Chapter Two
Mia
I’m back at Oliver’s house to finish packing. My last day here. After today, I will never again have to come to this house.
The knowledge is like clean air in my lungs.
All that’s left to empty is his office.
I left this room until last because I despise this room.
Oliver always beat me in his office, as though he thought that if he kept it to one room, he could leave this room and lock the door on it when he was done.
That’s never been the case for me, but being in here does bring things back full throttle.
Bad memories start to scream out in the silence.
I sit down on the floor and get my iPhone out. Setting the music to play, I place it up on Oliver’s desk.
He loved this desk. It belonged to his grandfather.
I should burn it. Just like I should have burned Oliver’s body. Cremated him to dust. Make sure he was gone for good.
Unfortunately for me, Oliver had it set in his will that he was to be buried.
He’d already purchased a plot. I also discovered he had bought one for me too.
The plot next to his.
I’d rather burn in Hell than spend an eternity trapped beside him. I’ve served my time. I’m done.
Reaching for the last flat pack box, I stretch too far, and my ribs ache. I’m sporting a nice black bruise on them courtesy of Forbes outburst last night.
I check my bag for Advil and remember that I took the last of them first thing this morning.
Knowing everything is packed, I start to search through Oliver’s drawers in the hope there may be something in here.
I tug on the bottom drawer, but it’s locked.
I search the other drawers for a key but find nothing.
Then a thought crosses my mind. Oliver’s keys, the ones I was given with his things at the hospital, have a few keys on it that I hadn’t found a use for.
I retrieve the keys from my bag, and start trying the three keys. The second one fits, so I turn it, and the lock opens with a click. I pull the draw open, and there’s nothing in it, but a manila folder. I take the folder from the drawer and sit down in the chair, placing the folder on the desk.
In the top right hand corner, it has one word – Anna.
Seeing my mother’s name on it has me opening the folder.
There are two pieces of paper inside. Both are titled: ‘Sawyer, Davis and Smith. Family Lawyers.’ Dated: October 12th 1990.
I was born 1990. January 10th is my birthday.
The first letter is addressed to Oliver. I start to read.
No.
This … this can’t be right.
Blood starts to pound in my ears.
With trembling fingers, I turn to the second piece of paper and read quickly through the lawyer jargon. I’m getting the basics of what this letter is about.
It’s not a letter. It’s a contract.
I, Anna Monroe, do decree to cease all parental rights of my daughter, Mia Monroe, giving sole custody to her father, Dr. Oliver Monroe.
I don’t read anymore. I don’t need to.
My mother didn’t die in a car accident. She signed me over to Oliver.
She left me with him. She gave me to him.
Everything starts to fracture around me.
My eyes blur, and my heart starts to hurt in chest.
The letters flutter from my hands, dropping to the desk. I grab the folder, searching it, scrambling to find anything else.
I find one scrap piece of paper at the bottom.
It has my mother’s name on it, and an address for a place called Durango in Colorado.
Grabbing the papers and address, I shove them in my bag.
I need to get out of here. I need to talk to someone.
So I head to the only person I have in this world – Forbes.
***
When I reach his house, I don’t bother knocking as I know it’ll be unlocked. There’s always someone here.
The urge to talk to him about what I’ve discovered has increased on the drive over here. I just need to air this out. Figure it out. He’ll be able to help me do that. Yes, Forbes is an asshole, but he’s smart. He’s almost a lawyer.
He’ll know what these papers mean.
He’ll know what to do.
As I walk through the foyer, I see the living room is deserted.
If he’s not in, I’ll just wait in his room until he gets home.
I run up the stairs to the first floor. Forbes’ room is at the far end of the hall. I walk quickly, clutching my bag to my side. The papers inside feel as if they’re burning through the leather and onto my skin.
Reaching Forbes’ door, I grab the handle and push down, opening it.
And I’m greeted by the sight of Forbes in bed, having sex with a girl – who isn’t me, obviously.
I can’t really say what I feel in this moment. There’s such a myriad of emotions streaming through me, but I do know the one emotion I feel with absolute certainty is relief. In what context I’m just not sure.
Funny.
Oliver dies, I feel relief.
Forbes cheats, I feel relief.
Not really the natural feeling one should have in these kind of situations.
