Exposed: A Novel (19 page)

Chapter 45
Ally

A lifetime of psychological study couldn’t had prepared me for the emotional up-and-down’s Jessie’s porn struggle gave me.

After vomiting my heart all over him as we sat on the living room floor, I looked into his eyes and saw my best friend. Not only did he suffer the vomit, but he cried with me, stroked my hair, and listened.

He listened.

And he never said, “But Ally ______” Fill in the blank with any of the following: I’m a good husband, I love you, I’ll do anything, do you still love me, are you ever going to get over this, and on the list goes.

Nothing of the sort escaped his lips. Only the subtle hush of his breath.

A pink hue from the sunset saturated the room and our skin. Jessie locked his fingers with mine and led me through the dining room to the back door. He opened the door and I followed him outside. The sweetness of my petunias wrapped around my heart like a gentle vine. With each inhale, I could breathe again. Really breathe.

Jessie kicked off his shoes. So did I.

Hand in hand, grass tickled our feet as we walked a few yards. Jessie motioned for me to sit. When I did, he sat behind me and circled his arms around my shoulders. Leaning back into his embrace, I gazed at bands of carnation pink and lavender draped across the sky.

Right then I knew what my next journal entry would be about. And I couldn’t wait to write it.

Later that night, I wrote:

Dearest Jesus,

Thank you for the breath of fresh air. Thank you for helping me to see the truth even when I couldn’t feel it. Thank you for Jessie. Please strengthen and encourage him when I so often fail.

When I sat with him in the lawn early this evening, the sweet air all around us, the colors in every direction, the breeze on our faces, I realized that the past doesn’t always have to be better than the future, or better yet, the present. I realized that you have given me a choice to live how I want to, even if things around me try to bring me down.

I really do love him . . . I think back to those silly first dates and I can’t help but smile. I loved him even then. His heart shined through everything he did, everything he touched, everything he said.

We were connected even then. I remember leaving him the night I met him, screaming in my car like a little girl, and telling you, “I will love him more than anyone ever could, Jesus. Make that always be true.”

I want to love him . . . good and bad. I want to love him ALWAYS for who he is, not what he does. I am blessed to call him mine.

Thank you for the moment of rest today. Phew, I needed that! I can’t help but think that sunset was just for me.

Yours,

Allyson

Everything about the next day with Jessie, from breakfast in bed to our afternoon love tangled in sheets, made me smile.

We skipped church and hoped God wouldn’t mind. He started it, after all, with His gorgeous handwriting in the sky.

Mmm . . . the way it tingled my spine to hear Jessie laugh, to hear my laugh make love to his. I didn’t want the day to end, fearing the future would ruin the present.

Jessie drew my chin toward his face as we lay in bed together after our third pillow fight of the day. “What are you thinking?”

I didn’t want to tell him.

The softness of his face creased as he smiled.

My lips attempted a smile.

“You alright?” he said.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jessie brushed my hair behind my ear. “Ask away.”

Afraid to ask, to ruin the present, I looked away, hoping Jessie’d leave it be. I didn’t think I could handle the truth his answer would bring.

“Ally, if something is bothering you, please ask.” He squeezed my hand. “The more you hold in, the more you’re going to run. Talk to me.”

I inhaled. The comforter rose with my body.

Somewhere inside of my head, my heart, and what felt like my entire existence, there lived an annoying woodpecker of desire. Desire to know things I knew would hurt me. He pecked and pecked and pecked so much that he made every desire feel like a need. An insatiable need that would only be reconciled if I gave in to the pecking, the constant, annoying pecking. And if I did, I knew, I just knew, the pecking would stop.

Or so I hoped.

“Was she prettier than me?” My words came out with a gush of air. Relief and nausea plagued me at once.

Jessie shook his head. “Who?”

“The nurse. Yesterday.”

After an exaggerated inhale, Jessie’s chest dropped. “Why do you ask questions like this?”

I didn’t even care if he lied. I needed a no.

“I already know the answer,” I said.

“If you already know the answer, then why do you ask?”

“Guess some part of me wanted you to say you are so captivated by me that you’d never think that in a million years.” My lips trembled. “But I know that’s not true. Can you just say it? I need to hear the truth.”

“Ally, she was more beautiful than you, yes. Physically. Just physically. Why does this matter so much? Don’t you understand how much I love you, all of you? Not just the physical, but every little detail.”

I bit my lip. Something about the way he said beautiful smashed my aching heart to pieces and made the woodpecker go crazy. I never said beautiful. I said pretty. Why did he choose that word?

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

I never wanted to hear the word again.

Pretending not to care, I touched my hand to Jessie’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it. This conversation’s over.” I smiled. “Wanna get a lemon-lime snowball and share it, like old times?”

