Damaged 2 (18 page)

"Wait
up. I've been trying to talk to you."

"I
have nothing to say to you." I yank my hand back and turn away, ready to go
inside.

"I'm
sorry about your mom."

I
hate him. I hate that he says it, that he thinks has the right to be here.
Turning slowly I glare with every malicious thought in my head clearly visible
on my face. They start to twist inside my mind. "Go to hell."

Dean
smiles, like it's funny. "I love this new you. The backbone is very becoming,
Sidney. It makes your breasts seem larger than they are. Did your new boyfriend
teach you to stand like that?"

Anger
has been building inside of me, and when he mentions Peter, I can barely hold
on to my temper. I don't answer. Instead, I listen to the pacifist side of my
brain that tells me to walk away.

"Seriously?
I come over to give you my condolences and you don't invite me in? What the
fuck, Sid?"

"My
mother threatened to bury you in the garden. You are not welcome in this
house."

He
has the audacity to laugh. "Yeah, I remember that. Apparently she believed you
just a little too late. Life's cruel, isn't it? You didn't come home for all
that time because she didn't believe you, but it turns out she really did. Such
a waste." He tuts like the entire situation was menial, like it didn't matter
at all. Fury races through my veins so fast that I want to crush him. I want to
make him stop talking and hurt him as much as he's hurt me. I can't let the
thought slip away. It builds bigger and brighter inside of me as Dean stands
there like I'm pathetic.

Dean
notices the change, but he doesn't know how deep the thread of insanity goes.
He comes up behind me and slips his hand around my waist gently, like we're
lovers. "How about we do things the way we used to. I have the same knife in my
pocket. You feel it, don't you baby?" He presses himself to my leg so that I
feel how aroused he is along with the knife in his pocket.

A
twisted thought forms in my mind and I can't let go of it. It pulls me along,
building quickly, becoming darker as it grows. I say no and try to turn away,
but I know what he wants. He likes the fight, he likes me afraid. I play the
part and Dean holds me tight. I let him drag me to his van this time. He pushes
me against the side door and presses his body to mine. "You know you want it."

"Then
let's go." I stare into his face without batting an eye. I mean every word I
say. I want him alone. Now.

Dean's
expression changes. Lust fills his eyes as he grinds his hips into mine. The
movement makes me want to vomit and crawl back inside myself, but I don't. I
remember the flashes of silver. I remember the pain, but most of all I still
feel the remorse of losing my mother with vivid intensity and it's all his
fault. Dean did this to me, to her. He stole everything from me.

The
back of my neck is still prickled like someone is watching. I glance around
quickly, but see no one. The street is empty and dark save for a telephone pole
across the street and its yellow bulb. I suppose that it's my reaction to Dean;
after all, being alone with him last time ruined me. My body remembers every
last detail, but instead of feeling it rushing back, I feel nothing. It's like
something inside my head stopped working. That rational part of my mind broke
loose and rolled away. The only thing left is this thought that continues to
grow darker and darker.

I
slip into his van and Dean takes off. As he drives, he reaches over and places
his hand between my thighs. All the blood obviously left his head because he
doesn't notice the way I stare, the way I respond to his touch like it isn't
even there. The void fills me, consuming my thoughts and pushing back any
semblance of logic that tries to break forth. My mother is dead and the man
sitting next to me destroyed any relationship I had with her. I could have come
home. I would have come back had I known. The silent rage boils inside of me.
Fragmented thoughts fly through my mind like a witch caught in cyclone. They're
there and then gone in a flash. Consequences don't matter; nothing matters now.
I've lost everything. My soul crawled up inside my body and died.

Dean
pulls off the road and into a dark parking lot. At the very back is an old
playground that's abandoned for the most part, and it looks exactly the way I
remember. The night air is sticky and practically clings to me as I walk to our
spot with Dean trailing behind me. It's the place he first kissed me before his
kisses turned into something else. There's a concrete wall blocking the view
from the parking lot. We're alone, surrounded by tall, dark trees and inky
shadows.

