Insanity (20 page)

Damien is gone.

My eyes trail down the hall and I call out his name.

No answer.

Then I bring my hand to my chest, but only make it halfway. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something—that the tips of my fingers are covered in blood.

Chapter 25

~BEFORE~

Daddy had way too much of Jimmy today.

When it’s a “Jimmy” kind of day, he gets rowdy. A lot of shouting. Tossing things around. He also starts nitpicking. Moving furniture. Examining the cleanliness of household items. Thoroughly.

“Son of a bitch, Adelaide!”

I’m in my room, stretched out across my bed, re-reading Damien’s letters when I hear my name.

“Adelaide! Stupid girl! Get the fuck out here!” His loud, booming voice shakes the walls in my room. My blood runs cold and fear circulates through my nervous system when I think about having to leave my room and face him. But I know if I ignore his cries it will only make the punishment he’ll inflict on me that much worse.

“Coming Daddy!”

I’m up off my bed in a flash, hiding my letters beneath the floorboards, and out the door in record time.

There’s a dinner plate on the floor and a scowl on Daddy’s face. “What the hell took you so long?” he sneers with a rasp.

The lie flies off my tongue so quickly I’m surprised by it, “I was getting dressed.” Hopefully he doesn’t notice that I’m still wearing the same clothes he saw me in this morning.

He doesn’t.

He’s not even looking at my clothes. Then I finger my locket. It’s tucked safely beneath my high collared dress.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

He motions with his finger, his scowl deepening. “Get over here.”

With slow shaky steps, I move closer. When I don’t move fast enough, he yanks me by the arm and shoves my face into floor. He kicks the plate across the floor and it slides beneath my face. Then his loud, footsteps thunder in my ears like applause in a crowded football stadium as he walks over and stands next to me. I hear his heavy breath and a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I’ve been through this before. I know what’s coming next.

“Is that a spot on that dish?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. There’s a deadly ring to it. See, I know when Daddy’s voice is low I should be even more afraid of him than usual because when he’s not shouting, I know he’s more sinister and evil and the beatings are worse. “Are you looking, girl?”

Girl?
Not even Adelaide. I’m just a girl.

I haven’t received one loving word or praise from him since I was ten. But once, just once, I’d like him to recognize me as his daughter. I look down at the plate before me. I try to decide if I should tell him the truth; that there are no spots on this plate or if I should just agree with him. I think of Damien. He comes home for Thanksgiving break today. Then two more weeks. Two more weeks until we elope, determination in our minds, a fierce love in our hearts.

I peek up at Daddy over my shoulder. I settle on a little defiance. “I don’t see any spots.” I know that’s not the right thing to say the second he growls and clamps his massive foot down, boot with rigid soles still on, across my shoulders. “Look closer.”

My face is a centimeter away from the plate and my long eyelashes are almost touching the ceramic. My dark hair falls down and frames my heart-shaped face, spread out across the white plate like a raven’s shiny feathers. I grit my teeth. “I still can’t see anything.”

I know I should be compliant. I know I should just go along with whatever he says to save myself from a broken body and a wounded soul, but I can’t. I just can’t take it anymore. My impending freedom is too real, too close. I’m letting my thoughts about running away take over my mind and in result, I’m lashing out.

Daddy doesn’t like when I lash out.

I feel him lift his boot off my shoulder and I don’t know why I think this torture is already over because the second I get up on all fours I see Daddy’s boot coming toward me, but I don’t have enough time to move before the steel-toed tip digs into my gut. “Don’t you sass me!”

My body flies back a few feet, slamming into the bottom row of cupboards just below the kitchen sink. Pain, deep ominous pain, halts my breathing, clenching around my lungs like a tourniquet and I hunch over gasping for air. My vision blurs. A deafening quiet buzzes in my ears as I try to slink away.

Daddy sees me and wrenches a hand in my hair, gripping my long locks tightly at the scalp. “Stay here, worthless girl!” With a thrust he shoves me back up against the cupboard. The forceful blow from my back slamming against the wood fills the small square room with yellow walls and oak floors with a loud boom. Sliding my knees to my chest, my whole body vibrates with a mixture of fear, anger, and a hatred so intense I feel like a balloon, so full of helium that I’m about to pop.