Does this mean I’m free of Forbes?
The words are right there on the tip of my tongue. Of all the things I could say to him at this moment in time, that is the one thing I want to ask most.
It takes Forbes a moment to see me standing here in his doorway as he’s too busy getting his rocks off. The surprise is evident on his face, but it quickly morphs into the cold, blank expression I’m familiar with.
The girl is facing away from me. All I can see is a mass of brown hair curtaining her face as she is on her hands and knees being screwed from behind by my boyfriend.
She has no clue I’m here, watching, feeling utterly emotionless by the whole thing
And Forbes says nothing. Just holds my eye as he continues to have sex with her.
“Yes, God! Forbes!” she screams out, making me jump. Forbes actually smiles.
“Harder! Fuck me harder!”
She really does seem to be enjoying herself. More than I ever have with him. Maybe that’s why he hits me. Maybe I don’t do sex right. He was my first. Has been my only.
“Yes! Right there!” she continues to scream.
You’d think he’d stop and try some lame attempt of It’s not what you think, Mia.
But he doesn’t say a thing.
Then again, you’d think I’d say something; any normal girl would if she caught her boyfriend cheating on her. She’d probably be the one screaming right now.
But then Forbes and I don’t exactly do normal.
He has all the power, and I’m just dragged along for the ride.
Continuing to have sex with this girl, and keeping his eyes on me, his smile changes to a smirk. Then a fire ignites in his eyes. It’s new. I’ve never seen this look on him before, but then I’ve never seen him having sex with someone else before either.
But there’s something in the way he’s looking at me right now that terrifies me. He looks empowered, like he’s finally got me exactly where he wants me.
Chills creep down my spine like spiders.
“Oh god, I’m coming! I’m coming!” the girl screams, totally unaware of what is transpiring right now between Forbes and I.
Leave Mia, now. Go!
Tearing my gaze from his. I take one step back. Two. And then I’m gone, fleeing down the stairs and out of there.
I toss my bag into the foot-well and I’m back in my car, driving away.
Vision blurred, I wipe my eyes and realize that I’m crying.
Why? I’m not entirely sure.
***
I drive to a convenience store, park my car way in the back, go in and buy as much food as I can carry in my arms. Potato chips, candy, cookies, ice-cream – anything I can lay my hands on.
I get back in my car, open up the food and start eating like I always do. Eating is probably too nice a word for what I’m doing – I’m gorging.
When I’m done, the feeling of my stomach tight and bursting, relief momentarily fills me. Then I look around at the empty wrappers and containers and the sick, dirty, guilt feeling washes over me.
I stuff the wrappers in the bag and look around at the lot. There’s no one around, so I walk toward the trash can and dump the bag in it. Then I skirt quickly to the cluster of trees by the edge of the store and hide myself from view as I brace my hand against one of them. I push my fingers down my throat, emptying my stomach.
I get back in my car, clean my hands on a wipe, and put a breath mint in my mouth.
Finally feeling in control of my emotions, I start my car and head for home.
I don’t know Forbes is there waiting as his car isn’t parked up front—maybe that was the point; he always likes to have the upper hand. When I see him under the alcove by my door, I try to run, but he grabs my arm, dragging me back. “Oh no, you don’t.”
I can smell perfume on him.
And sex.
The sex I just saw him having.
He didn’t even shower.
Just finished screwing his bit on the side and came over here. Or maybe I’m his bit on the side. Maybe she’s his girlfriend.
Forbes yanks my keys from my hand and unlocks the door. He pushes me into my apartment.
I stumble, but quickly correct my footing. For some reason, in this moment, it’s important to me that I don’t fall in front of him.
Moving back, I press up against the back of the sofa and grip the top of it with my hands.
I’m not really sure what I expect of him in this moment, but I need to prepare myself for the worst.
He places my keys on the table by the door and leans back against it, folding his arms across his chest. I watch his muscles flex. In the beginning of our relationship, I used to love how strong his arms looked. How safe they made me feel.
Now all I see is the power behind the pain. The fear they make me feel. The same fear that I grew up feeling because of a man exactly like him.
I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to feel this way.
Not now.
Not ever again.
It’s like clarity. Like my light has finally come on.
