogant. Like there’s nothing in this world that can stop him
after his first round draft pick and the multimillion dollar contract.

“Oh, god.” He’s here, too. He’s everywhere.

“Don’t look.” Ari grabs and yanks me hard away.

My knees are weak, my stomach churning. Tunnel vision makes Ari blurry. She staggers as I lean into her.

“Okay, okay,” she says. “Just … okay. Close your eyes. Pretend you’re in the closet.”

I close my eyes and sink to my knees.

“Okay, we’re in the closet,” Ari’s voice warbles. “It’s bright. Your shoes are like, right here. Handbags are here …” I can’t hear her anymore. I’m stuck in the in-between place.

It’s safe here. I don’t like it, but it’s dark and quiet.

“Mia!” Ari’s loud voice is accompanied by a pinch so hard, my eyes snap open. She and the store clerks are standing over me. “Okay, okay. She’s okay.” Ari’s voice is frantic and her eyes are large. “Right? You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Here,” another clerk joins us, holding a bottle of soda from the coolers near the cash register. Ari takes it and opens it. I sit up and sip.

“Chris is sending a car,” Ari says. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Why’d you tell him?” I ask, irked.

“Right! Because you just passing out shouldn’t freak me out.”

I sigh. “Sorry, Ari.” I get to my feet.

The clerks step back, but lingers. I test my legs then gather my bags. Ari follows suit. I’m still feeling queasy, but try not to show it, for her sake. We leave the store and move into the mall. Ari is staring at me.

“I’m okay, Ari,” I tell her. “I just … I saw him and freaked …”

“I understand.” Ari is quiet for a long moment, thoughtful.

We walk towards the entrance. I don’t want to go in the car Chris sent, but I’m also more than ready to go back to my closet. I can’t believe what I saw: a guy with no cares in the world, getting
a multi-million dollar deal.
Being rewarded for being who he is. I can’t make it through the whole day without crying. I can’t sleep in my own bed. I can’t forget him, but he doesn’t think about me for even a second of his day, week, life.

“Mia, I was thinking...” Ari starts as we walk into the warm, autumn day.

My body is shaking. I don’t see the car yet and head towards a bench sitting against one of the walls. It smells like cigarettes.

“Maybe … maybe you should go to the police about you know,
him.
”

“I can’t, Ari. You know that.”

“But you can’t pass out every time you watch TV.”

“I’ll get better.” Eventually.

“Mia, I’m serious,” Ari insists. “Go to those cops who rescued you. You got them medals. They’ll listen to you.”

“Ari …” I sigh. She has no idea how right she is, especially about Dom. “Let me guess, you think it’s the right thing to do, too.”

“It
is
the right thing to do.”

Her words kill me. She sees the look on my face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” Ari sighs.

“It’s okay. Everyone tells me I’m wrong. Oh, I didn’t tell you about yesterday, did I?”

She shakes her head.

The car pulls up, and we both walk towards it. The chauffeur opens the back door, and we slide in. I raise the privacy glass between us and the chauffeur, then inch closer to Ari. Her mouth drops open as I recount the trap the DA set for me.

“Omigod!” she breathes. “I can’t believe they did that to you. What’d Chris say?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“Because …”

“Because I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh. Wow. So you might do what they want you to?”

“Shea says if I step forward, they’ll humiliate me and my family, because I was drunk and underage and had a fake ID and stuff. Chris says he-said, she-said cases are hard to prove in court, that the burden will be on me to prove he hurt me,” I continue.

“In either case, your daddy will lose the Connor family, fracture the conservative base before elections, and give the press way too much fodder on your family,” she murmurs.

“Yeah. I can’t go through it again, Ari.” I slump in the seat. “But last night, instead of seeing him in my dreams, I saw all those girls. I can’t stop thinking about them, Ari.”

“Well, the football deal he got will take him away,” she reasons. “Maybe if he’s not here, with the other guy, maybe he’ll stop hurting people.”

“I hope so. I hope I was the last.”

There’s pain in Ari’s eyes as she looks at me. I can see what she’s thinking: that Dom and the DA are right.

I try to smile, but can’t. “I want this all to go away, Ari.”

“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s so shitty you got stuck with community service. Why didn’t Chris get you out of that?”

“I don’t know. You know the cop, Dom, who helped me? I’m going to do the service at his sister’s shelter or something.”

“Really?” Ari grins. “You know, he’s a hottie.”

“No.”

“Um, yeah, he is. I saw him on TV when your dad gave him the award.”

“I guess I’m not really … I kinda don’t want anything to do with guys. Ever, ever again,” I say with a frown.

“If you have his phone number, I’ll call him.” Ari giggles.

I manage a smile, but her suggestion bothers me, maybe because Dom is
my
guardian angel.

“I’m just kidding, Mia. But he’s hawt.”

“If you say so,” I mumble.

“When do you start?”

“Chris hasn’t said. But he said I’ll have to do it during school, too. One hundred hours, Ari.”

She rolls her eyes. “Lame.”

We make it back to the house, and I hop out. She’s headed back to the mall to get her car, and I go upstairs with my bags. I walk into my closet and pull out my new shoes and handbag. I stand there for a moment, staring at my nest on the floor.

Robert Connor got a football deal and a new life somewhere else. My closet suddenly seemed too small. I’m not sure what to do. I put my make-up in my bathroom and leave, lingering in the middle of my room.

Am I angry or scared? Both?

“You start tomorrow morning.”

I twist to face the door I left open. Chris is in the doorway, portfolio in his hands.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re going to the women’s clinic in the morning. You’ll do four hours a day, four days a week, until school starts. Immediately after, you’ll meet with Dr. Thompkins.”

I gaze at him. I’m not paying any attention to what he’s said. He waits.

“You’re not in your closet,” he says finally.

“I saw the news,” I reply.

“And?”

“It’s not fair.” I look towards my closet. “I hate my closet. I hate that I can’t leave it, while he gets all that!” I wave my hand at imaginary riches.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Robert Connor got a football deal. I’ve got my closet.”

“We’re back to Robert Connor.” Chris sounds puzzled. “I thought you cleared this up with your daddy when you talked.”

“Right. Because Daddy lets me tell him what to do,” I reply.

“I’m not sure what to do, Mia. Here’s Dr. Thompkins’ card.” Chris holds up a business card and steps far enough into the room to place it on the table under a mirror on my wall. “If you need to talk, call him.”

“You and daddy have a lot of limitations,” I tell him, angry again.

“Community service starts at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Please be on time.” He leaves my doorway.

I grab a pillow, the nearest thing to me, and fling it at the door with a frustrated growl. I go back to my closet, my anger fizzling into panic once again. I grab my journal and write.

Dear Diary,

I saw Robert Connor today on TV. Made me want to throw up, but I realized something. He’s not living in a closet or going to community service. Why am I?

I pause and peer out of my closet at my bed. Standing, I leave my closet and circle my room a couple of times, restless and upset. Dr. Thompkins’ card is clenched in my hand. I put it in my journal then sit on my bed to continue writing.

Sometimes I just wish someone in my house cared a little more. Chris is trying, but he’s driving me crazy. I mean, it’s like he’s got a checklist of things to do to help me feel better and when he runs out of ideas, he hands me over to Dr. Thompkins. How do I get out of this rut? How do I become more like everyone else who can leave the house without passing out and less like … me?