A weak smile stretched Jessie’s lips.

I popped out of bed and threw a pillow at him. “Come on.” I tossed another pillow. “Let’s stop thinking about this stuff and enjoy the day.”

People laughed and talked in line, waiting for their refreshing cup of flavored ice. Jessie paid for ours—a medium watermelon, lemon, and lime snowball with marshmallow in a cup on the side for me, and a large spearmint snowball with vanilla ice cream in the middle for him—then he led us to a bench to sit on.

“I wonder how many memories we have that include snowballs.” He sat down.

I sat beside him. “Too many. Remember the time we challenged each other to see who could eat the most marshmallow?”

He laughed. “Or the time we had a snowball fight, using our spoons to fling it at each other, and I poured my entire cup on your head.”

“Yeah, then the bees came. I about killed you.”

He slipped a spoonful of lime green ice onto his tongue. “Well, at least I got you back for all those scares. Your arms were flailing around pretty good, ain’t no foolin’.”

“Ain’t no foolin’?” I laughed. “Is that a new one?”

Crossing his eyes at me, he dribbled ice from the corner of his mouth.

“Nice.” I snatched the snowball from his hands and the spoon from his nose. “No more sugar for you.”

My best friend. No matter what we’d been through, no matter what we’d go through, no matter how many times I might’ve wanted to fling my rings at his face, Jessie would always be my best friend.

Chapter 46
Taylor

The setting sun warmed my back as I stood and walked to Andy’s door. My chest tightened. Holding my breath, I reached out. My knuckles touched the center of the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Even if he had other girls to replace me, he still needed me to make Zayta happy.

My heart slammed against my chest.

I opened the door a little.

Seconds tapped by. And by. And by. Palms against the door, I pushed. Quiet, I told myself. Steady. I peeked my head between the door and its frame.

Slam!

My skull cracked against the doorframe. Lights dizzied my mind. Numb—minus the screwdrivers piercing my temples and neck—my eyes closed. On the ground, face first, I tried to move my arms. Nothing happened. Again, I tried. Nothing.

Once more, someone painted my world black.

Blinding light shot through my eyes, straight to my head. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I squinted until I saw the TV mounted on the wall. The cool leather under my body told me where I was.

I moaned.

“I see you’re awake now, you stupid whore.” From behind me, probably sitting on his favorite chair, Andy’s voice bruised me.

Love him, I begged myself. He needs your love.

The distinct smell—like wet-grass melting into earthy metal overtones—of marijuana filled my nose. I breathed in, wishing I could get high from secondhand smoke. Drugs succeeded, most times, in tearing me away from pain, unless I came off the high before I fell asleep. That made everything worse.

Cola. My dear friend, Cola, would help me love Andy no matter how much he hated me. A little remained in my purse, enough to get a smooth high. I patted the couch around my body. Did I bring my purse?

“What are you looking for?” Andy’s voice crackled. “Where’d you run off to, dirty whore?”

Something slammed into the wall.

I remembered the door smashing my head into the frame. That explains the migraine, I told myself. I wanted to leave, but I needed to help him heal. “I ran,” I said, “because I didn’t want to do this anymore.” Turning my head, I squinted in pain. Andy walked across the room to the mantle, grabbed a candleholder, and flung it across the room. It shattered over my head. Shards of glass rained over my stomach.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you.” Andy huffed. “Why did I hire you in the first place?”

“Because you saw dollar signs in my eyes.”

Andy pulled a string of names—similar to whore—out of his mouth, his pitch rising with each one. After Zayta called a few weeks ago, he toned down the physical abuse a little—I said a little—and replaced it with full-blown emotional abuse.

“I love you, Andy.” My voice shook.

“Whores don’t know what love is.”

“I know you better than anyone, Andy. I know what makes you flip, what makes you smile, what makes you nervous.”

“You don’t know anything except how to say yes to everything that comes your way.”

Searching his living room without moving my body, I tried to think of an excuse to end the conversation. By the deep tone of Andy’s voice and his clenched jaw, I could tell he was high—not the best time to express my devotion to him. He didn’t believe he had anything to heal from anyway. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just nuts. And maybe I was nuts for trying to help.

Either way, I had to try.

The last days of summer felt like winter, when clouds always hide the sun.

Walls around me caved in. Andy’s living room dimmed. His voice—ranting, raving, panting—sprinted through my mind. Lightheaded, I thought for sure I’d faint.

“Do you hear me?” Andy shouted.

My ears rang.

Glancing up, I saw his face turn white then fill with pink. He grabbed an empty Jack Daniels bottle off the coffee table and held it high above his head, like I cared.

“Kill me,” I said. “I’m just a piece of trash anyway.”