Why now? I’m not sure. But it has, and it’s like a weight off my shoulders. I’m never going back to how my life was. Whatever it takes, it stops now.
That knowledge pushes my backbone up. I stand a little straighter.
Forbes’ eyes are trained on me.
“Is she your girlfriend?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice clear and steady, even though my heart is beating so hard in my chest it’s almost painful.
He looks surprised. Of all the things I could have said, I don’t think he was expecting that. I wonder what he was expecting me to say.
“No. That privilege is all yours,” he replies through tight lips.
“Do you fuck her often?”
His eyes narrow. “Watch your mouth, Mia.”
“Sorry.” I smile, sweetly … antagonistically. “Do you have sex regularly with her?”
“No, she’s new.”
New?
“There have been others?”
“Yes.” He smirks. It hurts more than I was expecting.
Tears squeeze at my eyes. Not because of his betrayal, or the beatings, but because I’m angry with myself. Angry for being so goddamn weak.
“Have you used condoms with them?” He doesn’t with me.
“Yes.”
Thank god. I’m still going to get tested.
I can see the anger increasing in him. It tells in the dark of his eyes. The taunt skin across his cheekbones. The clenching of his fists by his sides.
My questioning is annoying him.
He actually has the audacity to be annoyed in this situation. But then, can I really expect any more from him?
Normally, when Forbes is this way, I will do anything to appease him. Anything to calm him. But right now my sole aim is to anger him more.
I don’t know why, or what I want out of this apart from him gone from my life for good, but I will do whatever it takes now to make that happen.
I tilt my head to the side, appraising him as I ask this question. I’m genuinely interested to know the answer because honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me.
“Forbes, you wanted to move in here with me. Wouldn’t that have slightly hampered your ability to have sex with other women?”
“No.” He’s smug in his statement. And it makes me feel less than worthless. He folds his arms across his chest. “It’s just simply time for us to move onto the next stage in our relationship. But my extra-circular activities will remain the same.”
God, I knew he was a cold-hearted bastard, but now I’m seeing a whole brand new bastard. I guess there are more sides to Forbes Chandler than I had realized.
I wrap my arms around myself. I need to feel some form of warmth. “So you have these girls and me. Why?”
He smirks. “Because I can. And there is no separate now, Mia. You will be a part of it too.”
My expression drops. “What?” The words wobble from my lips.
I’m pretty sure I know what he’s getting at—not that I know much about sex, but I’m not dumb. I just don’t want to believe it. He’s never shown any interest in anything like that before. We’ve always had straight forward vanilla sex. He’s never even taken me from behind like he did that girl.
“You. Will. Be. A. Part. Of. It.” He addresses me as though speaking to a child. “You’ll let me fuck them here in our apartment whenever I want. You’ll sit out here and listen to me fuck them. And sometimes…” He steps closer. “You’ll participate.”
No. No. No. No!
Hell no!
“I don’t think so.” Is that me speaking?
His features tighten. He takes a step forward. I can see his hands twitching by his sides.
I sidestep around the sofa.
“You will do as I tell you, Mia. You’re mine to do with as I want.”
The belt cracked across my behind.
“Who is in control here, Mia?”
“You are, Daddy.”
I lift my eyes to his face. Forbes might be handsome, but he’s never looked uglier than he does right now.
“Do you hit those girls like you do me?”
I see surprise flicker across his face.
Even though we are both very clear on the fact that Forbes hits me … I’ve never actually said the words out loud before. They feel odd to have said, but also empowering.
“No,” he answers, his voice cold.
And the empowerment I held so briefly dissipates and I want to cry. The ugly type of cry.
He beats me because he can.
Because I allow it.
Because I’m weak.
“Why me?” I ask. I know why, but the sadistic part of me wants to hear him confirm it.
He moves closer until he is right in front of me.
I don’t move this time. I stand my ground, even though my legs are shaking to the point that I’m surprised I’m actually still standing.
If my act of strength surprises him, he doesn’t let it show. He leans down, getting in my face. His hot breath burns my skin. I can still smell that girl on him.
I want to vomit.
“Because you’re mine, Mia.” His voice sounds like a hiss. “You belong to me. You’re my other half. My little … easily controllable … fucked-up other half.”
