It’s been four weeks. Four horrible, long, agonizing weeks since I last saw Gavin. The image of him on his Harley driving off into the blistering rain will be forever seared in my memory. And not night has gone by in which I haven’t dreamed of him.
It isn’t hard to forget though. My parents, mainly my dad, have made it a point to be brought up almost every dinner. It was my “family betrayal” and my “family shame.” Night after night for the first week, I was told that with fists. Then it became shoves and pushes. Now, it’s just died down to name calling and belittling.
Any sense of freedom that I had before Gavin has pretty much disappeared. My phone is gone. My access to my money is gone. My car was sold off to some club guy with a teenage daughter. I watched my father stand outside like a used car salesman, as he shook the buyer’s hand and said jokingly, “Watch out for your daughter when she uses this thing. It may be contagious.”
I have no doubt that everyone in the Bloody Pagans knows what happened that night. When my brother found me, he wasn’t alone. There were nearly a dozen riders, most whom I didn’t recognize. But he sent me home on the back of the bike with just one guy, a man named Brock. As soon as he told me his name, I immediately recognized it as the man my father planned on marrying me off to as part of the circle of life that was the Barber reign.
He was what I would have to call an ogre of man. While his height did impress me, he was not exactly well built. Brock leaned over as he walked as if the weight of his muscular arms and legs were like anchors pulling his neck and back towards the ground. His face was thick and bumpy, showing that he had taken a bit too many punches in his life. And the teeth that stuck out of the thin, nearly white lips were jagged and yellow.
His voice wasn’t any better. When Brock led me to his bike, he shouted over the rain, “Am I going to have to strap you in, or do you know how to ride?” But I couldn’t understand him. His mouth sounded and looked as if he was eating a bag of rocks. Instead, I just looked over at him and shrugged until he took me from around the waist and placed me on the back of the bike without another word.
It wasn’t until we were about halfway home that the rain let up slightly. A stop light gave him time to shout back at me, “I hate to be you.”
“Yeah. I hate to be me, too,” I answered sarcastically.
“The whole club knows about you and Gavin. They’ve been on the hunt for hours. Your old man offered money to whoever found you.” He turned his head backwards, getting a glimpse at me.
“‘Dead or alive,’ am I right?”
He didn’t bother answering me. I just stared ahead knowing that I was right. My father would do just about anything to keep me in his plans, and at this point, I was better off dead than alive. And as soon as I walked through the doors, the pit in my stomach that pleaded to be more dead than alive just grew, consuming my every emotion.
Even now, a month later, I haven’t been able to shake that off feeling burning deep within me. My mom says I’m depressed. Every night, after I am locked into my room by my brother, she breaks in using an old credit card and lies by my side. She hasn’t done this since I was a child. Once my brother and I became teenagers, her life was focused on making my dad the happiest person on earth. But now that I was back to being an untrustworthy, petulant, five-year-old girl, she had someone to mother again.
Tonight, she snuck in a few treats. There’s a bowl of popcorn, a bottle of red wine, and a DVD of some old romance film she used to love. “Your father’s out at some party tonight. I thought we’d watch a movie or something until you fall asleep. Is that okay?”
“Mom…” I groan. I admit I haven’t been too receptive to her. While I know she feels some responsibility and guilt for what has happened, I also wish she would, for once, stand up for herself and me. “I just want to be left alone tonight, okay?”
“Come on, Vanessa. What your father is doing is in your best interest, but you don’t have to be negative about it. Just let me have this night with you.”
She sets the popcorn down at my feet and heads over to my small television mounted on the wall. Once she’s done setting everything up, she walks back to my bed and shifts onto the side until I move over. I push the popcorn bowl her way as I say, “Ugh. Take this. It smells horrible.”
“It’s popcorn?” She eyes me up and down, studying my face. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You didn’t eat anything at dinner, and now you’re saying a regular bowl of popcorn smells bad?”