So much for love, I thought.

He flung his arm and the bottle crashed on the wall behind my head. Unmoved, I stared at him, wishing he killed me.

Worthless piece of trash.

He’s right, I thought.

Andy charged me and flung my body to the ground.

He landed on top of me, digging his fingernails into my arms.

“Let go!” My veins flushed with heat.

He shoved his elbow into my neck. I gagged and kicked, too worn out to cry.

Tighter and tighter, his fingers squeezed my neck.

Kicking and coughing, I tried to scream.

Andy shoved his slimy tongue down my throat while his fingers squeezed my neck tighter.

Unable to cough, my arms weakened, my legs stopped kicking, and I hoped he’d look into my eyes and realize he loved me too much to hurt me.

But he didn’t look into my eyes.

Instead, his lips touched my arm. Twisting away, my body flailed underneath of him. His teeth sunk into my arm and clamped down, sending waves of pain from my arm to my brain to my chest.

He stood and yanked me across the floor by my hair. I let him, wondering if these would be my last moments alive.

Andy threw me into a closet and locked the door. “Stay in there until you’re sorry, and I’ll let you out,” he said from behind the door. “And if you pull this prank again you’ll wish you would’ve killed yourself before my hands get to you.”

Norma Jean smiled in my mind.

Curling into a ball, I talked to Daddy. He never talked back, but my heart splattered all over him until silence ran up and down my head like a million ants.

I looked around, hoping I’d find something to hang myself with.

The empty closet snickered at me.

The only end I could see waited for me behind a veil of suicide.

Behind the veil, death would kiss my lips and send me off into a painless oblivion where nothing existed—no gods, no pain, no drugs, no porn, no men, nothing.

That’s all I wanted. An end. An escape.

Lifting my arms above my head, I slipped my shirt off and tied it around my neck.

Okay, so that’s not gonna work.

I looked down.

By the light under the door something shimmered. I picked the piece of glass up and held it in my palm.

Must be a sign.

Daddy, if heaven exists, if you’re there, will I see you after I kill myself? Do dirty whores make it to heaven?

No, I thought. Daddy’s not there. And whores definitely wouldn’t be accepted in heaven if they aren’t accepted in churches. Nothing exists after this, anyway. Nothing except permanent escape from hell.

I pressed the triangle of glass into my wrist.

One, two—

The glass fell to the floor.

Surrounded by darkness I wanted to be swallowed by, I waited a few more minutes to try again.

Running the glass along my arm, I thought of myself. So glamorous, all decked out and Sadie-like. Lost behind it all, Taylor cried in the silence of the closet, but she drifted so far away I couldn’t taste her tears. I couldn’t feel them swiveling down her cheeks. I wanted to. I wanted her to come out and help me get out of the mess Sadie made of my life.

But Taylor hardly spoke. Nothing new there. Sadie, the dominant one, whispered things in my ear all day, even in my dreams.

“It won’t take long. Just make a quick slit over your vein. All the pain will go away in a few minutes and you’ll be free. It’s the only way,” she said.

Glass to vein, I held my breath and counted to ten. A little while longer and I’d be free.

Eternal darkness had to feel better than life. It had to.

I exhaled and held my breath again. This time I’d do it. This time I’d lift the veil.

One.

Two.

I pierced a tiny dot in my skin. In a quiet corner of my mind Taylor held my hand, asking me to stop. But Sadie, so strong and loud, urged my hand forward.

Three.

Pricked. Sliced. Opened.

Blood trickled down my arm and soaked into the fibers of my jean skirt.

I imagined worse. More pain, more blood, more something.

Thick scarlet liquid oozed from my wrist as I held it front of me.

A fire started in my wrist and sizzled up my arm. Hot pokers seared every inch of it, making it harder to stay calm.

Dizzier than I’d ever been, I closed my eyes. Mind over matter, mind over matter, I told myself. But the burning increased and my hand shook.

I held my arm to stop the shaking, but it worsened.

And worsened.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse my vision darkened around the edges.

I screamed out as my hands blurred. But I still saw them, cramped up into claws. I couldn’t extend my fingers no matter how hard I tried. And the claws freaked me out so much I thought I’d pee my pants and be found dead in a sea of my own urine. Not the poetic ending I hoped for.

Right then I wanted to live. But my vision disappeared and my pulse slowed. Life leaked out of me. I couldn’t do anything about it.

Thump.

Thump
.

With every heart beat my brain flung against my forehead, like it would explode into pieces before the agony ended.
Thump
. Slower now, steady.
Thump
. My head, oh the excruciating throbs. My brain pushed and swelled and thudded.

I drew in one last breath and held it as long as I could.

Almost there, I thought. Almost.