I might have known this already, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. I hide the burning flinch of pain I feel because I don’t want him to have the pleasure of knowing.
He lifts his hand.
I flinch.
This pleases him.
Touching my cheek with the barest of touches, he runs his fingers across my skin and tucks my long hair behind my ear.
“You really are beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through my hair and down my back. Then he roughly grabs a hand full of my hair, yanking my head back. My eyes water from the pain.
“You and I are the same, you know.” His voice is low and vengeful. “Pretty on the outside, but all kinds of fucked up on the inside. I wanted you, Mia, for the same reason you wanted me. Because like knows like. The abused becomes the abuser. Or, in your case, the abused just stays abused.”
A veil lifts from my eyes. How did I not see it before?
Stereotypical pattern.
Forbes has lived my childhood. To what degree, I don’t think I’ll ever know. But he’s lived through the pain.
Did his father beat him too?
I suddenly feel awash with sadness for him. An ache for the child he was. For the childhood that was stolen from him as mine was.
Then I look up at the man before me, and that sorrow instantly turns to rage. White hot rage.
He knows how it feels, yet he does it to me.
He could have stopped the cycle. Just loved me. I would have loved him back without question. I would have given him all of me. My heart. Together, we could have healed each other.
But instead, all he gave me was a co-dependent, hate fueled, abusive relationship.
And now I’m just left with an empty chasm, lined with that hatred, and bitter resentment.
I open my mouth to tell him this … then it hits me.
I could have walked away … maybe not walked, but run. I should have run.
The simple truth is that I took the only way I knew … I carried on being the old me. The one who Oliver created, instead of trying to find a new Mia. The real Mia.
Because I was afraid to try.
Anger for my own failings burst in my chest … swelling … compressing me from the inside out. I feel as if I’m going to explode under the pressure.
I somehow manage to find my voice. “I want you to leave.”
Cruel laughter bursts from him. “You breaking up with me, Mia?”
It takes everything in me, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “I’d say I’ve got good reason to, wouldn’t you?”
He grabs my face, pinching my cheeks hard, then shoves my head back. He wraps his hand around my upper arm, yanking me straight back to him. I collide hard with his chest.
“So, let me get this straight – I get to smack you around whenever I feel like it, but the moment you catch me with my dick in some cheap slut, you’re apparently done?”
I wince from the pressure of his fingers digging into my arm, but I speak through the pain. “It’s got nothing to do with you having sex with that girl. This is me finally waking up. Something I should have done a long time ago. I won’t continue to be your punching bag, Forbes. And I definitely won’t become your whore.”
He laughs in my face. His voice chilly, he says, “You’ve been my whore from the moment I met you.”
“What happens when you dress like a whore, Mia?”
I bit my lip through the lashing, unable to speak through the pain.
“Answer me!”
My body jumps from the force of his voice. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, like the tears I wanted to shed. “I-I get treated like o-one, D-Daddy.”
“Exactly right. You’re finally starting to learn.”
Something in me snaps.
I stare hard into Forbes’ eyes. “I’m no one’s whore! Now get the hell out of my apartment! I’m done with you!”
Rage engorges his features, making him barely recognizable. In all this time, I’ve never seen him this angry, this far gone.
I should be terrified. I’m not.
“Done with me?” he spits in my face. “You think it’s that fuckin’ easy? I’m going nowhere! And neither are you!”
He slams his lips against mine at the same time as he restrains my hands by my sides. The next thing I know, my back is pressed against the wall, his body hard on mine, caging me in.
I’m trapped.
I feel his quick erection dig in my hip, and my senses instantly tell me where this is going.
My heart plummets.
Oh god, no. Not this. Anything but this.
I’ve been degraded, humiliated and beaten. But never raped.
He’s not taking this from me. I have to fight back.
The laughable thing is, I don’t know how to fight back.
Fear is bubbling my blood, adrenaline spiking my senses, so I do the only thing I can think of. I bite down on his lip until I taste blood.
“You fuckin’ bitch!”
He slaps me hard. I expect it, but not the punch that follows.
My head ricochets off the wall. Pain explodes everywhere. Light swims my vision.
Forbes grabs me and lifts me off my feet, then slams me up against the wall. I cry out from the pain it sends hurtling through my already bruised ribs.