That pit inside of my stomach growls and moans. “It’s just stress,” I respond as I sit up a bit, holding my stomach. The rest of the night, we sit in silence as the two romantic leads hate each other, love each other, and then hate each other again. It’s only when the woman’s brother tells her to go pursue the hero of the story that she admits that she’s in love.
If only it were that easy in my life.
As the credits begin to roll and the sweeping romantic music plays, I turn back to my mom who has sobbed herself a river of tissues. “Mom, do you think I can go back to school tomorrow?”
“Vanessa,” she answers, exhausted just by my one question. “You know I can’t say yes to that. It’s your father’s decision. And honestly, I don’t know if he will ever let you go back. You may just have to accept that.”
“Accept that? Accept that he is always going to dictate my life? Accept that I am just going to have to stay locked up here forever until he throws me to whichever guy he likes best? How is that fair to me?” I feel like a teenager arguing to go on a field trip, but this is what it has come down to. I have to stand up for my basic freedoms because no one else will.
My mother scratches her head as she looks down and away, a nervous tick. She begins throwing her tissues in the empty popcorn bowl before turning back to me. “Vanessa, I’ll try. You know that I will. Just give me some time to work on it.” I should know better. Her asking for me is literally asking for my dad to punish her. It’s unfair, and I know it. But if not her, then who?
She walks slowly towards the door before turning back to me. “Hey, honey. Can you check the bed to see if I forgot anything?” She motions down to the sheets she has thrown to the side. I run my hand through the bedding and past the pillows till I land on something hard and glassy. I instantly recognize it, as she adds, “I don’t want your father to find out that I’ve been in here so if you do find something, make sure it’s hidden well for when he comes in and checks on you.”
“Yeah,” I mouth, as I struggle to keep my composure. “I will. Thanks, Mom. Really.”
“You’re welcome, Vanessa.” And then she says the words she rarely says to me these days, “I love you, darling.”
My eyes fill with tears, as I exclaim, “I love you too, Mom.”
As soon as I hear the click of the door locking behind her, I reach from under the pillows and grab the phone she planted for me. It’s not my old phone that my dad confiscated from me. It’s a generic smartphone that probably runs on minutes. Still, it will do the job. I look through the apps and then the contacts. All I see are three numbers -- the house phone, Alice’s number, and then a third. My heart beats hard against my chest as I realize whose number it is.
Still, I can’t push it. After four weeks, calling Gavin would unthinkable. What would I even say to him? What could he even do? From what I could hear eavesdropping on my brother’s phone conversations, Gavin’s been demoted to some low-level runner. And my brother is giving him a hell of a time of it by sending him out on long runs into the desert with impossible deadlines or forcing him to clean the headquarters all in one day. He is taking punishment for both of us, and I don’t think I can find the words to apologize for that.
The other number, Alice’s, was even harder to dial. I hadn’t forgiven her for ratting us out, even though I didn’t know the circumstances. For all I knew, she was tortured and beaten. Or, she saw an opportunity to get in with the leadership and keep her power spot and told on us like children on a playground.
With no one to call or to trust, I let the phone go black along with my room. I let myself have another night of dreaming about Gavin while forcing myself to keep it together. One more night. One more minute at a time.
Another week passes until my father comes into my room and gives me the news that I have been waiting on. He stands in my door, looking over my room inch by inch, as he says passively, “You can go back to school this week. Your mother says the summer semester starts tomorrow. She’s already got you enrolled.”
I sit up in bed, tossing the book I was reading to the side. “Are you serious? Do you mean it?”
“Do you think I am joking? I said you could go, but that’s it. You will come home as soon as you are done. You won’t go out for lunch. And if I hear you step foot off of campus, you’re back to being locked in your room.”
“That’s—that’s fine. I can do that.” Any price for my freedom is worth it. I’d give up bathroom breaks if it meant being able to leave this house and see the outside world again.
He turns to go, but not before adding one last thing, “Brock will be picking you up and dropping you off. He’ll also be there around lunchtime. He is under my orders, so don’t try anything with him. You got me?”
