Chapter Seven
The blood drains from his face, and his green eyes harden. It’s like he’s slammed a door in my face. “Roy, please.”
He throws the Rover into drive and white-knuckles the steering wheel. “I’m taking you home.”
Stunned and wounded, I make myself small and quiet as a mouse.
The drive home is excruciating, with Roy grim-faced while I hold back tears and stare out the window.
He takes the turn onto my driveway too fast and fishtails on the gravel. “Shit!” He bangs his fist on the dashboard. “I should have known. I knew you were too fucking young.”
“Please, don’t be mad at me.” I hate myself for begging.
He doesn’t respond as he exits the vehicle and stalks onto the porch.
Like an abused puppy, I follow him to my door.
He averts his eyes and keeps his distance from me like I’m infectious.
I open the door, ready to step inside.
“Dammit, you left it unlocked.” He glowers at me and takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “Wait while I check it out.”
It doesn’t take long before he’s back on the porch with his hard eyes and his clenched jaw. “Lock up and keep your ass inside.”
“No!” He backs up when I try to touch his arm. “Don’t leave. Not now.” He says nothing and my anger rises. “I see now. What a stupid little girl I was, thinking you were different. I’m something to fuck and nothing else. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me.”
He steps into my space and looms over me, his face a mask of pain. “If this was about fucking I’d have bent you over that table.”
“Maybe you should have.”
He steps back, reining in his emotions. “This is my fault. I didn’t think. I should have sensed it or something. This…this changes everything.” He goes back to the door, holding it open. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he says while staring anywhere but at me. “I need to think.”
He turns to face me. His eyes are softer and his tone almost apologetic. “I’m honored you entrusted me with your secret. Give me a couple hours. Do you understand?”
Charlie laughs. “You thought my curse wouldn’t hold?”
“No!” I bunch my hands into fists and hold my arms stiff against my sides. My vehemence causes him to lean back. “I don’t understand.” I take a step into his personal space. “What’s there to think about?” I poke his chest. “I’m a virgin. I’m not ashamed.”
“But I am. I had no idea how much damage was done to you.” He grabs the porch railing. “I swear to you I’ll be back tonight.” He walks off the porch, stops with his back to me. “Lock your door,” he orders and gets into his car.
I don’t know how long I’m frozen in place, but, finally, I slog inside, sit in the kitchen, and cry. I’ve told him my darkest secrets, and he’s left me.
When my well of tears is dry, I drag myself upstairs and change into my running clothes. I don’t care that it’s dark, or that there’s the smell of rain in the air. I have to run, to exhaust myself so I can’t think about what happened. If I don’t, I’ll succumb to the temptation of the razor. Better to break a leg in the dark.
I run full-out up the long trail, ignoring the tree branches scratching my legs and uneven terrain threatening to pitch me off-balance and the last mosquitos of summer dining on my flesh. When I pass my aunts’ home, the lights are on in the living room and I know they’re watching one of their shows. I stop, resting my hands on bent knees while I gulp for air.
I could walk in, and they would shower me with love and comfort. They’d tell me I’m better off without his sorry ass, and before the night is over I’d be laughing with them.
But I leave them in peace and run on in the darkness while the rain lashes my body and the thunder accelerates my pace until my legs are rubbery and my lungs scream for air. A dead log underfoot pitches me off-balance. I hit the forest floor hard. With the air knocked from my lungs, I roll on my side in a bed of decomposing leaves. I’m cold and wet and miserable and wallowing in my emotional pain. Only the quickening time between thunder and lightning compels me to heft my body up and continue on my way home. When my little house comes into view, it’s lit up against the dark like a tiny island in a turbulent sea.
Dripping wet, I stand in the foyer under the harsh light. My arms and legs are scratched like I’ve been attacked by a demonic cat. I kick off my shoes and toss them onto the porch. I’m thankful for the pain that numbs my emotions and keeps them from ripping me apart. I won’t be a victim anymore. I’m tired of living afraid of attracting too much attention. It doesn’t matter how tiny I try and make myself, the bad always finds me.
“I won’t live like this anymore!”
“Don’t get cocky. You thought Roy was your knight, didn’t you? I gotta admit I was a bit worried, but you and I are cut from the same cloth.”
“Shut up, Charlie!”
I slam the front door closed, grab the liquor bottle Roy drank from when he was being stitched up, and stumble upstairs into the bathroom. Turning the tap to the hottest setting, I peel off my clothes, tossing them into the trash, and wait for the large tub to fill. I spy Reggie’s straight razor sitting on the rim.
“Yessss,” Charlie encourages.
My hand shakes with the overwhelming need to touch it and run my fingers over the pearl handle and open the shiny blade. I know how the light will catch and wink back at me with its mutual desire to draw out my blood. No, no. I twist the top off the bottle and take a long drink. It burns my throat, stripping layers off as it drops into my stomach.
Needing to do something, I yank open the cabinet and grab a bottle of bubble bath, pouring all of it into the bath water. With the liquor bottle in hand, I sink into the water, ignoring the stings as the too-hot water hits my scratches.
