Destiny by chance: A Contemporary Romance Fiction Novel (16 page)

Lisa’s home was a vintage seventies Spanish-style ranch house with four bedrooms and three and a half baths that sat in the foothills of Austin overlooking downtown.  Lisa never did anything small.  When she found the home, she was engaged to and already living with her fiancé of four years.  They set a date and started shopping for a home together.  The engagement ended abruptly when she found him in bed with his Pilates instructor. 
And
her best friend.  Lisa dumped the fiancé, bought the house and never looked back. 

The home was filled with shabby décor to match Lisa’s unique taste, mostly bought at yard sales and thrift stores.  An eclectic mix of modern and rustic that only Lisa could pull off.  Her parents had given her the deposit and co-signed the note.  Once her business took off, she refinanced and ended up paying it off early.  It was more house than she needed, so she had converted one of the rooms to an art studio, another one into a yoga and dance studio.  Her only guest room was where Destiny stayed. 

Destiny walked into the expansive chef’s kitchen and dropped her keys onto the granite countertop.  Her phone rang suddenly, startling her.  Although she didn’t recognize the phone number, she accepted the call.  When no one spoke, she hung up.  It rang several more times.  She answered politely every time, with the same result.  Finally, she turned off the ringer and set it on the counter beside her keys. 

The thought of driving around for an hour hadn’t appealed to her, so she opted for going back to Lisa’s to shower and change clothes before meeting Bill. Destiny didn’t know if she felt like talking; she just knew she wanted to see him.  Now she found herself looking forward to his calls, his kind notes and even the flowers that made her sneeze.  As hard as it was to admit, Destiny missed him.  Bill had been so sweet… and patient.  For weeks she had tried, to no avail, putting all of it out of her mind—the way he held her.  His touch.  The kiss.  She didn’t know if she was ready.  Or
what
she was ready for.  But after all this time, she
did
know she was ready to see what might happen if she gave him a chance.

Destiny stepped out onto the deck Lisa had added two years ago and past the pool she’d added the year before that.  It was a still, cloudless autumn night.  The water had the appearance of a flat sheet of glass, flowing down the side of the cliff beyond, on which Lisa lived.  The moon shone over the city, reflecting on the water.  It was time to think about moving.  Destiny hadn’t discussed it with anyone yet but had already made the decision.  Lisa assured Destiny she could stay as long as she wanted.  Andy, of course, offered his apartment as well.  But it was time.  She was ready.  Winston’s case was expected to go before a grand jury within weeks.  And when talking to her attorney that morning, she had approved the process of filing a civil suit against Winston, with the stipulations that any settlement proceeds go to the Rape Crisis Center.  Winston had bragged about deep pockets, so she was determined to hit him where he would feel it most and use those resources to help other victims.

Destiny stepped back inside and looked at her watch.  She suddenly remembered to call Andy.  He usually stopped by on Fridays early in the evening.  They would pull up a movie from NetFlix, eat popcorn and drink Barqs root beer until one or the other fell asleep.  Because Destiny had gone to the Senior Center, they had made plans for later that evening.  She needed to call him before he left, to tell him she had since made other plans.  She picked up her phone to dial him, but it went to voice mail. 

“Andy, taking a rain check on tonight.  Hope you didn’t leave yet.  Will explain when you call me back.”  She hung up, then slid her phone into her pocket, and walked the length of the hallway to her room to shower.  Twenty minutes later, she felt refreshed and awake.  With fifteen minutes to spare, she decided to make herself a cup of hot tea.  A cool breeze blew as she walked into the living area, and she turned.  The patio door was wide open, the colorful curtains blowing in the wind.  She stopped for a moment and tilted her head.  She could have sworn she had closed and locked it.  Destiny shrugged to herself.  She forgot things all the time nowadays.  The door to the garage opened and closed.  She looked at the clock on the microwave.  Lisa must have finished early. 

Destiny walked into the kitchen.  “You’re early,” she called out to her friend.  “Or did you forget something?”  When there was no answer, she walked toward the garage.  The hallway was dark.  And empty.  Panic struck, and she froze.  Slowly she removed her phone from the front pocket of her jeans.  She reached to dial 911 and Andy’s number flashed on the screen.  Her finger moved to accept the call as she was turning.  Then she looked up as something caught her eye.  Destiny yelped with a start, her phone falling from her hand and crashing to the floor.  Winston was standing perfectly still beside the granite island. 

