There’s nothing more humiliating then having to sneak into a sexual health clinic through the back door because you don’t want anybody to see you. I just had to admit for the first time that I’m too famous for the masses. The nurse I spoke to was so understanding; I hope it stays that way.
I’m ushered into a stale room with a green bed and a matching chair by a desk and left alone for twenty minutes. Folders, tubes, books and gadgets line the shelves on the wall behind it. An ancient computer sits on it, its bulky head emitting a strange buzzing sound that sounds similar to bees in a glass jar.
“Miss Branch,” the nurse says quietly as she steps into the room, looking at a box in her hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you and to be your nurse today.” She motions for me to sit so I stop chewing on the skin around my nails and take the seat.
“Forgive me if I’m not my usual chipper self; it’s nothing personal.”
“Don’t apologise,” she says softly, kindly, her eyes full of compassion and warmth.
“Don’t be nice to me,” I mutter, looking away. “I just can’t take it today.”
She stares at me for a long moment, taking in my face, my posture, judging me all the while, trying to figure out what my secret is.
“I’ll be as stoic as my usual chipper self will allow.” She clears her throat and pulls her chair on wheels to the front of mine. “So, I have to clarify, and I know it’s stupid because why else would you be here, but you want the full whack testing, yes?”
I nod, keeping my shame-filled eyes on the ground.
“Okay, it’ll be a blood test, though the results won’t be back for a few weeks.”
At that admission my head whips up. “No.” I panic. “I need to know now. I can’t sit and wait for weeks. I can hardly handle hours right now.”
“I understand, trust me, I do. I’ve been sitting in that seat myself.”
“No, really you don’t, nobody… nobody gets it. I need to be tested and I need the results today.”
“Ms Branch,” she takes my hands in her gloved ones, “calm down. Look at me.”
“I can’t. I can’t look at anyone. Not when you have pity in your eyes.” I yank my hands away and roll up my sleeve. “Please, just, stop trying to relate to me. Jab me with the needle and get me my results. I’ll pay… Whatever you want.”
It’s not until she hands me a tissue that I realise I have tears streaming down my face. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll use what few favours I have left in this place to see if I can fast track your results, but you have to get it off your chest.”
“You can’t make me do that.”
“I know.” She leans back and her gaze is now stern, like my mother’s when I’m doing something wrong. “But I can see you’re drowning here. You need to talk.”
“I need to know if I’m diseased or pregnant.”
“Well we can test you for pregnancy now using a kit we have…”
“It’s too soon. It hasn’t been a week yet; it has to be blood.”
She rubs her gloved hands on her thighs and asks me straight, “Have you been assaulted?”
My dry throat tries to swallow. “Will you just jab me?”
“I’m completely confidential. You can tell me.”
“Stop,” I beg, clenching my hands into fists. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sighing, she nods and prepares the needle and my arm, then I watch as my liquid life empties into thin, transparent, sterile bottles. “I see girls like you come and go all the time. Too frightened to speak, too embarrassed, too hurt.” She presses the part where the needle enters my skin with her finger and unclips my arm with her free hand. Then she pulls the needle out, drops it in a yellow box with her gloves and gives me a cotton bud to hold until she can tape it onto the wound. “It breaks my heart every time to see you suffer and to see those bastards that did this get away with it. You’re not alone.”
I don’t say anything; my façade is crumbling. I’m going to break down if I don’t get out of here.
“I’m going to get the doctor to prescribe you some anxiety meds. Your blood pressure is way too high and you need to eat. You’re dehydrated. I can see it in the cracks around your lips.”
Again, I look away, ashamed that I can’t even take care of my own body.
“The meds will help, okay? Take one daily and book an appointment with your GP. You need to see somebody or you’ll just keep on drowning. There are support groups you can attend, anonymous ones.”
Yeah, right, like I could just waltz into one of those now.
“Also you’ll need to do another pregnancy test if your blood results come back negative. They aren’t the most accurate when it’s been less than a week, even though they are more accurate than a home kit.”
