Chapter 15

 

Dreaded Dreams

Present

 

Melissa

 

 

Hours passed or maybe it had only been minutes since my humiliating examinations were over. I was placed in a private room and given a sedative. The new room was as cold and stale as the first one that showcased my shame. The only difference between now and the room with all the people was that now I was alone with no escape.

Shortly after the exam, the detective with the ugly brown suit left without a statement from me. He talked to the doctor and Peyton, but I was mute. He said he would be back later, but I didn't know what that meant. Later today? Tomorrow?

Hell, I didn't even know what day it was, much less the time.

I remembered the attack was before midnight Sunday, but I didn’t know how long I lay on the floor before I was found or the amount of time I spent on that gurney stripped of all my dignity. None of that mattered as the sedative worked through my body. Darkness gradually overtook me, leaving my mind free to dream beautiful things. Unfortunately, the beauty soon turned into horrible images.

A path filled with flowers appeared before me. The sun shone on the horizon with perfect purple roses along the road. Birds sang in the trees hidden by branches full of leaves. I closed my eyes to inhale the fragrance, and when my eyes opened again, it was no longer filled with beauty. Now, the path where I walked was filled with pain and hurt.

"No, this isn't the path I chose. I picked the path on the right side. It was filled with love and joy. Take me back; I don't want to be on the left path filled with anger and hate,” I screamed to no one. Hearing a response, I believed my screams must have been heard. I prayed or hoped that whomever was there was there to help me.

The voice was just above a whisper.

“You are not permitted on the other path. You must continue on the one you chose first." The cold and uncaring message echoed through the air.

"No! I want to be where the sun shines and flowers bloom," I screamed back as loud as I could. The voice had to listen. This way was filled with too much hurt and heartbreak. I wouldn’t survive this path, and if I did, I’d be forever broken.

"You don't have a choice,” he said. “You must finish this voyage first."

"But I can't. Please, it's too painful."

"I’m sorry. First complete this path, and then, and only then, will another path become available." While the words of the soft-spoken voice offered an apology, the tone was otherwise emotionless and empty.

It wasn’t sorry. This voice didn’t care about the pain my choice caused.

I fell to my knees and begged for someone to listen and not leave me here. Silence was all I heard in return. Suddenly, a light flashed, and a new memory plowed into me. Pretty flowers and sunshine didn't fill this path. No, this journey would be dark and painful.

I was face down on the ceramic flooring. My body ached, as I vomited the contents of my stomach. I tried to remember how I ended up on the bathroom floor of the apartment where I’d lived for the last six months. My mind was confused as I tried to recall.

"I must've fallen on my way to the shower. No, I’d crawled here from the bedroom to take a shower. Why did I crawl?" The questions kept coming, but the answers were missing.

And then I heard the door open and I panicked.

Why, why was I scared?

I couldn't remember how I got on the bathroom floor and why I lay in a puddle of my vomit. I tried to move, but doing so caused more pain. And then a dreadful memory appeared.

My mind couldn't keep up with the constant flickers; every few minutes a new recollection flashed. Sunshine and then darkness before the sunshine recurred. It was like my brain fought between good and evil, but in the end, evil prevailed.

Colorful flowers turned into a broken body lying upon the floor. The sunshine was now a blond man with a devilish smile and a Southern drawl. The memories were there but confused; good and bad memories mixed with others. I wasn't sure if they were tied together or things I imagined. It was bits and pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle left undone, lying upon a table with only the border complete. The parts were all visible, but the middle pieces were scattered to the side. I was unsure if all the pieces were there or if some were missing.

"Miss Summers, I need to get your statement about what happened," a voice interrupted my memories.

I startled awake to find the detective from last night. He wasn’t real. My mind was playing tricks to make me believe that the things I dreamed were real.

A minute or maybe an hour passed before I heard his harsh voice again. “Miss Summers.”

Opening my eyes, I stared at the detective as he stood over me. His eyes were hollow, indifferent from all that he’d witnessed over the years. Hurt had a habit of destroying people from the inside out. Eyes were the windows to our souls, and the dullness of his told me that he’d seen more than his share of pain. Those experiences were slowly breaking him. That was my assessment, the one I chose to believe over the other option: he was just a coldhearted man who really didn’t care.

"Miss Summers, you accused Bryce Spencer of rape, and I need you to tell me what happened. He was questioned last night by another detective.” He stopped and waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, he went on, “Miss Summer, Spencer and his attorney are at the station now to give a formal statement.”

I didn’t have the words to respond. I didn’t want to remember, much less discuss it.

When I didn’t respond, the detective continued, “Mr. Spencer tells a different story. He swore that the sexual contact was consensual. His attorney claims your accusation of rape is fraudulent.” He leaned closer. “Mr. Spencer even alluded to the fact that you are a paid prostitute.”

