Exposed: A Novel (16 page)

Chapter 38
Taylor

Zayta took me shopping and helped me pick out a new wardrobe. She also taught me how to strut my stuff in public and act like a star. I never got so much attention from men in my life. Taylor fell further and further away and Sadie took control, just like Zayta hoped. I kind of liked it.

By the time she went back to Florida, Andy didn’t know what to do with me. I turned into a power-driven woman, instead of a shy little girl. Even the makeup tips she gave me made a difference. Little Taylor piled on blush and eyeliner, but Sadie, womanly, beautiful Sadie knew how to make less look like more.

I now understood the art of manipulation and I knew it would take me far in the business. And I didn’t want Cola much anymore. Every now and then I’d crave a line so bad I’d shake, but I’d smoke some Kine Bud to get over it. For the most part, it worked. But I didn’t know how I’d give up smoking weed or drinking. It helped me get through scenes and the pain of my insides being torn.

After a shoot on a hot weekday morning—I rarely knew what day it was—blood dripped down my legs and I knew I wouldn’t be able to go to the bathroom for at least a week.

I walked to the corner of the room where the clean up rags were lumped in a pile and picked one up. After cleaning myself I tossed the rag aside.

Andy walked up to me. “This’ll probably be your last day of work until we get down there.”

Fine with me, I thought. “Kay. I’m gonna go get dressed.”

“So long as you are ready in two hours. I’ve got a few things to do with Gianna and then it’ll be your turn again.”

I showered for a long time, as always. No matter how hard I scrubbed I never felt clean. I had to go to the bathroom so bad, but after a lot of my movies I couldn’t go to the bathroom for days. Too sore, too painful.

After my shower I did my hair, makeup, and got dressed again. I learned to do all those things without looking in the mirror. Too hard to look at myself. Made me think of Taylor and I didn’t like that. But once I had makeup and nice clothes on I couldn’t find Taylor in the mirror, just Sadie, so I’d be good to go.

I sat on Andy’s bed and wondered how many people had sex on it, how many people lost their life on it, how many people got AIDS on it, and wondered if I’d be next.

I looked down at my hand. I forgot I grabbed a bottle of Malibu Coconut Rum. Came natural, I guess.

I took a drink. Straight. The liquid smoothed down my throat and heated my chest.

“Daddy, are you there?” I said to the wall.

Sometimes porn appealed to me. Sometimes the power, the money, the attention, the pretty things—what can I say?—they appealed to me. But other times I wondered if I’d ever be married. There’s no way a nice—keyword nice—man would marry me.

And finding another job with this as my only employment. Right. Gianna told me she tried to leave the business once. “The only place that would hire me,” she said, “was McDonald’s, and I wasn’t about to do that.” She even had a college degree. So she came back to porn for the money and the glam. Yeah, there’s some glam to it. But it’s on the surface, unless you’re strong like Zayta.

I didn’t think I could be like her. Unless she hid her pain behind a smile. Definitely possible. I knew all about hiding.

I took another drink of rum. My brain lightened, but my thoughts gained more weight. And the more weight they gained the more I realized I wanted out of porn. Maybe Zayta really loved her job, maybe she wasn’t hurting and broken and raped, maybe she didn’t want to get married and have children and be a normal person. But I did.

I set my rum down. I missed the shy girl I used to be. The girl no one noticed or accepted. I didn’t like strong, opinionated Sadie. I mean, people accepted me now, but only to use me like a drug. I looked at Andy’s laptop across the room and imagined my Web site.

I exhaled and looked at my feet.

I took my heels off and eyed the bedroom doorway.

If I tiptoe while he’s filming, I thought, he’ll never hear me leave.

Chapter 39
Ally

I sat the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter and ignored it, hoping I’d prove Verity wrong again. God knew I couldn’t handle a baby right now. He wouldn’t do that to me. Or maybe He would. Mother Teresa’s words coursed my mind,
I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.

“I can’t be like them,” I said to God. “I can’t be faithful to someone who cheats. It’s not possible for me. You know it’s not.”

I didn’t want to look at the test. I wanted to hear God’s voice first, or feel peace drip from heaven and seep into my heart. But nothing. I hadn’t heard from God in months. I didn’t even know what hear from God meant, but I knew it didn’t happen.

Bang, bang, rattle, rattle, bang!

“What on earth are you doing?” I said to the bathroom door.

Verity laughed. “Open up. I want to see.”

“Hold on.”

I walked over to the test.
Please, God, if you still care about me don’t make me have a baby right now.

Never in a trillion years did I think I’d say that, not after we depleted our savings account for infertility treatments.

