Mark My Words (13 page)

Lennie was getting stronger, healthier. Sometimes I even forgot she was sick. The color returned to her cheeks, her eyes were bright and sparkly, and she’d put on some weight. She didn’t pull away from me as often as she did in the beginning. There were still moments when I lost her. When her face clouded over and her mind seemed to drift a million miles away. As if she had the ability to travel outside of herself. I was never sure where she went, and I never asked. Instead, I waited patiently for her to return.

Unlike when we first started dating, I knew she would. She always came back. That was something I could count on.

It was weird to count on something. Someone.

I hadn’t expected her to stick around. Hell, I had thought for sure I lost her to Rob weeks ago. But here she was lying in my arms as we sat on the couch late at night watching some sappy chick flick. I’d watched more TV in the last few weeks than I had in my entire life. For being such an avid reader, Lennie surprised me with how much she enjoyed movies and television shows. My novel would surely be finished by now if I hadn’t taken so much time off to spend with Lennie. But I knew I’d never regret this time with her.

And not because I worried her about her dying on me any minute. No, that wasn’t a concern any longer. It seemed that Lennie had gotten a second chance at life. We knew it wasn’t forever, but we were taking it a day at a time. Not thinking too much about what tomorrow would bring.

But on days like today, it was easy to think that she had many more tomorrows. Earlier she’d felt so well that we went on a hike, wrote our name in the sand, took pictures of trees and plants, and, best of all, of each other. She looked radiant with the sun behind her, sweat glistening on her forehead, her hair splaying across her face as it was tossed about by the breeze.

Turning away from the television, she peered up at me. Smiling lazily, she lifted her hand and traced the stubble lining my chin. Then her fingers moved up further to touch the ends of my hair.

“Are you growing this out for a reason?” One side of her lip curled upward.

I chuckled, loving when she was like this – bantering and teasing. It reminded me of the old Lennie. “Yeah. The reason is that I’ve been spending all my time with you and haven’t had time to go get it cut.”

Giggling, she sat up. Her face was inches from mine. Leaning forward, she planted a kiss on my mouth. Just a swift one. Then she pulled back. “It’s kinda sexy.”

My lips stretched into a large smile. “Really?”

“No.” She laughed. “We need to cut it.” Sliding off my lap, she beckoned me forward with a roll of her index finger. “C’mon.”

“What are you up to?”

“What’s wrong? You don’t trust me?” She waggled her eyebrows.

I shook my head. “No, I trust you.”

“Then come on.” Reaching forward, she grabbed my hand and yanked me to a standing position. I followed her like a dog on a leash. And the sad part was, that I was okay with that. Honestly, I’d follow Lennie anywhere. She guided me into the bathroom, then opened the cabinet and perused through it. “You got any scissors?”

“You’re going to cut my hair?” I was incredulous.

“What did you think I was bringing you in here for?”

Honestly, I had no idea. I was blindly trailing her. But instead of admitting that, I reached into the cabinet and found the scissors. “Here you go.”

Narrowing her eyes, she inspected them. “A little dull, but I guess they’ll do.” She set them down on the counter and turned to me. Bringing up her arms, she ran her fingers through my hair. Her fingernails raked over my scalp, sending tingles down my back. Her eyes collided with mine. “This will never do,” she said, her breath hot against my lips. “I need your hair wet.”

I inhaled sharply. The intensity in her eyes, mixing with the words she uttered, caused me to feel dizzy. Reaching forward, I clutched the counter to steady myself. A seductive look passed over Lennie’s features. Stepping into my chest, she pressed her lips to mine. Her fingers tangled in the strands of my hair as her tongue slipped between my lips. The kiss was different than before. More charged. And it felt like it was precursor to something more. Like the appetizer before the meal.

Untangling her fingers from my hair, she slid her palms down my neck and chest. When she got to the bottom of my shirt she clutched the edges and yanked it up to my chin. Tearing her lips from mine, she whispered, “Lift your arms.” I did as I was told, and she tugged the shirt right off my body. Then she peppered kisses down my neck and across my chest. Desire burned through my body. With a wink, she moved around me, reached into the shower and turned it on. Water blasted into the tub, steam curling around our faces. Standing in front of me wearing a smile, Lennie’s fingers found the button on my jeans and unhooked it. My pulse raced. When her fingers slipped beneath the elastic of my boxers, I bit my lip.