She grabbed her chest as dread filled her instantly.  Destiny knew she was in trouble; Winston was dressed all in black. 
And
he was wearing gloves.  Destiny’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest as she assessed her options.  Her first inclination was to run, but common sense told her that he was bigger and stronger, and probably faster.  And, to where would she run?

“What are you doing here, Winston?” she asked aloud, hoping Andy could hear her.

“I missed you,” he said, stepping toward her.

Destiny took a step back. “You shouldn’t be here.  You need to leave,” she demanded firmly.

He took another step toward her.  “What if I don’t want to leave?” he asked calmly.

Destiny continued to step backward until her back pressed against the freezer side of the refrigerator.

Winston stopped a foot away but leaned his hand onto the fridge, his arm next to her head, his breath on her face. 

“What do you want?” she asked, allowing her fear to turn to rage.  She knew he wasn’t there to intimidate her; he was there to hurt her. If he knew how terrified she was, he’d win.  Rage would be her only defense now. 

Winston reached his other hand to her face, but she batted it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelled.  “Don’t you ever touch me again.”

Winston grabbed her chin.  Destiny felt his gloved hand tighten its grip on her face.  Then he smiled, released her and patted her cheek before leaning back.  He grabbed the door handle and opened the fridge.  Winston rooted around and took out a bottle of wine.  He stepped away from her and inspected the bottle.  He pursed his lips.  “Not my favorite year, but it’ll do.”  Winston turned his back to her as he reached above the granite counter and took down two wine glasses that hung over him.  He slowly opened the wine and poured a little into each glass.  Then he added something else to hers.

Destiny glanced down and saw her phone still lit up, but it was hard to see if Andy was on the line or trying to call her back.  If only she could reach it.  Her eyes darted quickly around the room.  Lisa was a clean freak—everything was organized and put in its place.  No knives on the counter.  No meat thermometers.  Nothing close-by to defend herself if needed.  Not even a damn rolling pin or pan to hit him with!  Destiny closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. And for the first time in a long time, she asked God for strength.  She asked God for courage.

Winston turned to her and held out a wine glass with little in it. 

“If you think I’m drinking that, you’re mistaken.”  Though her body trembled, there was defiance in her voice.

“No one should drink alone.”  Winston picked up his glass and sipped from it.  He continued to hold out the other one to her.

“You raped me, Winston,” Destiny snapped defensively.  “You drugged me, and you raped me.”

Winston narrowed his eyes and set his glass down.  “Baby,” he smiled, as he stepped to her again.  “I remember everything,” he whispered in her ear.  “You enjoyed every minute of our time together.  Besides,” he added, his finger curling in her hair.  “I’d never hurt you.”  He reached to brush her cheek.

Destiny turned her face away before his hand arrived, then looked back at him.  “But you did hurt me, Winston. I thought we were friends.”

“We
are
friends.”

“Friends don’t do what you did to me.”

Winston leaned his hand against the refrigerator again and held the glass to her lips.  “Just one sip.”

Her eyes challenged him, refusing to look away.  Slowly her hand moved to the glass and took it from him.  As she closed her eyes for only a moment, she lowered the glass and poured it out onto the stained concrete floor. 

Winston smiled smugly.  “We can do this all night, Babe.”  He took it from her hand and moved to refill the wine glass.  “Your friend always comes home late on Fridays.  I heard you cancel with your brother.”  He turned and held out the glass to her again.  “It’s just you and me.”

“Why are you wearing gloves, Winston?”

Winston’s smile grew.

Destiny shook her head, stepped away from the refrigerator and toward him.  She looked down at the glass he held out to her.  Guardedly, she took it from him, holding it up to her nose, sniffing it, then swirling it around.  Destiny slowly raised the glass to her lips as if she was going to sip it, her eyes never leaving his.  Then, just as slowly, she lowered the glass, holding it in her hands as she stepped past him.  He turned with her, their eyes never leaving one another’s.  Destiny asked him faintly, “Why, Winston?”