I inhaled, held my breath, and looked at the test. Oh, the nausea.

Then I saw it. One line. Only one line. I exhaled. Relieved. So relieved.

But sad at the same time. Part of me wanted to know I could have a baby, even if it was the wrong time. But maybe God finally answered my prayers. Maybe He knew I couldn’t handle it.

“Oh, no,” I said.

“What?” Verity shook the door handle. “I knew it!”

I opened the door. “It’s positive, Ver.”

Her bottom lip fell. “No way!”

“Just kidding.” I bent over in hysterics. “No, it’s negative.”

“You jerk!”

We sat on the floor laughing and reminiscing childhood pranks we pulled on our neighbors.

“Remember,” she said, “the time we peed in a measuring cup and poured it on my brother’s bed after he woke up?”

“Yeah. And your mom knew it was us. I couldn’t come over for a week.”

“Hee-larious! Oh, oh, remember the time you scared the living daylights out of Jessie?”

“Which time? There were so many.”

“Back when you guys lived in your old apartment. Remember when he left to get us some ice cream and you snuck out back and hid behind the dumpster.”

“Oh, that was hilarious. I popped out and wailed in front of his car like a crazy person.” I could barely breathe from laughing so hard. “And he slammed on the breaks and screamed. He thought I was a loony homeless woman.”

Verity’s spiraling red hair hid her face as she hunched over and tried to speak, but only laughter left her lips. I held my stomach and laughed with her as I pictured Jessie’s face the night we met.

I imagined going home and planning an amazing prank that would lead to passionate kisses and love. But I didn’t think Jess would receive it. And I didn’t think I had enough love to give right now.

Anyway, it felt good, so good, to laugh.

Four days passed and my nausea worsened. My period never showed up, although it could’ve been late. I never had regular cycles.

I tried to ignore the pregnancy signs.

The test was negative, the test was negative, I kept telling myself.

To be sure, I decided to take another one. Again. In private, without telling Verity a word.

I bought one exactly a week after taking the previous one. It’ll be false, I convinced myself. It had to be false.

I brought the test home, shoved it in my dresser drawer, and ignored it.

Last time I saw Dad he encouraged me to start writing in a journal. He said it helped him get through tough times with Mom and maybe it’d help me sort my thoughts too. Me? I’m not one for writing. For business, that’s one thing. But personal stuff? I like to keep that inside, which is exactly why I thought it’d be a good idea to write things out.

I went downstairs, curled up on the couch, turned on Jazz music, and touched pen to paper.

Nothing.

I stared at the blank page where my pen met its blankness, and I waited. But nothing spurned my hand to scribble on those lines.

So I waited.

I don’t know how it started. My pen wrote without me prompting and before I knew it I wrote a letter to God. My first letter to Him. Ever. Honestly, I didn’t want to. But I had no one else to talk to. No one else to spill everything to. He knew it all anyway.

Dear God,

I really thought loneliness would hurt worse than the pain of loving him, but sadly, it feels better. What does that mean? Was I right when I believed marriage would cause me to suffer my entire life? Were my fears viable?

Is this what you want from me? To love those who hurt me? Okay, I know you suffered and I shouldn’t complain, but why him, God? Is it because he’s the only person I ever loved this much? Is it because he was the only person that could break me this much? Why Jessie, God?

I love him so much, and yet, what was once the greatest pleasure in the world has become the greatest pain. Why have you allowed this to happen? Please tell me WHY JESSIE?!

I can’t bear the thought of what he did. It’s so hard to give him grace and love him anyway. This pain is something I never could have imagined.

God, why would you allow this? I want my Jessie back. How can I ever rid thoughts of him enjoying and desiring other women? How?

I know marriages are supposed to be filled with love and grace and forgiveness. I know that’s pleasing to you. But I’m sorry, I can’t please you right now. I can’t please anyone. I feel dead.

There’s nothing left in me to give. I want to love him, even if he desires other women forever, but I have never been so broken in my life.

Sometimes I hate him. I’m sorry. But I love him so much that the idea of what he did makes me hate him. How could someone jeopardize such a special, unique romance? Are you trying to show us that there’s nothing special and unique, that we’re just like everyone else?

God, why did I believe it? Why did I fall for the deception that he wasn’t like other men? Why did I have those stupid romantic notions?

Help me. It’s so hard for me to love him.

I feel empty inside without him, yet better at the same time. I don’t understand that. Why Jessie?

His touch no longer pleases me. It’s as though the slightest touch from him sends shocks of fear and sorrow throughout my body, right to my heart. His eyes no longer bring peace, but uncertainty and anxiety. When our eyes lock, I literally shake from emotions I can’t even decipher.