My pants fell to the floor as her mouth found mine once again. Her hand lowered into my boxers, her fingers sliding further down. A hiss escaped from my lips. Black spots filled my vision, darkness bleeding in and threatening to take over. I tried to fight it, but it swallowed me whole, pulling me under like a strong current. My heart hammered in my ears, and I felt sick. No matter how hard I attempted to stay calm, panic gripped me. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.

“Colin?” Lennie breathed.

My eyelids flipped open. But it wasn’t Lennie. It was him. The man from the truck. Terrified, a low moan made its way up from my throat and filled the room. I shoved him away and hugged myself, collapsing onto the ground. “No, no, no,” I repeated, just as I had that night when he touched me. When his fingers went to places they shouldn’t.

“Colin, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I repeated. “I don’t want this. I don’t want this. Please, stop.”

“I have stopped. I’m so sorry.”

It was a woman’s voice. Not a man’s. I blinked until the room came into focus. Until the darkness receded. “Lennie?”
Oh, my god. What have I done?

She knelt beside me, concern etching her features. But not just concern. There was fear in her eyes too. The shower was beating down behind me, the bathroom filling with sweltering heat. My pants were around my ankles, my shirt discarded on the floor.

I pictured his truck, his meaty hands. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, willing the memories away.

“Colin, I-I-I I was just being playful.” She swallowed hard. “I-I thought…” the words trailed off, her lips quivering.

“No, I’m sorry.” Reaching out, I gently touched her face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Colin?” She paused, searching my eyes. “What happened to you?”

My gaze dropped to the floor.

Her finger tucked under my chin. “Please tell me. I don’t want to scare you like that again.”

I could feel the words inching up my esophagus and scratching the back of my throat. They burned as they clawed and raked their way across my tongue. I imagined the sweet relief I would feel if I allowed them to spill free, so finally I gave in.

“When I was eight years old, I was raped.” It was the first time I’d said the words out loud. And it filled me with a courage I’d never felt before. So I continued. I told her everything. About the man picking me up in his truck, about how he drove me into the middle of nowhere, and how he did things to me that are unimaginable. Afterward, he threatened to kill me if I ever told. Not that he needed to even say that. There was no way I’d ever tell people what happened. It was too shameful. Too embarrassing. Too awful.

Then he drove me home. Dropped me off down the street from my house.

Ray chewed me out for leaving the car at the gas station, and he made me promise not to tell Mom about any of it. Late that night Amelia heard me whimpering in my bed, and teased me for being such a baby.

That was the night I first felt hate. Not just for the man who hurt me, but for Ray, and for Amelia.

But mostly, I hated myself.

Eventually I did take a shower.

Alone.

I’d stood under the hot water and scrubbed my skin with soap until I’d erased all traces of his memory. It was the same thing I’d done that night after returning home. I remember washing my skin until it was red and raw. Until some of my flesh had actually worn off. At the time I foolishly believed I could get rid of him. That somehow one day I could forget. Wash the horrible night right down the drain. But almost twenty years later, the memory still lingers. Chases me, capturing me more often than I care to admit.

Once I was done with my shower and had gotten dressed, Lennie cut my hair like she’d promised. She stood in front of me snipping off the frayed edges and speaking to me in a gentle tone.

“Now I know why you’ve been so empathetic,” she said, as strands of hair sprinkled my bathroom floor. “You know exactly what I’m going through. You’ve stared death in the face. Had to endure the most horrible reality.”

She was right about having to endure something horrific, but she was wrong about the rest. I wasn’t empathetic because of what happened that night. My understanding of her disease was because of something else entirely. But I’d already shared enough for one night. Poured out enough of my pain. There was no way I could talk about anything else.

The squeak of the scissors sliced through the silence, more hair shedding onto the ground. “I still feel so bad about earlier,” Lennie’s voice was soft. “I never should’ve come on so strong.”

“How could you have known?”

“It’s just so awful what happened to you.” Her lips curved downward.

I touched her hand, stopping the snap of the scissors. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” She nodded. My hand slipped from hers and she resumed her task. “So…you’ve never been with a woman then?”

It was an understandable question, but it caused my stomach to knot. In my mind I saw Sarah lying on her bed, hair splayed out over her pillow, legs wide, shirt off. I saw her staring at me with her one good eye, and I shuddered. “No,” I answered honestly. “I never have. I want to. I just…”

“It’s okay.” Lennie stopped cutting, her eyes crashing into mine. “I get it. And I’ll be patient. You take the lead on this, okay?”