He tilted his head, a perplexed look on his face.  “There is no reason. There’s no explanation for us, except that I could.”  Winston stepped toward her again.  “And now, this has all gone on long enough.  It’s time to end it.”  He set his glass on the counter behind them.

“End it?”

“The others didn’t care.  Anyone can be bought.”  He walked in a circle around her, sipping his wine.  “Some people put more value on their
issues
than others.  But ultimately,
everyone
can be bought.”

“Not me, Winston.”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head.  “That’s why I thought we needed to talk.  Ten million dollars, Destiny?  Really?” he laughed. “When my lawyers called me today I couldn’t help but laugh.”

“It’s not for me.”

“It doesn’t matter who it’s for; it’ll never happen.”

“How do you think you’ll get around it, Winston?  You can’t be that arrogant.”  Destiny placed the glass next to his on the counter.  She sighed, then looked into his eyes and softened her voice, speaking tenderly.  “I liked you, Winston.  I really did.”

Winston reached for her face, and she closed her eyes.  He caressed her cheek gently.  Unexpectedly, her face relaxed against his palm.  He felt a tingle of excitement at her acceptance.  Winston took his hand away, removed his glove, then touched Destiny’s cheek again.  She didn’t pull away, allowing him to caress her cheek, then her hair.  Her hand moved to his, then slid tenderly down his arm.  Destiny evened out her breathing, as she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.  Slowly he leaned toward her. 

Suddenly she turned, taking his arm with her, bending and lowering her body at the same time, twisting his arm and turning it backward in an arm lock.  Winston screamed out in pain, unable to break her grip or strike back from that angle.  Then quickly, she threw two elbow punches to his nose.  As he fell against her, he grabbed for anything to stay up—the anything being her hair.  Winston hung on, disoriented, one arm hanging uselessly at his side.  Destiny screamed out as he began to fall, pulling her with him.  Desperately, she tried to crawl away; only he still had her hair, which he used to drag her back to him.  Immediately, she turned over, and heel palmed him in his nose, his fingers relinquishing their grip on her, causing them both to fall against the island cabinets. 

Shakily, Destiny reached up for the countertop.  When Winston attempted to pull himself up, one-armed, she took a single step away from him and side-kicked him as hard as she could on the inside of his knee.  Winston howled and cursed as he dropped like a sack of potatoes back to the concrete floor.  Then he groaned and whimpered as he tried to stand.  Only he couldn’t.  Winston furiously reached for her, making broad sweeps with his good hand; his breathing labored as he spewed snot and spit and blood across the floor, mixed with random obscenities hurled directly at her.

As she anxiously attempted to reach across the counter for her keys, he lunged and managed to grasp her ankle.  Trembling with fear, she desperately tried to shake and kick herself free of his grip.  But he wouldn’t let go.  His restraint on her ankle tightened as he used his hold on her to pull himself nearer.  In one final attempt to free herself, Destiny stepped back once more and prepared to kick him like she was kicking a field goal, as hard as she could.  Only he pulled her leg from under her, and she fell flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her.  Winston now dragged her toward himself, still using her ankle as leverage.  Destiny, momentarily shaken, felt him grasp her calf.  Drawing in another breath, she desperately kicked out repeatedly, with all her might, with her free foot, making contact, but not knowing where.  Slowly his hand slid from her ankle.  Destiny crawled backward away from him until she ran into the refrigerator, which she used to upright herself.  Winston was lying on his side, holding his nose, fresh blood dripping through his fingers, what seemed to be the result of her last efforts.  Destiny stared down at him and then finished what she started, before he pulled her over, kicking him as hard as she could. Right in his groin.  Winston’s hand slid from his nose as he seemed to go limp.  He didn’t yell or cry out.  In fact; he barely moved—his body gradually curling into itself, like a clam shell closing in slow motion.  Finally, she drew in a deep breath, reached over the last few inches of granite and grabbed her keys.  Immediately she pressed the car alarm, and it began bleating, echoing loudly in the garage, just mere yards away.  Destiny ran from the kitchen, leaving the man no more than a pathetic lump on the floor, wheezing, and gasping in semi-conscious pain.