My eyes flew open. It wasn't a dream—it had happened. The nightmare and the memories were real. I swallowed any word lodged in my throat. My tears became my words, and my cries turned into my pleas to make it all stop.

"Get the fuck away from her. You. Are. Not. To. Talk. To. Her." The angry voice roared through the room, each word filled with rage, yet also protective and fierce like a dragon’s fire defending a princess in a child’s fairy tale.

"I filed a preliminary report,” the detective said to Peyton, “based on your statement, but it won't mean shit if she doesn't talk. Bryce Spencer has a top attorney at his side and apparently more at his beck and call. I need more evidence to make this stick. As it is, by now Spencer’s attorney is probably already filing counterclaims against Miss Summers for false accusations and defamation of character.”

Both men stared at each other before the detective continued, “Have you ever heard of Alton Fitzgerald from Savannah?"

I looked from the detective to Peyton and back. I saw their expressions before they both turned to me. They didn't have to say the words. The silence told the entire story. I was fucked.

Finally, the detective broke the silence. "One of the other detectives questioned Mr. Spencer. According to his statement, he claims the sex was entirely consensual.”

He turned to me. “Claims it was you, Miss Summers, who begged him to play rough. He acknowledges having kinky sex with you, but swears you didn’t have any of these injuries when he left.”

I shook my head, wishing I could make it all go away.

But the detective didn’t stop. “He believes the entire night was a ploy on your part to blackmail him.” He turned and faced Peyton. “In fact, Mr. Harrison, don’t you pay Miss Summers for sexual favors in return for her college tuition?”

Peyton had heard enough. "You fucking prick. Get the fuck out. Now!" His anger radiated throughout the room as his brown eyes turned black, and the vein in his temple pulsated.

I had only seen that look one time during the time we’d spent together. It was a look I’d never forget. I wasn’t privy to what caused his foul mood, but I knew it had to do with a business meeting he had just come from. When he left that morning, he was fun and playful but when he returned he was short and irritable. He summoned me into the bedroom and used my body as his salvation.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d listened to enough of the bullshit and posturing from the detective. He wasn't here to get my story, and his dead eyes weren’t from the pain he’d witnessed. This man didn’t care about my statement. He was here as a warning from Bryce and whomever the hell that Alton Fitzgerald man was. He was here to tell me that if I continued on this path—with my accusation—it would be one hell of a war.

My head pounded and stomach churned. I needed out of this world. Since leaving wasn’t an option, I closed my eyes and prayed for my mind to be taken away to where love, peace, and equality ruled.

The sound of footsteps let me know that the two men were headed toward the door. Their conversation continued with heated words before the detective spoke louder. "Just remember…"

The rest of his sentence was cut off when the door clicked shut, and they both went into the hallway. Once again, I was alone in both the world and in my thoughts.

I don’t know how much time passed. I hadn’t heard the door open, yet I was no longer alone. A soft older voice broke through the fog. "Melissa, I brought something to help you sleep. Your friend said you were restless. This should help."

I just watched as the nurse injected a magic potion into my IV. Momentarily, I said a wish or maybe a prayer that she miscalculated the dose, giving me too much and freeing me—not only from the hospital but from the cold, cruel world.

A warm sensation traveled through my veins, filling me with a settling heat until it reached the part of my brain that shut out the world.

Maybe my wish had been granted, I thought, as I floated straight up to the skies. Higher and higher I went until I was close enough to touch the tip of a shooting star, but yet not close enough to grab it.

The medicine the kind nurse had injected took me on a ride through the land of rainbows and unicorns. It was magical, and I didn’t want to leave, but then the colors disappeared, and I was back in the dark abyss, destined to relive the nightmare again and again.

Agony radiated throughout my body. Every part of me ached, the outer layer, from the cuts and bruises the doctor had described, to the inside, from pain so deep that only I knew it was there. My memory desperately tried to connect all the pieces of the puzzle that lay unfinished in my mind.

Pieces began to fit—the irregularly shaped corner snapped into the border of the puzzle. The next piece—flat and rounded on one side while zagged on the other—connected at a different angle. Slowly, each piece found its home until the puzzle of my mind had most of the pieces in place. There were a few holes that still needed to be worked out, but the picture was recognizable.

The reason I’d crawled to the bathroom for my shower slammed me harder than I’d expected. For a short time, I’d let myself believe that I’d fallen, but now with the puzzle almost complete, I knew that my reasoning was the furthest thing from the truth.

I’d wanted a hot, scalding shower to clean and disinfect my body from the horror.

The handsome blond man with that devilish smile was why I was dirty. He’d taken my body against my will and left it, as well as my heart and soul, broken. I didn't want to say the words that destroyed me, but I needed to accept the reality—Mr. Smiles had brutally raped me.