For the first time since the incident tonight, my chest expanded, some of the tightness dissipating. I was grateful for her statement, grateful for her understanding and compassion.

“There.” Lennie stood back, studying her handiwork. “Much better.” Smiling, she set the scissors down on the bathroom counter.

“Thanks.” My gaze slid over her shoulder to check out my reflection in the mirror. I was a little embarrassed at all the liquid splatters and dust coating my mirror, but I shoved the thought away. It was too late to fix it anyway. And honestly, after my outburst earlier, the least of my concerns was a dirty bathroom. If Lennie wasn’t running for the hills yet, then I could rest assured that she wasn’t going to. “It does look good,” I told her honestly. “You’re full of hidden talents, aren’t you?”

Grinning, she shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.” Glancing around, she said, “Now show me where your broom is. I’ve gotta get this place cleaned up.”

I shook my head. “No way. You go sit down. I’ll clean up.” She cocked an eyebrow, opening her mouth as if she was going to protest. So I grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her into the hallway. “You’ve already done so much for me tonight. Besides, it’s getting late. You need to rest. I’ll clean up.”

“Okay,” she said in a resigned manner. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I went into the kitchen and grabbed the broom from where it was propped against the wall next to the fridge. Lennie sat on the couch and turned on the TV as I made my way back into the bathroom. As I swept the floor, images from the night flooded my mind, and I groaned inwardly. I made such a fool of myself. Not to mention that I pushed Lennie away. A girl I’ve fantasized about being with my whole life practically threw herself at me, and I had a psychotic meltdown. Sighing, I mentally slapped my forehead. What a bonehead move.

Not that I did it on purpose.

It was like I lost myself. Like I had an out-of-body experience or something. And it wasn’t the first time. I had done the same thing that night in that man’s truck. When he’d touched me and forced me to do unspeakable things, I had closed my eyes and imagined myself in the pages of my book.

I traveled into my favorite stories.

I walked in the woods, leaving bread crumbs in my wake like Hansel and Gretel. I skipped through the forest wearing a red cape and holding a basket like Little Red Riding Hood. Only I wasn’t scared of the big bad wolf or the old woman who would try to shove me inside her oven. In fact, I wished for them. I silently called out for the monsters in my fairytales because I was convinced if they showed up they would save me from the man who cradled me in his arms.

For it was then that I knew what real monsters were. They were people, just like you and me.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” Ray asked when I showed up for dinner a couple of nights after Lennie gave me a haircut.

Lifting my arm, my fingers ran through the greasy strands. “I got it cut.”

“I think it looks nice.” Mom patted my shoulder, wearing her usual wide-mouthed grin. “Now sit down. I made your favorite.”

I groaned inwardly when she brought out a platter of chicken. It was the same damn dinner again. Did she think it was the only thing I liked? She’d made it the last like five times I’d been here. But I forced a smile and reached for the chicken. Ray had already piled his plate high with food. Apparently he didn’t mind having the same dinner repeated over and over again.

“Well, I think his hair looks ridiculous. Like it was cut by a little kid,” Ray said. Mom frowned. “You should go see Bob, my barber. He’ll fix that hack job up in no time,” Ray offered as if he was trying to be helpful. But I saw it for what it was – a slam.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” I said dryly, forcing a bite of the rubbery chicken.

The grandfather clock dinged, causing me to flinch. When I glanced up at it I saw the scratch on the side from when I tried to carve my initials into it. I never even got the first letter done before Ray caught me. That earned me a spanking. As my gaze swept the room, ghosts of my former selves whisked over me. Sometimes it was creepy how nothing had changed here. As if time had actually stopped the minute you walked in this house. Even Mom and Ray were exactly the same. It made my stomach hurt, my teeth ache. It made me sad.

I ate faster, suddenly desperate to get out of here.

“So how is the book coming along?” Mom’s voice held its normal cheeriness, but I heard the hard edge to it below the surface.

My gaze flickered toward Ray’s side of the table, and I caught the subtle nod he threw her. Truth was, I hadn’t been writing as much as I should have been. I’d been spending all my free time with Lennie, and my book had taken a back seat. And that meant that I had to take more money from Mom and Ray. Clearly, Ray wasn’t happy about it. However, Mom would never tell me no. She’d always been my biggest advocate. Sometimes I thought that she knew about what happened to me that night.