That little bright spot dims, as I think about my chaperone. How was I supposed to explain him away to my classmates? I mean, I did just say I’d do anything, but I also understood my dad’s secondary plan here. Getting Brock to take over the control was basically handing him the reigns and saying: “Here you go! She’s your problem now. Don’t mess this up.” I didn’t know if I should just accept it and be happy, or protest and be disgusted. For now, I was going to give Brock the Ogre a shot.
The next day, I’m up, dressed, and packed for school before my father can even unlock my door. It’s almost like Christmas with me sitting on top of my made up bed, counting down the seconds impatiently. When he finally releases me, I launch downstairs to the kitchen where my mother is serving up scrambled eggs and toast to my hungover brother.
He bristles at me, as he spots the backpack swung around my shoulders. “What the hell is that for?”
“School. I’m going back.”
“Like hell you’re not,” he shoots back, looking up at my dad who is watching the morning news from his chair.
“She is. Brock is chaperoning.” My dad doesn’t even bother turning. He just lifts his hand up in a show of power.
“This is bullshit! She should be strung up for betraying the Barber family, and you’re just letting her run free? You know she’s going to try it again.” His whiney voice practically echoes over the table to where I sit, staring at the mushy, bright yellow food before me. I can’t eat a bite of it.
“It’s done, son. Let it go. She can’t pull anything past us with Brock watching out for her.”
Martin takes a huge forkful of eggs and stuffs it into his wide mouth. Under his breath, he mutters to himself, “Unless she spreads his legs for him, too.”
No one says a word in my defense. My mother goes back to scraping the pans while my dad has his eyes on a robbery that some local reporter is on the scene for. He points at the woman with the microphone and laughs as he says to Martin, “What idiots. What freaking idiots! These dolts call themselves reporters? I can see the tire tracks from Marco’s ride from way over here. Idiots!” Martin takes his plate and joins our dad at the end of the table.
I watch the television mindlessly, as it goes from the local news to some shopping-themed game show until I hear the doorbell ring over the overly tan, overly enthusiastic show host. My mother races across the room to get it with my father following a few steps behind. Martin looks back at me and snickers, “Have fun.”
I stand reluctantly and head towards the door. Suddenly, the backpack seems to weigh a million pounds, despite not carrying the usual textbooks. My legs don’t seem to work either as I work to lock my knees in place with each step. When I finally see the bulky figure of Brock, I can’t even muster up a smile. I nod in his direction, as he leads me towards an old, red Ford truck he brought for the ride.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask, trying to be polite. He’s already driving at breakneck speeds through our sleepy neighborhood. The music from his stereo is blasting some horrible hairband rock song I vaguely recognize.
“Yes, I do. Your dad gave me some pretty detailed instructions about your day.”
I sit back in the busted up leather seats and close my eyes. Everything has been spinning since I last stood, and now the smell of the diesel engine is starting to bother me. I roll my head to the side as I look towards Brock. Nothing I want to say seems to come out, but he seems to get my drift as he asks, slightly panicked, “You okay, Vanessa? You’re looking super pale.”
“I…I…I think I need a bathroom. Can you pull over?” My stomach begins to twist and turn into knots as the taste in my mouth changes from bad to worse.
“I’m not supposed to. I’m on orders from your dad.” He stares straight ahead, as if it will help the situation.
“Look, it’s either at some gas station or in your truck. You decide, but I need to get to a bathroom. NOW.” I’m minutes, if not seconds, from hurling, and Brock is finally getting the picture. He takes my threat seriously, as he pulls across two lanes of traffic to get me to the nearest Go-Go-Gas. I don’t wait for him to turn off the car, as I grab my bag and run into the station in search of the nearest women’s room.
As I turn quickly towards my left, I pass a section I haven’t had any need to use in a while. The women’s toiletry section is full of feminine items, but nothing stands out more than the row of boxes of pregnancy tests. Something comes over me, other than the feeling in my throat and stomach, as I stop in my place and grab one of the boxes hanging from the shelf.