The memory continued to play. As I crawled on my hands and knees toward the bathroom doorway, the pain overpowered me, stopping my progression and my desire to be clean. The determination to rid my body of his nasty scent and disgusting semen gave me strength as my arms pulled me inch by inch into the bathroom. Yet I fell short when I collapsed just feet from the fresh, clean water.

Tears stung in my eyes with the realization that even if I’d managed to wash away his sins, nothing would erase the memory of that night and his touch. It was branded into my mind and embedded into my soul. That wicked moment would haunt my dreams or more accurately, my life for eternity.

From the bathroom floor, I’d heard the door alarm beep and panic surged through me, fearful of my attacker returning. My scrambled mind fought to focus on the voice I knew but couldn't remember.

"Melissa, where are you? Why was the front door unlocked and the alarm off?" His loafers tapped upon the hardwood floors as the man with the voice I knew walked deeper into the apartment.

I’d wanted to hide and protect myself from him finding me, but it was impossible. I didn't have the strength. I wasn't even able to crawl to the shower, and it was only a few feet away. Instead, I lay there as silently as possible, hoping he would leave, maybe assuming that I wasn't home.

During the last few hours all of my other wishes and requests had been ignored. I was certain that this one too would go unheard. Peyton would find me lying in my own vomit, covered in not only my blood but also my attacker’s semen.

I tried to hide but there was nowhere to go. I didn't want to be seen like this—battered and used—but exhaustion had already won. I couldn’t hide or move. I stayed upon the cold ceramic waiting to be found.

As the rest of the missing pieces came together, I realized my appearance didn't matter anymore. All the fancy clothes, money, and even Northwestern—none of it mattered. Every breath I took was one closer to how I felt. Dead.

His voice came nearer. "I left you a message last night. Why didn't you call me back? I’m pretty sure all of these little infractions are grounds for me to punish you."

I didn't answer. I couldn’t.

The closer the footsteps came, vibrating through the apartment, the more irritated his voice grew. A few more steps before they came to a complete stop at the bedroom door. "Melissa, you must want a sore ass tonight. Where are you?"

I heard the buckle from his belt clink as he unfastened it.

Another couple of steps before Peyton found me. I could barely see him through my swollen eyes. When he stopped, his jaw tightened, and his belt fell to the floor, the buckle hitting the tile with a thud. The sounds that used to excite me now terrified me.

Time stood still.

His approach was in slow motion as his eyes wandered from the tip of my head to the tip of my feet. I knew by his expression that after tonight it wouldn't matter anymore. My life as I knew it was over.

Hands rushed to my face and pushed red strands of hair behind my ear. The anger in his voice overpowered the concern in his face. His voice was harsh and demanding when his eyes landed on me. "What the fucking hell happened?"

I tried to scoot away. His reaction scared me, reminding me of the man who’d attacked me. My recoil changed his features. All at once, his voice became soft and calm even though his eyes still held fire—red-hot sparks ignited when he saw the damage to my body.

"Melissa, my beautiful girl, what happened? Talk to me. Please. Who hurt you?" His hands stroked my face and wiped the tears.

My throat burned, and my words strained. "Please don't tell my parents. Please."

"Okay, whatever you want. Just tell me who hurt you."

"Please. I need a shower. Please..." My eyes finished what my words couldn't as more tears pooled with the others.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You can't shower. You need to go to the hospital."

"No,” I protested. “I can't. No. People will find out what happened. Please." Even though my words weren't above a whisper, it was as though I’d screamed them from the highest mountain.

A steady hand brushed against my cheek.

"Melissa, sweet girl, you can't shower." His voice hitched. "I need you to trust me. You need a hospital. You’re hurt."

“People,” I cried. “T-they’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“Know about our…” I refused to finish the sentence, to admit what I’d become.

“Sweetheart.” His hand brushed away my tears. “I’ll handle it. Just don’t say anything to anyone. Let me do all of the talking. Trust me.”

I didn't have another choice. He was right: I needed help, lying broken on the bathroom floor. Without Peyton’s help, I would die in my vomit. I had to believe that for now he would protect me. I also I knew that once I revealed the truth of my attack, he’d discard me like yesterday's news. I’d made a series of misjudgments. As I accepted his help, I prayed that trusting him wasn't another one.

Strong hands wrapped around my body, picking me up and carrying me to the bed. Next, he sheathed me in a blanket. As I was again raised off the bed and placed against his broad chest, my body felt lighter.

"Sweetheart, I don't need all the details now, but I need you to tell me who hurt you."

I was too tired and exhausted to lie. "His name is Bryce Spencer."

The words were barely murmurs, but with the way the gentleness in his eyes was replaced with rage and his arms held me tighter, I knew he heard me.

"Melissa.” His tone was calm and yet stern. “Remember, our agreement is private. You are not to discuss it. You are nothing more than a family friend. Nothing else. Do you understand?"

His words punctuated with a soft kiss on my forehead were the last things I remembered as his scent engulfed me.