Chapter Nine

JAMIE

I can still remember when the documentary debuted on television. I’d saved up my money from doing random chores around the neighborhood to buy a blank VHS tape, making sure I could record the life story of Jerry Ellis.

He was remarkable, and his story was nothing short of amazing. For years, I watched that tape, so much that I came to know the words by heart. Jerry Ellis was an icon in my small town, and I couldn’t believe someone from so close to where I grew up could become so successful.

The documentary told all about his past, which was exceptionally interesting, but what I remember the most was his life at the time of filming. He had five children, and the cameras followed them around as they played in the pool and practiced their instruments as Jerry Ellis looked on.

I used to dream that he could be my dad, and every time I performed with my school band, I pretended he was in the crowd watching, critiquing my work like a proud dad. I studied his work like it was a subject in school, and can still attribute his style an influence to my current taste in arts.

Jerry Ellis was so charismatic and seemed to be the nicest person in the world. He was always smiling, creating, and encouraging others to do the same. That documentary shaped my life in more ways than I can even imagine. As a child, I’d see myself in his work and believe I could create something as unforgettable as he did.

That feeling of being watched is back upon me, and sure it must be the girls again, I turn with a forced smile, but to my surprise it’s Sam, watching me intricately.

“Was he as nice as he seemed?” I ask him, looking back to the photographs of his dad.

“Probably nicer. I’ve never met anyone as kind and generous as my dad. I’m always reminding myself how he would want me to give more,” he smirks, thinking of his dad.

“You look like him,” I notice.

I never looked at Jerry Ellis as an attractive man, because I was so obsessed with him as an artist, but I’ve heard other women remark about how sexy he was. To me, he was brilliant, and anything else is a bit of an insult.

Now, looking at Sam, who I find to be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, I can see his father, and finally the sexiness those women gawked at. Sam’s eyes light up when I tell him he looks like his father, and I realize that I may have met the first person to be a bigger Jerry Ellis fan than me.

“I’ve heard that all my life,” he smiles, running his fingers through his hair.

“I used to watch this documentary about him every single day when I was little,” I reveal, having never shared that with another soul.

“I remember that documentary. Nikki was convinced we were going to be movie stars when the cameras showed up,” he chuckles at the memory.

“I was so envious of you, and your family. I wanted a family like that so bad. I would lock myself in my room to watch you guys and pretend I was there while my parents fought right outside my door,” I look away, reliving the memory in my mind.

“You used to see your parents fight?” He asks in a mix of disbelief and horror.

“Did I? I think it was more normal to see them fight than not. My dad was controlling, like very controlling. My mom wasn’t allowed to even leave the house, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why she consistently defied him.

“I grew up resenting the fact that she wanted her free will. I thought that if she just did what he said, she wouldn’t get punished like she was my mischievous sister or something. He was awful,” the memories come rushing back too strong as I recall the awful times my father would abuse my mother right in front of me.

I can feel Sam’s eyes on me, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything, choosing to rub my back instead. I want to tell him my story, because I’ve never told anyone, and if there’s one person in this world I want to know the real me – all of me, it’s him.

“The more rules she broke, the more creative he got with his punishments. My earliest memories, they would just yell and scream at each other. As sad as it is to admit, those are some of my fondest memories, because when they began to fight it was awful.

“My mom would always start it, and I later felt like she just wanted to get one hit in, because the minute he turned violent, there was no help for her. She was tiny, even smaller than me. And my father was a linebacker, so he was big and strong. He’d pummel her until she was unrecognizable sometimes. I never understood how you could do that to someone you loved.

“Then they would make up. My mom would have to stay inside because her face would be so battered, and my dad was happy she was finally obeying him. It’s hard to even say this now, but I would get so sad when my mother’s wounds healed. In some ways, I liked her all bruised up because that was when she did what my dad wanted and he was nice to us.”

“Jamie, I had no idea. I’m so sorry,” Sam whispers, his hand moving in rhythmic circles on my back.

“And then one day, my mom had the bright idea to just wear sunglasses. She could leave the house with her black eyes and no one would be the wiser!” I shake my head sarcastically remembering the awful day.

“When my dad came home he was beside himself. He made me sit on the couch with him, waiting for her to get home. I can still remember the smell of the liquor on his breath, and the tension in the air. My stomach dropped when I heard the car pull in the driveway, knowing she had no idea what she was walking into.

“The second she walked through the front door, he backhanded me so hard I flew across the room.”

I can feel Sam’s body tense as his hand skips a beat in his methodical rhythm.

“Everything was a blur from there, but the next thing I remember was my grandmother telling me I was going to live with her. I had ten minutes to pack my things, as a police officer stood outside my door. I remember grabbing my school backpack, stuffing it with all of my school books and supplies. I’d just got to the door or my bedroom, looking back for one last time, and I took off running to the VCR, remembering the recording of your father’s documentary. It was the only thing I wanted to remember from that house.”

A single tear streams down my cheek as Sam pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly. Strangely, there are no tears to follow, as if I’ve used up all of my hurt from my childhood. Maybe I had mourned long enough. Lord knows I cried through most of my adolescence and all of my high school years.

“You can always be a part of my family, baby,” Sam whispers in my ear, and it is the most sentimental and yet monumental thing I’ve ever heard.

He’ll never truly be able to understand how much of a dream that was to me, or how I’ve come to learn that I can never achieve such an accomplishment.

“Well, I don’t really fit in with your family, Sam, but I do appreciate the offer,” I giggle.

“What do you mean? You’re with me, you’ll always fit,” he assures me with a frown of confusion.

“Okay, baby,” I kiss his lips softly.

Maybe Sam just can’t see the glaring differences in our lives because he’s so used to his reality. I can’t be sure, but I do know today made them more than clear for me. Despite how different I am from the women he’s used to, and most likely the women he’s expected to date, Sam still loves me. He wants me above everyone else, and he’s even brought me here to prove it to me.

My emotions are running wild, as I look to him with a deep hunger, desperate to show him how much I love him.

“How long do we need to stay here?” I ask seductively.

“Are you ready to go?” He raises an eyebrow, and I bite my lip in response. I can see the breath fall from his lips as he looks around, plotting to make our escape.