I cry.

Quietly.

Out of pain or hatred, I’m not sure.

Daddy doesn’t notice.

Thank God.

I’ve learned through the years that crying never helps. To Daddy, everything I do is wrong. Everything is always my fault. According to him, crying is a sign of weakness. And any weakness in a person, man or woman, needs to be broken.

Dishes clink and clank against the counter. I lift my head, peeking through my trembling fingers, as Daddy removes all the dishes from the cupboard and stacks them in a messy pile next to the sink. One dish teeters on the edge of the counter, wobbling back and forth back and forth.
Oh no
. It’s slipping. My hand juts out, but not in enough time to catch the plate before it crashes into the hardwood floor, smashing into a million ceramic pieces.

It’s my fault the dish fell.

Daddy twists around and a loud slap rings out as his palm connects with my cheek. My skin tingles and burns, and instinctively I place a hand on my cheek, hoping that my cool palm will put out the fire. It doesn’t.

“Clean this shit up!” he shouts and stomps off into the other room.

With arms and legs like jelly, I try to pick myself off the floor and let out a sob when I only make it halfway, and fall back down. I try again, using the counter as an aid and manage to pull myself up, scaling the length. When I make it to the sink, I turn the water on. Then I sob, not too loud, but I’ve reached the point where I’m sobbing so hard that I’m dry heaving.

I mouth, “Damien,” and use my arms as a bandage to keep myself together. To make myself feel whole. Even though I’m anything but whole. If you held me up to the sun you could see the bright shimmering rays of light peeking through me. I’m just as broken as the ceramic plate in pieces decorating the floor.

Two weeks.

Two weeks.

It feels like the days are dragging on forever.

That my escape will never happen.

Two weeks.

And all I keep thinking is that I hope between now and then that Daddy doesn’t kill me first.

Chapter 26

~BEFORE~

I can’t sleep. I’m too antsy, too anxious.

I left my bedroom window open and the cool autumn breeze flits in and ruffles my curtains. Daddy’s snoring is loud, but I’m okay with that. Then he won’t hear Damien as he clamors in through the window.

I know it’s risky. Sneaking him in like this with Daddy asleep in the next room, but I don’t care. His absence has put a constant ache in my heart since he left for college and I can’t wait for his touch to make that ache disappear.

I can’t wait to feel his warm lips against mine.

His body next to me.

His hot breath sending a shiver of delight down my spine.

There’s rustling in my curtains. Two thudding footsteps on my floor. Sitting up, I beam into the darkness as Damien untangles himself from a mess of yellow curtains. I rise from my bed and his blue eyes cut into the darkness, staring intensely into mine. I choke on a breath. This almost doesn’t seem real. It feels like I’m dreaming. But the reality sets in when Damien strides across the floor in two giant steps, grips the back of my neck, twists his fingers in my hair and lunges for my mouth.

He snakes a strong arm around my back, our bodies pressed together so tightly it’s like we’re glued to one another. Melted. Fused. Nothing can tear us a part. His thumbs trail across my cheeks and my fingers are raking through his hair as our passionate lip lock smolders and grows deeper and deeper by the second. He grazes his teeth across my bottom lip and in a breathless rasp says, “God, I’ve missed you.”

Words fail me. Escape me. Flee like a criminal with a mask, running through a darkened alley. I can’t even begin to describe how torturous it was to be without him for as many months as it has been. So I show him. I show him by never breaking our lustful haze of adoring tongues, lips, and raspy breathing. I show him by walking backwards, falling onto my bed and pulling him on top of me. There’s a hungry glint in his eye as he stares down at me. He gets me. Knows where I’m going with this. A playful, sexy smirk appears on his lips. “Oh yeah? You missed me that much?”

Finally I turn my head to the side and come up for air. “I’ve missed you every second of every minute of every hour of every day.”

Damien’s deep, throaty chuckle brings a smile to my lips. “That’s a lot of time to waste on missing someone.”

I face him, gazing up lovingly into his blue eyes, touching his long dark lashes, placing my palm flat against his overheated cheek. “You’re worth it.” I’d waste every second of my life on him if I could.