She leaves and then she comes back with the prescription and continues her speech on birth control and protection. She even gives me some condoms, as is policy. I doubt they’d have helped me that night when he penetrated my body with his stumpy, fat penis.
I’m going to be sick again.
“I’m so sorry that this is happening to you and I’m hoping for the best. Please don’t worry, okay?”
“Too late.” I smile solemnly and she leads me back the way I came in. Back out into the cold. Alone. With nobody who will ever know about what happened.
Maybe I should have talked to her, but I don’t know her. What if she sells my story? It happens all the time in this industry.
Lockhart: Dinner date tonight?
My immediate instincts beg me to say no but I have to make an effort if I’m going to forget about this. I have to play normal. Or I at least have to give it my best shot.
Cerise: Sure :)
I just need to distract myself until my results come back negative and then I can move on with my life properly. That’s all. Just four weeks maximum. That’s what she said. No longer than four weeks. If I get past that I’ll be fine.
I will be fine.
“You will be fine.” I say to myself and pull over outside a local patisserie. “You’re fine and you’re having cake. You need the calories.” Then I laugh a little. “And you’re talking to yourself. You’re going crazy.”
I spy the green prescription on the passenger seat and stuff it into my pocket.
One a day and all of my emotions will hopefully go away.
I write that down as a song lyric. Now there’s a therapeutic thought, me and my keyboard and a few blank music sheets.
With cake.
Definitely with cake.
For the first time since that night I feel a little bit better and feel a little more hopeful about the future. Maybe I actually can get through this.
* * *
“What’s in the bag?” Lockhart asks, grinning and pulling me into his arms.
“Cake.”
“You and your cake.”
“I like cake. You’re in a really good mood.” I smile and know that the medication I’m taking is working already.
It’s strong, really strong, in a good way.
I want to take it forever.
“Is that okay?” He chuckles, biting on my lower lip. I pull away and move around the car to put the cake in the boot. “Actually, I have some decent news.”
“Go on.” I smile and again it’s a genuine one. It’s weak but it’s there and it makes me feel tingly and warmer than I’ve felt in days.
“Thatcher has agreed to be a silent partner after my father and I spent the past two hours putting our difficult past to rest.”
And just like that my good mood has gone.
“That’s…” I pinch my leg and twist, likely leaving another bruise to go with the other one. “I’m happy for you.”
“It’s entirely unexpected. We’ve had bad blood for so long.” He smiles a genuine smile and I know he must be so relieved. “He signed the contracts just twenty minutes ago and has agreed to remain impartial so long as he gets his cut.”
I shake my head to clear it and clench my hands into fists to stop them from trembling near violently.
His grunting in my ear.
The smell of fresh linen.
The pain.
The grunting.
The breathing.
The slapping of skin against skin.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Cerise?” Lockhart clicks his fingers in front of my eyes and laughs. “I lost you for a moment there.”
He looks at me so happily, so lovingly. Has he always looked at me like that? Does he really love me?
Would he understand if I told him?
Would he believe me?
“Are you hungry? We’re going somewhere new tonight to celebrate.”
“I’m starving.” I lie. In reality I’m ready to vomit again.
I just want to let him have his happiness tonight.
We arrive at the low-key Italian restaurant and he leads me inside, his hand on the small of my back. I keep my lips frozen in a slight smile that creases my eyes. It’s just one dinner. I can do this.
“You’re looking a lot better than earlier.” He reaches over the table to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You’ve lost weight.”
“I’ve been ill.”
“I know; I understand. I’m just commenting on how nice it is to see you looking better.”
I hold his hand over the table, enjoying the relaxed smile on his face. He’s happy, so happy. He doesn’t have a clue. I can’t tell him. He’ll never look at me like this again. It’ll ruin everything.
“Are we still going to your parents’ house this Saturday?”
He nods. “Of course. We have things to celebrate.” When I only smile he raises a brow questioningly. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
His smile wavers. “You were adamant before that I had to tell you. Now I’m trying and you’re not interested?”
“Sorry, I just didn’t want to push you,” I bite out, forcing another smile and downing the wine the server just poured.
“Steady on, you haven’t eaten in days.”