Will it always be this way?

I love who he is. I love his heart and passion and his beauty. Both inward and outward beauty. I love his smile and serenity, but I hate him for what he did. Help me to love him regardless of what he did and continues to do.

I want this battle inside of me to calm. I’m tired.

I know I don’t deserve your peace or your help. I know I haven’t talked to you in months and I’ve ignored you so much. But I know I’m a mess. I don’t know what else to do. You are the only one who can help, but you’re silent.

Please don’t be silent anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.

Love,

Ally

Three pages, front and back, covered with blurred ink from splotches of tears. I wrote my heart out, crying the hardest when I’d write
why Jessie?
and at the end when I apologized to God.

I nuzzled into the arm of the couch, wetting the white fabric with my tears. “What do I do?”

The floor creaked.

I looked up.

Chapter 40
Taylor

I changed into normal clothes and waited until I heard Andy tell Gianna and Mike what to do next. Afraid to make any sound, I crawled backwards down the steps. Step after step I imagined Andy finding me and killing me. Voices quieted. I stopped, luckily at the end of the steps.

“Okay, good,” Andy said. “Now, stay right there.”

I stood and tiptoed to the door. My neck pulsated with such intensity I thought for sure my veins would explode before I opened the door.

One hand on the door, I twisted.

A little more.

My hand, hot with sweat, pulled the door enough to crack it open.

Tears wet my lashes. If I failed, Andy would probably beat me to death.

I opened the door and shut it behind me without making a sound. I guess we’ll see if I can get away with this, I thought. Images, tons of nasty images, lashed my mind as I ran from Andy’s front lawn and across the street. The smell of semen and blood mixed together tortured me as I ran. I didn’t want to go back to those things.

So I ran. And every time an image or smell or taste smashed into my thoughts I’d run harder and faster until my lungs insisted I stop.

I knew I couldn’t call 911 because Andy probably knew all the cops. And I couldn’t call anyone else because I didn’t have anyone else. So I forced my legs to run even when my lungs begged me to stop.

A cramp twisted my side, but I kept going, running nowhere through yards and yards of grass until I found a Rite-Aid. I slowed down to walk in without drawing attention to myself and walked as fast as possible to the bathroom in the back.

I opened the bathroom door, shut it, locked it, checked to make sure I really did lock it, and then I collapsed on the checkered tile. On my knees with my hands on the floor, I rocked back and forth and panted for air. My body trembled. Tears filled my eyes. And images of Andy beating me to death molested me.

So tired and drunk, I fell asleep on Rite-Aid’s bathroom floor. I don’t think I passed out, but maybe I did. Normally it took more alcohol, but like I said, I was tired, probably running two miles at full-speed without a break.

Anyway, I woke up in the bathroom to a young Halle Berry in a royal blue smock hovering over me, saying something to someone on a cell phone. I could’ve sworn I locked the door.

Too beat up in too many ways to feel embarrassed, I stayed on the floor and tried to listen to her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Mmmhmm, she looks like she’s waking up now.”

Our eyes met.

“Alright,” she said. “I can do that.”

She stared at me. I looked away and pulled my knees to my chest. Pity slithered from her eyes. I didn’t want her slimy pity. I wanted reassurance, hope, a light at the end of the tunnel—something positive for once.

She hung up the phone. “My name is Naomi. What’s yours?”

“Why?”

She didn’t roll her eyes. And she didn’t look at me like everyone else. She looked through me. Passed my eyes, passed my body, passed Sadie—she saw me, underneath it all. I could tell by the seriousness of her eyes as she tried to smile. But I couldn’t trust her, or anyone for that matter.

Naomi sat down beside me and crossed her legs. “Are you hurt?”

I looked around the room, unable to focus on anything.

“Do you want to talk?”

And I thought Andy would make people look up to me. Now I’m on the bathroom floor in Rite-Aid with some stranger who thinks I’ve lost my mind.

“Who were you on the phone with?” I asked.

She smiled, lighting her face with dimples. “My roommate, Lee. I asked her if you could stay with us.”

“Why do you think I need somewhere to stay?”

“A wild guess. Do you?”

“No.”

“Your family around? You running from something?”

“I don’t have family.”

“What are you running from?”

I looked at the bruises on my knees. “I’m not running from anything.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Why would you let me live with you?”

“You answer a lot of questions with questions.” She smiled. “I’d want someone to do the same for me if I needed help.”

She had to know Andy, I thought. He probably had a reward for anyone who found me.

“Want to know the real reason?” she asked.

I looked at her.

“I’m not trying to scare you away, but I’ll tell you.”