I scowl at the razor. “You don’t control me.” And take another drink, and another, until a delicious detachment envelops my body. Even with all the alcohol in my system, I want to hold my implement of pain. To distance myself, I lean my head back against the tile.
I must have dozed off because, too soon, the water is ice cold and the bubbles have long evaporated. When I reach for the plug, my hand bumps into the bottle bobbing around in the water like there’s a lure at the other end. It takes two tries to grab it, and there’s a bit of pride when I see how much I’ve drunk.
Standing is a wobbly, sloshy affair as I stumble and squint at the too-bright lights while walking into the bedroom, not bothering to dry off, uncaring of the wet footprints I leave behind. The storm pelts the tin roof with rain and there’s still the occasional thunderclap, though it’s farther away. I throw on a t-shirt, grab the liquor, and hold tight to the banister as I stagger down the stairs.
So this is what being drunk is like. All my anxieties sanded away until there is a smooth path to what I want most. Right now, I want orange juice. I think it would be mighty tasty mixed with the booze. The fridge light assaults my eyes with its surgery-room level of brightness; I don’t see the orange juice, but I do see a Coke.
“Atta work.”
It takes three tries to twist the cap off. I realize the liquor is on the kitchen table. “How did you get there?” I grab and cradle it to my chest.
There’s a loud thumping noise, and the house seems to vibrate. Is it thunder?
“Daisy,” Roy calls. “Let me in.”
“Fuck off!” I smile at the strength of my voice. That’a teach him to walk out on me.
“You didn’t lock the fucking door.”
“Are you going to huff and puff and blow my house down?”
“What? Are you okay?”
“Perfect.” I stumble and right myself with the help of a kitchen chair. “Now go away.” My words are thick against my tongue. “You’ve got thinking to do,” I taunt.
“No!” The door opens and slams against the wall. Roy stands in my foyer like a bull ready to charge.
I shrink back.
His head whips around as he notes my movement but the rest of his body remains fixed. “I told you I was coming back.”
I sway on my feet.
“Daisy,” his voice cracks. He slams my door. “Deadbolts installed tomorrow.”
I have visions of him roaming around my home with a drill in his hand like a gun.
“Are you drunk?”
What a stupid question. I hold up the bottle like it’s a trophy.
“Jesus.” He’s on me so fast I don’t have time to react and snatches the bottle from my hand. “Grain alcohol. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
There’s two of him now. Two Roys in jeans and fitted white shirts, looking at me with scolding eyes. I smile, not intimidated by his anger or that I’m standing here in only a t-shirt. I’m too drunk to care about such things as I try and take the bottle back, but he evades my grasp. “You know what’s funny?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m a virgin from Virginia.” I laugh and hiccup. “Get it? Queen Elizabeth, Virginia. We both have red hair. It’s funny.” Even in my muddled state, I see his eyes brighten as he takes in the short length of my shirt. “Like what you see?” I ask and enjoy a degree of victory when his jaw clenches. “So I was thinking…” I throw my arms out to spin around, enjoying how the air lifts the shirt. “I should drink more often.”
He scans over the scratches on my legs. “You promised you wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t promise anything. I went for a run in the woods. I didn’t…” I laugh and make a slashing motion over my wrist.
He rakes his hand through his hair. “This is my fault.” He freezes and fixes me with his gaze. “You went for a run? At night? Alone in the woods?”
Unrepentant, I return his scathing glare and let my eyes roam over his body. I want him. Even drunk and furious, I want his rough hands over every inch of my body. I point at his right hand; drops of blood fall to the floor.
“Shit.” In two strides he’s at the kitchen sink, running cold water over his knuckles.
I remember how he punished Jason. “Who’d you punish?”
“What?”
Unable to resist the pull of his body, I walk up behind him and press my chest against his warm back. “Who’d you punish?”
He turns his head and with his uninjured hand reaches around and touches my hip. “The refrigerator.”
It’s my turn to say, “What? At the inn?” He nods. “Who won?”
“I did. It was a piece of shit.” He yanks his shirt off and wraps it around his hand.
Having him so near causes impulses and flashes of images to flit across my brain. Male. Muscles. Broad and thick shoulders. Those rough hands caressing my skin. My lower abdomen clenches like a fist, and I press my hand against it.
His eyes flare like a stallion smelling a mare. He lowers his gaze to the shirt hem skirting the top of my thighs. “Don’t.”
My thighs press together, trying to soothe the ache. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” He yanks off sheets of paper towels to clean the blood off the floor. “I forbid you to run at night.”
I whirl around, lose my balance, and bash against the counter. “Don’t jog at night,” I impersonate his voice. “Lock your doors. Eat your food. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Daisy—”
“Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, do this, do that, don’t do this…You know what I want?”
He’s crouched down, using Clorox spray on my floor like a penitent sinner. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”
“I want you to fuck me.” I’m woman. Hear me roar. Finally, I’ve said what I want.
He stands, throws the towels in the trash, and turns his back on me. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why? You do.”