Shoving my skirt up, his hand goes down my panties while his other pins my throat, squeezing hard.
Fingers press painfully into my flesh. One violating me. The other stealing my breath. Yet all I can think is: Why did I wear a skirt this morning? Why didn’t I pick pants? If I’d picked pants, it would have made this harder for him. Maybe gave me an out.
Something so small can define how a situation goes.
I will probably never again wear a skirt.
Something small. Insignificant.
But it matters to me.
I can feel myself shutting down. I close my eyes tight.
Warmth. Music. Flying free in the blue sky…
Safe. I’m safe.
“I’m going to fuck some sense into you,” he hisses in my ear. “You need teaching a lesson.”
“Come to my office, Mia. It’s time for a lesson.”
Forbes’ fingers roughly and painfully pull out of me, dragging me back to the now.
For a spilt stupid second, I think he’s changed his mind—that maybe he isn’t going to do this.
Then he reaches for the zipper on his jeans.
In this moment, it’s difficult to say what I feel. Realization, mainly. This is really going to happen to me. He’s going to take from me the last shred of dignity I have.
Only if I let it happen.
Stop this, Mia! Stop being weak and fight back! You stop this, and there will be no more pain. No more hurt. Ever.
Forbes is struggling with his zipper. He moves off me, just a fraction, but I take full advantage of that fraction. Using courage I didn’t know I had until now, I bring my knee up as hard as I can and slam it into his balls.
A sound like garbled agony emits from him.
His hand drops from my throat, releasing me as both his hands go to his crotch, holding the pain I just created.
Now you know how it feels you bastard.
I slide down the wall, gasping for the air I so desperately need.
Forbes staggers a little to the side, face lined with pain, then he drops to his knees.
Now, Mia, go!
I’m moving. Running through my apartment. I grab my keys off the table, and I’m out the door, flying down the stairs.
I don’t stop to look behind.
The street is quiet. No one around. I unlock my car in the race toward it. Slamming the door shut, my hand shakes as I try to get the key in the ignition.
Shit! I can’t get it in.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Forbes come stumbling out of the building, hand still holding his crotch, and I don’t know if it’s sheer luck driving this moment, but the key suddenly punches in.
I turn the ignition, shift into gear, and slam my foot down, getting me out of there.
Reaching the end of the street in a matter of seconds, I turn left and race off down the street. I feel wet on my hand as I push my hair off my face. Pulling it back, I find it smeared with blood.
I take a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.
My eyebrow is split open and the blood from the wound is running down my face, dripping onto my clothes.
“Shit,” I wince, instantly feeling the pain from the knowledge.
I need to clean it up, but I can’t stop. Not now. I can’t risk Forbes catching up with me.
Because he will, undoubtedly, be coming after me.
I press my sleeve against the cut to soak up the blood and press down harder on the gas, firing me onward.
Before I know it, I’m on the I-90 with absolutely no idea where I’m going.
I have nowhere to go.
No friends to turn to. No family.
There’s only me.
***
I drive down the I-90 for an undetermined amount of time. I’m just staring ahead, foot on the gas pedal, putting as much distance between me and Forbes as I can.
It starts to rain, so visibility becomes poor, and my eye is starting to shut. It isn’t easy driving as I am, but with the rain pouring down, I’m going to have to pull off.
The thought of stopping terrifies me, but at the moment, I don’t have a choice.
A few minutes later, I see a sign for a service station coming up in a mile.
When the turn comes up, I pull off and follow the road round.
I park my car into the lot just outside the service motel. Shutting the engine off, I check my doors are still locked, then I examine my eye in the rear-view mirror. It’s looking bad.
I reach into the glove compartment and get out the hand wipes I keep in there. That’s when I spot my handbag sitting in the foot well where I’d dropped it earlier. Relief fills me.
I’ve got money.
There’s no way I can go back to my apartment. When Forbes gets bored of looking for me, that’s the first place he’ll go to wait. Looks like this motel is going to be my bed for the night.
I lift my bag onto the passenger seat. The papers about my mother are still there. I gently touch them with my fingertips.
My cell starts to ring, making me jump.
Forbes.
With trembling fingers, I cancel the call and switch my cell off.