And I don’t know how my body will react with the medication mixed in either. “Better tell that waiter to hurry up then.”
He rolls his eyes with a smile and slides his glass of wine away from me when I reach for it. “Wait until after you’ve eaten.”
“Yes, Dad.” I mentally do a dance of strength. “Okay, I’m ready to hear. What did you to him that was so bad?”
I wonder if it can be as bad as what he’s done to me as an act of vengeance?
Doesn’t feel like it.
Part of me wants to know that what Lockhart did to him was so awful.
“Later.” He grips my hand and looks around. “Too many people.”
“No,” I plead. “I need to know. I have no patience. You can’t just dangle that in front of me and rip it away.”
“It’s not a joke, Cerise. What I did… what my father did to him...”
I wait for him to volunteer the information but instead his thoughts drift elsewhere.
Onto me.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” His fingers circle my wrist as his head tilts to get a better look at the lump under my sleeve.
“It’s nothing.” I try to pull away but he rips my sleeve up revealing the cotton wool ball taped to my arm.
“That looks suspiciously like a lot more than nothing. Did you go to the doctor?”
My body floods with relief when I remember that he thinks I’ve been ill. “Yeah, just to check that all’s good. You know?”
“I’d have come with you.”
“It was just a quick last-minute trip on the way to get cake.” I pull my sleeve back down. “Like I said, no big deal.”
“How long until you get any results?”
“Couple of days. I’m sure it’s just a bug. She said there’s something going around that sounds like what I have.”
I’m so good at lying.
Did that vile piece of shit pass on his manipulative abilities and lies when he fucked me against my will?
“Today is a good day. My love is getting better; she’s smiling again. My enemy is no longer my enemy.”
“Ha,” I snort before I can stop myself.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
“What now?” I can see I’ve irritated him again and I’m instantly regretting it. “What now, Cerise?” He leans in, his aqua eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m trying here. I’m trying so hard to…” When he sees the table next to us looking our way he leans back, relaxes his face and wets his lips. “You’re making life so difficult.”
“So leave,” I say to my plate, and if I thought the tension between us was harsh before, it’s even worse now. I see him wipe his forehead with the tips of his fingers, then his chin. He flexes his neck with closed eyes and then counts down from ten under his breath.
“Okay, we’re going to get through this meal,” he whispers, gulping his own wine down and I wonder if he’s forgotten that he’s driving, “because you need to eat.”
I don’t say anything; nothing good will come from between my parted lips of poison. So, I sit back and motion for the waiter to pour more wine. I don’t even like wine but I need it.
“Leave the bottle,” Lockhart barks at him and he nods, startled, and places it on the table between us.
A different server returns with our food. I’d have found that funny a week ago.
“Eat,” Lockhart urges.
I spear a piece of pasta with my fork and place it on my tongue.
“You’re not a child, Cerise. I shouldn’t have to force you to eat.”
Keep eating. Don’t talk.
It’s fine.
Just stay quiet and keep eating.
I chew slowly as he devours his food. In between each bite I push the pasta around to make it look like I’m doing something with it.
The silence is awkward but I can’t talk. I’m scared I’ll just create more drama. I’m too tired for the drama.
He’s too tired for my drama.
I’m too tired for his drama.
“Eat your bloody food,” he hisses, sitting back and staring me down now that he’s finished his own.
“I am,” I lie. I’ve had only a few bites but I feel sick. I always feel sick. I can’t eat when I feel sick. “I’m full.”
We all jump when his fist comes down hard on the table, making the silverware and the glasses rattle.
“Forget it,” he mumbles, tossing notes onto the wooden surface. He stands and waves his hand at me. “Let’s go.”
When I hesitate, he grips me under the bicep, yanks me up to standing and half drags me out of the restaurant.
“Should you be driving?” I comment when he guides my petulant looking self to his car.
“I’m under the limit. I’ve eaten a full meal and I’ve only had one glass of wine.” I can hear in his tone that he’s struggling to keep his voice level.
“Okay.”
When we’re both in the car he doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t speak to me until we are almost home when he suddenly blurts, “Do you want me to be cruel?”
“Sorry?”
