Perfectly Scripted (28 page)

After a few moments, I said hello to her, and she smiled and whispered hello back. There was no time for talking, as our teacher had directed us to that week’s assigned reading lesson.

Raising her hand, Binne volunteered to read the next chapter in the story. However, it was my turn in the rotation. I began reading out loud. A few sentences in, I heard Binne quietly reading along. It was annoying, and I thought she was trying to interrupt me or trip me up. Before I got too much further along, I explained to the teacher that Binne really wanted to read today and I would skip my turn for her since she was the new girl. She cast a surprised look my way, but she pushed to her feet and began reading, not missing a beat.

As the school year went on, I noticed that Binne never shied away from anything. She made friends fast and always volunteered to help our teacher with classroom tasks. But when each school day ended, she seemed to shut down. While the rest of us couldn’t wait to go home or outside to play, Binne sat at her desk for as long as she could, always the last one in line at the door. I didn’t understand why she loved school so much.

One spring morning, I saw Binne sitting by herself on a swing. Her normal group of girlfriends was nowhere in sight. When I got closer, I heard her crying, and that was when I saw the bruises on her arm. I asked her what happened. Binne told me that she was so stupid for running in her house and she’d injured her arm by slamming into a chest of drawers. I believed her. I mean, we were kids for Christ’s sakes. Getting cuts, bumps, and bruises was kind of our thing.

Only years later did I realize that the clock was her enemy, because if she was lucky, she’d only get a beating once week.

Binne and I remained good friends throughout the rest of our primary and prep school days. When I went away to boarding school, she sent letters telling me about everything happening home, keeping me up to date with her life. She even came to visit me one weekend in London. We went to the theater, a concert in the park, and a party at a schoolmate’s flat. Everything seemed fine—until her cardigan fell off her shoulder at the party, revealing black-and-blue marks. I confronted her about the bruises, and this time, she didn’t lie. She confessed that her boyfriend had inflicted the pain.

We left the party and walked around the city, popping in and out of taverns. I listened as Binne told me her “real” life story, the story about how her dad was a chronic abuser. Behind her smiling and bubbly exterior, she tried to hide the secret that she was a victim. There was no “typical” reason for his abuse. His anger wasn’t brought on by drugs or alcohol. When he snapped, he just snapped. Taking all of his rage out on Binne. And her mother stood by and watched.

I didn’t understand how parents could treat their children this way. All I knew was that it was wrong and I hated hearing that someone I cared about was being hurt. That wasn’t the first time her boyfriend had beaten her up, she admitted. I begged Binne to leave her boyfriend, even going as far as to suggest she move away from Cork and find a job in London or anywhere far away from the toxic environment. Somewhere around three in the morning, after several pints of beer, Binne told me that she’d made a decision to leave her boyfriend and family behind.

The next day, she boarded the train for home, but that was the last time I saw her—alive, anyway. Two weeks later, I attended Binne’s funeral. I watched, stunned, as her parents grieved for a daughter who had been beaten and stabbed to death by her abusive boyfriend. Anger bubbled inside me while I listened to her mother bawling. Rage pumped through my system as I witnessed Binne’s father asking the Lord why he’d taken his only child, shaking his head over and over. The cherry on top, the ultimate undoing of self-control, was watching Binne’s mother hurl her body over the casket before they lowered it into the cold ground.

I saw red. My fists flew at Binne’s father’s face. He was a large, burly man, so it was no wonder that Binne hadn’t ever escaped his grip. He instantly knocked my ass to the ground. My own father picked me up and told me to mind my fucking manners.

Pure fucking rage consumed me, and I lost it. I let everyone know that day that Binne’s parents had beaten the fucking shit out of her nearly every day of her young life. That they were just as guilty as the man who had taken her life. As far as I was concerned, they both had Binne’s spilled blood on their hands. I hoped Binne wasn’t too upset with me for disrupting her funeral.

Perhaps the saddest part of Binne’s tragedy was that there was no justice for my friend, because the man who’d killed her ended up taking his own life weeks before his trial.

I sat beside Holliday as she slept from the mild sedative Dr. Goodwin had given her to relax. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I couldn’t help shake the feeling that perhaps my need to get justice for Holliday was possibly related to Binne. If I was somehow able to get justice for Holliday, in some small way, Binne would receive peace as well. I sounded crazy.

Dr. Goodwin was obviously concerned for Holliday’s well-being. “This is the second time I’ve had to give a sedative to Holliday.”

I was fairly certain he wanted to add on the words
since you two began your relationship.

“I’m well aware of that fact, Doctor. I’m the one who called you on
both
occasions.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” he said firmly. Then he stood and ambled towards the door. “Let Holliday know if she needs to talk to call my office and set an appointment.”

Nodding, I handed him his coat and thanked him for coming to check on Holliday so swiftly.