I clean my face using the hand wipes. On closer examination, I see the cut is really deep. I’ll need to tape it. What it really needs is stitches, but I’m not up for stitching myself at the moment, and going to the ER is out of the question.
I can live with the scar. It’s not my first.
There should be some tape in the first-aid kit in the trunk of the car. Always prepared. That’s me. I could do with an icepack. I’ll see what the motel has.
I grab my overly large sunglasses from my bag and put them on to cover my eye. I don’t care that it’s raining. I hang my bag on my shoulder, open the door and step into the bouncing rain.
Popping the trunk, I get the first-aid kit and shove it in my bag before I head to the reception of the motel.
The female, a middle-aged clerk barely looks at me as she checks me in, which is good because I must look a complete state wearing sunglasses, soaked through to my panties and blood on my clothes.
She hands me over a key card with barely a word, so I thank her and head straight to the room. Stopping on the way, I grab a can of soda from the machine. It’ll work as a makeshift icepack.
I open the door, and I’m greeted with the stench of stale air freshener. Walking into the room, I shut the door behind me, locking it. I remove my sunglasses and put them in my bag, which I drop on the bed as I sit down. The mattress is hard and uncomfortable. I rest the cold can of soda against my eye using one hand. With the other, I curl my fingers around the edge of the bed and grip the comforter.
Then I just let go. I cry the tears I’ve needed to cry all night.
I’ve no clue how long I sit here for, crying, but when I’m finally dried eyed, I go to the bathroom and strip my clothes off.
The urge to eat and purge is overwhelming right now, but fear of going back outside keeps me in the room.
Fear is driving my every decision right now.
I wash my blood stained shirt in the sink and hang it to drip dry over the towel rail. I turn the shower on hot and climb underneath. I just need to get the stench and feel of Forbes off me, then I’ll be okay.
I’ll be okay.
Tears sting my eyes at the reminder of what just happened to me. A lump lodges in my throat, sticking there like dry wood. I suck in a deep breath to stop the tears from starting again as I pick up the hotel soap to wash myself with. When I feel as near to clean as I’m going to, I grab a towel and wrap my hair up. Then my body. I hate that I can’t brush my teeth. I’ll have to buy a toothbrush and paste in the morning.
I go back into the room and get the first-aid kit from my bag.
I clean the cut using an antiseptic wipe, then tape it up. I take a couple of Advil from the kit and swallow them down.
I really don’t want to put the clothes I was wearing back on, but they’re all I have to wear. I leave my panties off and just put my bra back on, wrapping the towel around my waist.
Climbing back onto the bed, I tuck my legs underneath me as I stare down at my bag.
The ‘Giveaway Mia’ contract and my mother’s address are still in there.
I can’t believe that she’s alive. More so, that she signed me away. Just like that. With the press of a pen to paper, she was no longer my mother.
How does that even work?
The mix of emotions I feel is confusing. I’m angry. No, I’m raging. She has been out there all this time while I had to endure growing up with Oliver.
She abandoned me.
She left me with him.
Did she know the kind of man he really was? The person she was actually leaving her child with? Did she willingly just walk away leaving me there with that monster of a man?
I have to believe she didn’t know because the thought that she did is just too painful to consider.
I can’t think about it now. I don’t want to think about it.
Too much has happened to me today. I can barely process it.
I need to sleep.
Pressing all thoughts from my mind, I straighten a leg out, and using my toes, I push my bag off the edge of the bed. I switch the light off and climb under the covers.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the sound of the distant traffic on the interstate, trying to focus on that.
I wonder if Forbes is looking for me. What if he finds me here?
On that thought, I get out of bed, grab the heavy chair from the desk, and drag it over to the door, propping it up underneath the door handle. I should have hidden my car behind the motel instead of leaving it upfront, but I’m not going out there now to move it.
Then again, I’m too far out of Boston. Forbes won’t think I’ll have gone this far. I never leave Boston.
The thought makes me sad.
I’ve never left Boston. Not once.
The life I had existed within the city limits. While my mother lived a whole other life, without me.
Climbing back into bed, I turn the TV on using the remote control and focus on the screen instead of focusing on what is going on in my own mind.
Inside my head is not a place I want to be right now.