“When I was cruel, calculating, when I bent you over the couch, uncaring of your needs above my own, speaking to you like you were nothing more than an object for my desires, you were happy.” He states plainly, twisting his hand around the steering wheel. “You were wild and unique. You didn’t take my shit and there was a fire in you that I found so sexy.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re indifferent. You have been since I let you down on Halloween. Are you punishing me?”
“No.”
Maybe.
Possibly. It is all his fault. It has to be his fault. It can’t be my fault.
Wait…
Through the fog in my mind I recall something else that was said. Maybe I did repress some of the events of that night.
“He killed my wife.” He said that before he left. Thatcher did. He said that Lockhart deserved to be hurt the way he hurt him.
It has to be his fault. This happened to me because of him.
“It feels like it.”
I roll my eyes, trying to act as though I have feelings other than hatred right now. “I’ve been poorly. You know this.”
“You were poorly a couple of weeks ago with a high temperature. You still looked at me like you lov…” He laughs and we pull up in our usual parking space outside my apartment. “What do you want from me? I thought I was giving you everything you wanted?”
I try to open the door but he presses the lock, trapping me inside.
Shit.
“Speak to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What did I do? What the fuck can I do to make you feel better?”
“Nothing,” I say. “So just let me go.”
“Let you go?” He reaches forward and presses the unlock button on the dash. “Fine, go. But when you get out of this car in this mood, without talking to me first, I won’t come back and I won’t come after you.”
Even though the majority of me doesn’t care, of course I hesitate.
I remember the depth of my feelings for him last week. Though that was ruined in one night because of one person.
“I don’t want you to,” I say and yank on the handle. The door opens, numbing my nose with the cold almost immediately.
“You don’t want me to?” I hear him following me and stop to face him, just as a random flutter of snowfall begins to drop from the sky. I used to love snow. “Just like that? You’re what… breaking up with me? Again? Despite my efforts and everything we’ve been through?”
“I thought you wouldn’t come after me?” I laugh humourlessly. Is it wrong that I’m getting some twisted satisfaction out of the fact he has indeed come after me? “I’ve just made this so easy for you.”
He comes towards me, his dominating presence towering over mine. “Easy? You think this is easy? You think I don’t love you and I can just let you walk away?”
I shrug and try to turn away from him but he grabs my biceps. He’s doing that a lot at the moment.
“Speak to me!” He bellows and it rattles me through to my bones. “Fucking speak to me, damn it!”
I hear the sound of a camera clicking and as soon as Lockhart realises we’re being watched, again, he curses and releases me immediately. Without wasting another second, I turn away from him, reminding myself that this is for the best.
“Fuck you, Cerise,” He says quietly.
“Fuck you too,” I hiss and tears fill my eyes, burning the seams of my eyelids. “I wish I’d never met you.”
He still follows me, pushing me into a wall out of sight of the entrance by the elevators.
“You wish you’d never met me?” He keeps moving his head to find my eyes, shaking my shoulders slightly to fully get my attention. “Cerise, what did I do?”
YOU DIDN’T PROTECT ME! I scream at him in my head.
“Cerise…”
“Stop saying my name!” I push his hands away. “Just leave me alone.”
“I hate this,” he admits, pushing his hands through his perfect hair, messing it up in a way that once upon a time I’d have found so sexy. “I hate feeling this way.”
“I don’t want to argue.”
“You think I do?”
I shake my head. “I know you don’t, so just go back to your perfect little life without me in it and move on.”
“You really mean this, don’t you? You really are pissed off about Halloween. I knew it. I just didn’t imagine you to be the type to hold back your feelings.” He steps back and I don’t protest against anything he just said because it’s easier for him to believe that. “Fine...” He blows out a breath. “Fine. I’m not wasting my time fighting for somebody who so clearly doesn’t want me.” Then his chest swells. “Do you have any idea how many women would love to be you right now? The person I love?”
“Exactly.” I clap my hands and point to the door. “So go fucking replace me. Okay?”
With that, I turn and move to the stairs. There’s no point in this bullshit anymore. I’ll be better off without him if I’m ever going to recover.