After he’d left, I poured a drink and stared out the window. The gloomy, grey clouds that hung in the sky perfectly complemented my sad mood. This was not how I’d wanted to spend a romantic weekend with Holliday.

I grabbed my phone off the desk and swiped the screen. A message from Ella appeared.

ELLA: I’m fairly certain I’ll be in NYC this spring or summer. So excited! Will call you with details soon.

While this bit of news made me happy, it also sent my mind reeling. I was feeling somewhere between concerned and uneasy. I had to make sure Ella would be safe.

As the hours ticked by, I grew restless. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and slumped down on the couch. I still hadn’t heard from Dean. I needed to know why Saunders was in town. Any information could have been helpful. More importantly, I wanted to talk to Holliday. I just hoped she’d be okay, and I prayed that this incident hadn’t undone all the hard work with her recovery. He’d laid his filthy hands on her again—that much I knew to be true.

And so help me God, it would be the last fucking time.

Holliday

The rumbling of thunder and the whooshing of wind jolted me from my sleep. Darkness swirled around me. A tiny bit of light spread across the carpet from under the doors of the master suite. Fog coated my brain and body, and sickness rolled through my stomach.

Why did I take a nap? Naps make me feel disgusting. Better yet, how long
was
my nap?

My bare feet padded over the thick carpet to the cool tile of the bathroom. The oversized T-shirt I was wearing clung to my sweat-soaked skin. I flipped the switch and waited for the lights to go from dim to bright so I could assess my physical appearance.

The faint smell of chlorine zipped up my nose. Then my eyes fell to my swimsuit, which was hanging from the towel rack. I turned the faucet on and splashed cool water on my overheated skin. Muddled images of Derek and the whirlpool room flashed in my head. As if on cue, a throbbing pain pounded at the back of my skull.

Derek found me.

A chill climbed up my legs and settled in my spine. I shook the memory off and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Steam filled the room as I tugged the T-shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor.

As I showered, I scrubbed the horrible encounter with Derek off my body. Lathering the shampoo through my wet strands, I stripped them free of chlorine and his choking grip. The memory of Derek’s face, his snarling lips, and his demonic eyes suffocated me. I scrubbed harder and faster. The smell of peppermint danced around me, frosting over the ugliness.

Stepping out of the shower I wrapped the dry towel around me and then combed through my hair. My blonde roots had begun to shine through. I thought about my next salon appointment as my fingers weaved through the hairs along my part, studying each patch of light color.

I pulled on a pair of comfy pajama bottoms and a cotton tank top. Then I entered the bathroom again and applied a generous amount of eye cream along with some facial moisturizer.

“Holliday.”

I turned at the sound of Ronan’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of whiskey. Yes, a bottle—not a tumbler. The light from the bathroom hit his face, bringing heavy-lidded, red eyes into view.

I rushed to him, wrapping my arms around him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He huffed out a laugh. “No, I’m not ,” he said before kissing the top of my head. “I’m worried about you. I love you, and I cannot bear…the thought of someone hurting you.”

I looked up for a moment to study his face. His eyebrows pinched together, showcasing a crease of his forehead. As I’d slept peacefully, he’d been in total agony.

Tears threatened my eyes, but I swallowed hard, holding them back. “I’m safe. I’m here with you.” Squeezing him tighter, I dug my fingers into the muscles of his back.

“Do
you
know…remember what happened today?”

I shook my head. “I’m a little clouded. I remember bits and pieces. The one thing I know for sure is that Derek knows my real name.”

Setting the bottle on the vanity, he let out a deep sigh.

“What is it?”

He touched my face, brushing his fingertips over my cheek. “I called Dr. Goodwin. He came here and gave you a mild sedative. You didn’t have a panic attack, but you were quite dazed.”

“That explains the nap. Thank you for taking such good care of me,” I said, pressing my cheek to his chest.

“But I
didn’t
take good care of you,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “If I’d been there with you, he never would have laid a hand on you.”

“
Ronan
.” My voice was barely audible. The mirror gave me a view of him as he took a pull from the bottle. My arms fell to my sides as he stumbled backwards into the bedroom, the bottle still attached to his lips. Possibly on the verge of tears, he closed his sullen eyes tight. Broken words tumbled from his lips as he dropped to sit on the edge of the bed.

My heart surged. I’d never seen the vulnerable side of Ronan.

Kneeling in front of him, I took the heavy decanter from his hands.

He looked at me and said, “I made you a promise. I told you that he’d never…
never
touch you. I fucked up. I’m incredibly sorry.”

My eyes closed, and I remembered the conversation when I’d told him about my connection to Derek. Ronan could have run for the hills after learning my secret, but he hadn’t. Despite all of my flaws and my past filled with some not-so-savory behavior—things that, if they leaked out into the gossip blogs, could negatively impact Ronan’s life as well as my own—he’d accepted me completely.

“You can’t think that way,” I said, taking his face in my hands.