“I’d like you to miss me some more.”

I hear the husky, seductive tone in his voice and decide to tease him. “Oh, would you?”

He dips his head in closer, his lips almost touching mine. His eyes dart across my face, scanning, searching my soul with fire in his depths of blue. He opens his mouth, his tongue half out. Then he says, “Yes, please.”

I answer him with a gentle caress of my tongue and he answers me by hiking up my nightgown and sliding his manly yet soft hand up the length of my stomach. The area between my legs is wet with want. The voices in my head are singing his praises. And the thud in my heart is full of love.

Damien crooks his fingers through each side of my underwear and slides them down. He smirks. “Are you ready to feel what you’ve been missing?”

“Yes,” I hiss, and as he climbs on top of me. I pull down his pants, arch my back, and allow myself to succumb to his every whim, with the first gentle thrust of his hips.

Hours later, we lie in each others arms. Glistening with sweat. Our breaths shallow. Our limbs still twitching from our lovemaking. Damien reaches over the side of the bed, grabbing his underwear and pants from the floor, slipping them on in a hurry. I watch him with sad eyes and whimper, “I don’t want you to leave.”

He presses his lips to mine, moving his mouth slowly, sensually, erotically. Then he pulls away. “Do you think I want to?”

“No,” I breathe, and trace the definition in his bicep with my finger. “It’s just been so long. And I feel like you just got here.”

“I know my love. I know.” He shifts and rises from the bed. I wrap the comforter around my naked body and escort him to the window. Kneeling in front of the sill, I can feel the tears pricking my eyes as he climbs out of the square opening and his feet thud against the ground. We’re face to face, our eyes hopelessly lost in one another’s. Damien brushes his lips against mine. “Two weeks,” he murmurs against my lips and backs away from the window, his hand cupped over his heart.

“Two weeks,” I repeat in a soft voice and blow him a kiss that he catches and places on his lips.

Then he turns on his heel, breaks out into a jog, and disappears into the night.

Chapter 27

~AFTER~

I’ve been staring at my fingertips for the last ten minutes.

I’ve been ignoring the person calling my name for the last three.

I saw it. I saw the blood on the tips of my fingers. First it was there, all red, thick, and sticky. Now it’s,
poof
—gone, like it evaporated into the air or something.

Or maybe I am imagining it. Maybe I’ve finally lost all of my marbles. Maybe this place has finally gotten to me.

“Adelaide?” Dr. Watson peers out the door of his office, his honey eyes radiant and smoldering. “Is something wrong? I’ve been calling for you. Are you ready for our session?”

I look over my shoulder at him then back at my fingers. “It was there,” I gasp, still baffled. “I saw it.”

“Saw it?” His voice goes up an octave. “What did you see, Adelaide?”

“The blood. There was blood on my fingers.”

Dr. Watson rushes out of his office, takes my hands in his, and begins to inspect me. “Did you hurt yourself?” He lifts my arm. “Did someone else hurt you?” There’s a hard edge to his voice.

“No,” I assure him. “No. When I touched…when I touched,” I stutter, trying to get the words out. “When I touched Damien I saw it. There was blood on my fingers.” Dr. Watson lets out a frustrated groan at the mention of Damien and I know that I shouldn’t have brought him up.

“Forget about Damien for now,” he says and guides me into his office.

My feet scuff against the floor and I lift my head as I sit. The metronome is already sitting on the front of his desk. “No,” I say, rising from my seat. Not this thing again. Not now. Not today. Not after I’ve just come to the conclusion that I might be losing my sanity.

“Sit down, Adelaide.” His tone is soft, his voice stern. “You’ve been off the barbiturates for some time now. I know that you remember what happened. You’re just blocking it out.”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t want to.”

Dr. Watson sits on the edge of his desk right next to the stupid instrument. I scowl at him and turn my head with a harrumph. “Addy, you have to do this.” I refuse to meet his gaze and shift uncomfortably in the plastic chair, shoving my hands underneath my legs. I think about saying, “No, I don’t,” but Dr. Watson continues, “Unless you prefer we use Dr. Morrow’s method of treatment.”

My mouth drops open and my head snaps to face him. “You wouldn’t.”