“I was wrong. I didn’t know you were...” His back muscles bunch as he presses down hard against the counter. “It’s not an excuse.”
“Innocent? Is that what you were going to say. You’re such an arrogant ass, you know that?”
Roy whirls around. “I’m putting you to bed.”
“Yes, let’s go to bed.” I stumble, reaching for the liquor sitting on the counter.
He goes to steady me, but I swat his hand away.
“No more of this.” He snatches the bottle away before I can reach it.
“Give it back.”
He upturns the bottle and pours what’s left of the liquor down the drain. “You’ve had enough.”
“Fine.” I stomp over to the stairs and make it the newel post, clinging to it like a first-time ice skater. “I’ll go to a bar.”
“You will not.” He blocks my path to the front door.
I look down at my t-shirt. “Right, need clothes.” I walk up the stairs on all fours. My head spinning by the time I make it to the landing. It takes a minute, or two, or three, for my surroundings to still.
I make it into my bedroom with Roy shadowing me. “Let’s dance.” It takes two tries to hit play on my iPod, and The Weeknd’s voice croons through the speakers.
“I thought you were going to a bar.” He grabs some shorts from my dresser. “Here, put these on.”
I step away. “I’m not naked.” I love the sexiness of this song. “I’d rather dance.”
“You aren’t going to listen to me, are you?”
“Why should I? You’re the one who left.” I shake my head and carelessly pull the shirt up with my hands as I move my hips to the music.
He reaches out to catch me, but I regain my balance. “I told you I’d be back.”
I pull the elastic from my hair, loving the way it brushes against my back. His low growl brings my head up. My body responds. And as with everything, he sees it and growls again. What if when I’m sober, I revert back to pathetic Daisy? What if this is my only chance?
“Fuck me.” I point to the door. “Or get out and never come back.”
“Not like this.” He grimaces. “Never like this.”
“Then go.” His rejection rips at my heart. “I’m sure someone will.”
Too fast for me to react, he has me in his arms, holding my chin with his hand and pressing my body against his. “You’re mine.” He brands me with his eyes. “Don’t talk about fucking anyone else ever again.” He releases me. I stagger back. “Enjoy yourself.” He sits down in the bedroom chair. “You’ll regret this soon.”
“We’ll see.” I blow him a kiss. I’m going to make him suffer. I run my hands over my breasts, my nipples hard and tight underneath the fabric. Roy’s groans, and slides down in the chair and opens his legs wide. As if another woman has invaded my body, I drop on all fours and crawl toward him.
“Baby, you’ve got to stop.” He warns, but leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs as he watches me.
I rise up between his legs. My hands run up his muscled thighs, inching towards his manhood clearly outlined in his pants—until he grabs hold of my wrist to keep me from touching him there.
“I saw you naked.” A goofy smile spreads across my face.
“I know, baby.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I can’t touch you like this.” His voice sounds like a plea.
“Who said anything about you touching me?” I roll my head back and around pressing my breasts into the zipper of his jeans.
He hisses out, “I’m not a monster.”
“A monster,” I repeat, and lean back on my heels, letting my hands fall from his thighs to the floor. “Maybe I want you to be a monster.” I pull the shirt over my head, my breasts bounce and settle.
Roy groans. “Those perfect fucking tits of yours.”
It’s exhilarating seeing the lust in his eyes. Knowing he wants to touch me, but his honor won’t allow it. “You like these?” I press them together between my hands.
He grinds his teeth and shifts in his seat. “Stop it,” he warns.
“Or what?” I release them and run my hand over my thigh and between my legs, watching as his eyes follow my finger inside me.
His breathing is ragged. His hands are clamped around the chair arms so hard I can hear the wood protest.
“Want me?”
“More than anything.” He rakes his hands through his hair.
“Hmm.” I roll my hips, shuddering from the sensations awakened inside me. “Promise me.”
“Promise you what?” He’s dropped his head into his hands.
“You’ll show me how to come.”
A tortured sound escapes his lungs. His eyes look into mine like he’s grappling to hang onto his sanity. “Baby, I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll stop punishing me and put some clothes on.”
I laugh and rub the viscous fluid between thumb and forefinger.
He inhales deeply and guides my finger to his tongue.
What would his warm mouth feel like on other parts of my body? “Do I taste like a virgin?”
He lets go of me like I’ve burned him and gets up from the chair, moving to the far side of the room. “That was wrong of me.”
“Not a monster.” I try to stand, fall, and lean against the bed. The room is spinning. “I’m dizzy.” Before I can say anything else my stomach revolts and I throw up.
His hands lift me and carry me to the bathroom. I watch, too weak and dizzy to move, as he places a towel in front of the toilet and sets me on it. I throw up everything in my stomach until I’m dry-heaving and wishing I were dead.
He cleans my face with a cold washcloth. Cradles me in his arms and carries me to bed.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my throat raw.
“For what?”
“Being a virgin.”
“You’re perfect.”
“Please.” I reach out to him when he gets up. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says and slides in next to me.