As
we duck behind the wall, Dean gropes me, pressing his hand under my shirt, and
squeezing my breasts hard. He's greedy and I don't want him touching me, but I
can't reach it—not yet. My heart pounds harder. I'm fighting to stay alert, but
my mind is shutting down, falling into the terror of the memories that are
burned into my brain. The memories rise up like corpses and demand my
attention, but I don't give in to them.

Dean
made me the way I am, what I am. I steel my reaction and cage my mind. I
brought him here this time, not the other way around. I'll make sure he never
forgets me the same way I'll never forget him, except this time I won't be a
conquest. I stare blankly as Dean presses me against the wall. The concrete
bites my elbows. Dean's hands are everywhere—on my waist, under my shirt, on my
neck. The tip of his finger traces the scar below my necklace, flaring the
scene to life in my mind. The old emotions splash over my mind, dousing me, and
roll right off. I'm uncharacteristically still and utterly quiet, but he
doesn't notice. He's saying things to me that are repulsive. Breathing hard,
Dean presses me hard against the wall and grinds his hips against me, thrusting
at me from behind his jeans. "I know how much you want my cock, Sid, and I'm
going to give it to you—over and over again—until you beg me to stop. You like
it this way; I know you do. Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you want to suck
it."

Dean's
so strong. I can barely move as it is and once his pants come off, he'll do
everything he said and then some. I can't wait anymore. I press my chest into
his hands and reach down and slip my hand into his pocket. Dean makes a
surprised sound, like he never thought I'd grab him like that. Touching his
junk was an accident, and it masked what I was really after—his knife. My
fingers wrap around the hilt and I take it from his pocket.

I
step back and open the blade. "Remember this?" I flick it close to his face.

Dean's
eyes widen and he tries to step back and comes up against the wall. There's
nowhere to go. "Yeah, you want me to use it on you?"

I
laugh, but there's no joy in it. "I remember all the times you did use it on
me, all the things you did. I have so many scars from you that I can't think
straight. No one saved me from you, and yet, here you are on the day my mother
died, telling me that it's my own damn fault that I got raped, and that it was
my fault that she never believed me.

"Oh
wait, she did believe me—and you knew—and it's funny. Like ha-ha funny, like
tragically ironic." I touch the knife to his throat as I speak, pressing the
tip into his neck deeper and deeper. The last string that was holding me
together has come undone, and it's blowing in the wind. No one will save me.
It's like last time, and I won't have this man waiting for me in the shadows anymore.

Dean
is swearing at me, threatening all kinds of things, but he can't move with the
knife where it is without slitting his throat. I twist the point and watch a
bead of red drip down his neck. My eyes flick to his. I feel the tension in my
arm, the need to release the energy and fear, inside of me.

That's
when I hear his voice. It moves through the shadows toward me. At first I think
I'm hallucinating, then I actually see Peter. His dark hair hangs in his eyes
and his face is lowered. He kicks a stone as he speaks. "As much as I think you
should flinch and cut his throat, I know you. I know what will happen after you
do, when it's over." Peter comes closer.

I
can't move. I grip the knife tighter, thinking that Peter will try to take it
away. I don't wonder why he's here or how he found me. I see flashes of silver
and think the blade is on me. I act like I'm the one being attacked and I can't
stop. I don't want to stop. "He used this on me, this same blade. He scarred me
inside and out."

"I
know he did." Peter is next to me, but he doesn't touch my arm. He watches me
from under those dark lashes. "So what are you waiting for?"

"What
the fuck, man?" Dean looks horrified. I twist the blade again, and Dean tenses,
trying to push his body into the wall. I watch as the cut deepens, but it does
nothing to make me feel better.

"When
this is over," Peter asks, "what will you do? After all the blood has drained
from his body, after he dies in front of your eyes, what will you do?"

The
sound of my breath fills my head. I feel like I'm in control, but I'm not. I
can't think; I can't blink. I don't know the answer to Peter's question, but I
can't drop my arm. I'm locked in place, staring down the man who ruined my
life.

"I
know the name of the man who killed Gina. I know where he lives and I know
exactly what I'd do to him. It would give me a great amount of pleasure to
watch the light go out of his eyes."

"So
why haven't you done something about it?"