I’d changed after that, and she noticed. She used to pester me about it a lot. And she never left me alone again. In fact, she became like my shadow, my silent protector. Drove Ray nuts, but it didn’t stop her. Everywhere I looked I saw her, looming over me while I played with my toys, hovering in the doorway when I read in my room. Sometimes I even caught glimpses of her near the fence, watching me during recess at school. When I was in the backyard, I could always count on her face filling the back window as she peered out.

Sometimes it bothered me, but mostly I was grateful.

I’d heard of guardian angels that were sent from heaven to watch over us. And for much of my childhood I believed in them. I used to squint, hoping to somehow break through the supernatural barrier and see mine. I imagined an angel trailing me, white wings and a halo around her head. But after the night Ray left me, I stopped believing in angels. If they were real, where was mine that night? Why didn’t she protect me? It became easier to not believe at all than to believe that my angel had turned a blind eye. Had chosen not to assist me when I needed her most.

So I started to think of Mom as my guardian angel. One that was real. One that I could count on.

But I knew Mom’s protection and support of me didn’t go unpunished. Ray wasn’t abusive toward her. He didn’t hit her or anything. But his disapproval was obvious. And for that I felt bad. She paid for it in his snide comments, his little jabs, his narrowed eyes and pursed lips, his neglect.

As much as I cared about Lennie, I couldn’t continue to let my mom suffer. She was my biggest cheerleader, the only person who offered me unconditional love and support. And I couldn’t let her down.

“It’s going well.” I washed down the lie with a gulp of milk. It was a little sour, and I gagged. “I should have it done really soon.”

“Great.” Mom threw Ray a triumphant look. “I knew it.”

Ray grunted, frowned, took another bite.

Bending over my plate, I swallowed down some more chicken, a few bites of potatoes. The lights above the table flickered a few times, making a buzzing noise. One of them went out. When I looked up, I saw that two of them were dark, leaving only one glowing. It was typical. Ray never changed the lights until all of them went out.

Ray’s fork scraped his plate. Mom’s musky perfume overwhelmed my senses. When I glanced up at her, I was struck with how old she appeared, and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed how much she’d aged. Maybe it was the dim lighting. Mom had always seemed younger than her years to me. In my mind she was vibrant, and still looked like she had when I was a kid. Ray, on the other hand, always seemed old to me. Always seemed decrepit and wrinkled.

There was a story I read once where the person’s inner beauty was reflected outwardly. I suspected that was why I saw Ray like that. It was because I saw who he really was. Saw what was in his heart.

“Amelia told me that she finally got a hold of you, Colin.” Mom broke into the silence.

I nodded, since my mouth was full of food.

“Exciting about her having another baby, huh?”

Still chewing, I nodded again.

It seemed that Mom liked Amelia better now that she was an adult. They used to fight all the time when Amelia was a teenager. Mom would yell, Amelia would scream and slam doors. I’d always expect Ray to intervene, to put Amelia in her place the way he did with me. But he simply shook his head, muttering something about girls. And it baffled me.

“I know she’s hoping for a girl,” Mom continued.

I swallowed down my bite. “Yeah, she mentioned that.”

“No. She’ll have another boy,” Ray announced as if he had psychic powers. “Another strong boy like that other one of hers.”

A sour look passed over Mom’s features, but she quickly replaced it with a smile. I often wondered if Mom’s face hurt when she went to bed at night. It must be tough to keep that perpetual smile pasted on. I didn’t bother trying to mask my distaste for Ray’s comment. Why bother? His comment was clearly meant toward me. For much of my life, I tried to deny what I knew deep down was the truth. I used to tell myself that Ray meant nothing by his offhand comments and that he wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt me. But my years of denial were over. We all knew he meant every jab.

But it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t waste my breath. I wouldn’t acknowledge Ray’s comment at all. Rational conversation didn’t work with him anyway. Amelia’s son was a toddler. There was no guarantee he’d grow up to make my stepdad proud. Very few people did.

So I went back to eating. I picked up the pace, almost choking. But it was worth it because dinner was over in minutes. After offering up a flimsy excuse, I said my goodbyes and took off. As I stepped outside, I was grateful to be out of the house with the dim lighting, the woman with the fake smile and the man who wore his blackened heart on his face.