"Because
I already did. I once stood where you are now, but I didn't stop. I have to
tell you that doing this will keep you trapped in your past for the rest of
your life. This man will have ruined you in every way possible, and day in and
day out you will remember that. Even after he's dead, he will haunt you. If you
shove that knife into his throat and end his miserable life, he wins. He'll own
you until you take your last breath. Is that what you want?"

His
words hit me hard. A slew of emotions are twisting deep inside of me, trying to
break out of the box I shoved them into. "I have to end this. I can't have
him—" Peter's breath is on my neck. His hand is next to me and slowly slips
over my arm.

"Then
let me do it. Let me take care of this for you. You'll never see him again. I
promise. Give me the knife." Peter slips his hand over mine as he speaks and
closes his palm over mine. He pulls back slightly and the knife moves off of
Dean's neck. He inhales sharply.

Peter
holds me in his arms and kisses my face while keeping the knife blade
accessible. The box cracks open, and emotions violently slam into me, so hard
that I'm shaking. "I'm sorry, Peter."

Dean
chokes and presses his fingers to his neck. They come away covered in blood. He
starts yelling, "You crazy bitch, I'm going to make you—"

Peter's
jaw tenses before he does it. His fist flies up and punches Dean so hard that
he doubles over gasping for air. Peter releases me and slams his other fist
into Dean's gut. Then he crashes a fist into Dean's back. The punches land
harder and harder until Dean is on his knees and there's blood seeping into his
shirt.

"Enough,"
a voice says and Sean appears. His hand is in his pocket. Sean's eyes flick to
me, and he nods, like he's giving me his approval or something.

Peter
is breathless. He wipes the sweat off his brow and says, "Tell him what he has
to look forward to if he messes with Sidney again. Make sure he knows exactly
what I mean." Peter's tension is palpable. Every last bit of him is strung like
he's going to snap.

Everything
happens so quickly. It feels like I'm in a daze and I can't do anything but
blink. When did I become like this? What would push me so far that I'd actually
hurt someone? Part of me is disgusted, but the other half is so damaged that I
hope Sean scares the crap out of Dean. I want that man to hurt for everything
he did to me—for everything he took away. That bastard stole my life, and I
almost lost it completely. If Peter hadn't come when he did…

A
shiver rakes through me, and reality catches up with my brain. A thin layer of
sweat coats my skin. My face is so damn hot, but my arms are frozen. Before I
can think, I'm forced to bend at the waist as my body tries to expel the
contents of my stomach, but there isn't anything there, so I dry heave. Peter
holds my back and speaks softly to me. His words float by my ears, but I don't
understand him. I almost killed Dean. The thought hits me hard, and I can't
stop shaking.

"I'll
take care of this. Get her out of here." Sean grabs Dean by the neck and drags
him into the woods. Panic shoots through me. I can't be responsible for this.
Evil people are made by decisions like this. I can't allow it, no matter how
far gone I was.

"Wait,"
I choke out, but Sean doesn't stop. Peter pulls me away, and I have to fight
the urge to look back. "You can't kill him. You can't!"

"He
won't kill the asshole. I would have if I'd come alone. That's why Sean
insisted on being here today, now. He knows me better than I'd like to admit.
Sean's just reminding that piece of shit that bad deeds don't go unpunished.
Sean's a little more emotionally detached than I am. I'd kill him without
meaning to." He looks at his hands like this is something he knows about
himself, like he's killed before.

Sobs
bubble up my throat, and I shiver. I shake my head and wrap my arms around my
middle. Peter walks me over to a black sports car. It's Sean's, and the
motorcycle is also Sean's. I slip into the seat and let fear strangle me into
silence.

CHAPTER
26

The
following day Peter stands next to me as I place a rose on my mother's casket.
We stay until everyone else has gone. Sam sits on one side of me and my father
on the other. Dad stares blankly. He hasn't cried since the morning she died.
He smiles at me when he sees me and says I look like her. His words haunt me.
Every time I look in a mirror to brush my hair or make sure I haven't smeared
makeup all over my face from crying, I see my mother's face. There are pictures
of her all over the house. The ones where she's my age rattle me the most. I
have no idea what her life was like. I went from being a child to being an
adult and left without ever really knowing who she was.