Learning to Move Forward: Novella #3.5 (4 page)

Dad needed to pick up an item at the hardware store and I’d called the dress shop to have them reserve the one I’d tried on a few days earlier. The color was a deep blue, dotted with a few sparkles. The skirt was shorter in the front than the back, and it was a one shoulder number to flash a little skin. It would pair wonderfully with the suit and tie Mark planned to wear.

The drive over had been uneventful, with the exception of Dad pressuring me to pick a college. When I told him I’d look into his and Mom’s alma maters, he dropped the push for which school.

When the errands were done and our packages placed safely in the back of the car, we headed toward home, while discussing possible majors of study. I’d been fuming at the traffic light, wondering why I kept getting pushed to decide my life now, when everyone else just lived it and worried about all the fine details later.

I’d waited for the light to change, when I heard screeching and a collision that inched closer to us. The next thing I knew, the car jolted, my father called out my name, and everything went black.

I don’t remember much about the accident scene, only the sound of a collision headed toward us. I woke up in severe pain almost a week later. My mother was on one side of me holding my hand, while she asked Laurel to go get my father and the nurse. I couldn’t understand where I was, why I was in pain, and why they had such urgency in their voices.

“Lay still, Grace,” my mother told me, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me from moving as tears poured down her face. “You need to wait for the doctor.”

I couldn’t understand why she and everyone around me were crying so much and why they didn’t want me to move. I’d asked for some pain medication because my left hand was killing me. It felt like a two ton elephant had been sitting on it.

A doctor entered and began checking my eyes with a pin light, listening to my chest, and then testing my leg reflexes. He pricked my right hand and arm with a stretched out paper clip, asking me if I felt the sensations. Then he repeated the motion with my left arm, but I lost the ability to feel when he got below my elbow.

I remember panicking, but he’d assured me that the feeling would come back in time, that I’d probably experienced some nerve damage and they needed time to heal.

The expressions on everyone’s faces made me question. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I was asked if I knew why I was in the hospital and the memory came rushing back that we were in an accident. I looked more closely at my father and saw that he had cuts and bruises on his face and arms and was walking with a bit of a limp.

Everyone kept looking at me and then each other. Finally, my mother nodded toward the doctor and I was given the news that my left hand and wrist had been crushed in the accident and was beyond repair. They’d attempted several hours of surgery to put them back together, but the tissues were already starting to die and the decision was made to amputate.

I remember thinking my world had stopped. I must have been so shocked by the news that I passed out and came to sometime later. The doctor explained that it was my body’s way of dealing with things and was not uncommon.

My parents tried to reassure me that they’d do everything in their power to get me any kind of therapy I needed and the best available prosthetic they could afford, but for some reason the way they looked at me had changed. Before the accident they held their heads high and shoulders back and talked about me with pride. Afterwards, their expressions were almost unemotional. It made me feel like I had failed them.

I’d only been awake a couple of days when a few of my friends dropped by while Laurel was visiting. I refused to ask her to leave, just because she didn’t fit the clique’s standards, but I did ask them to leave when they started telling me how I was now “sub-par” in their ideals.

To say I was furious at my so-called “friends” was an understatement. I asked them to leave and never come back if they couldn’t treat me with respect. Their parting comment was, “Respect is given to those with perfection. You aren’t even a whole person now, so how can we admire someone disabled?”

Laurel was usually quiet and reserved, but she took them by the arms, led them to the door, and told them to never come back unless they could talk to me with compassion. I was so proud of her actions, but despite them I fell into a deep depression.

I began to wonder what purpose my life served. Why was I left alive? I felt inferior to everyone.

A week later, my vitals were stable enough, despite my mood, that I was moved to a rehabilitation facility to try and regain strength in my body, particularly my left arm. All the muscles from the accident had atrophied and needed to be worked on.

Laurel had to return to school, but she came back on weekends and pushed me to talk with some of the other patients who’d lost an appendage. I was shocked to learn that we all felt unworthy of living and wondered how we could manage in life with a piece of us missing.

My parents coddled my every whim and need. They made sure I had my pajamas, my favorite foods, and pretty much anything else I asked for, but it still hurt that I couldn’t get them to look at me the way they’d done prior to the accident.

I was shocked to hear Laurel giving her aunt and uncle the riot act about the way they were treating me. She pulled out all the punches, even going to the extremes of getting a couple of the EMTs and firemen to come in and show me the pictures from the accident, showing me just how severe everything was. Her words were, “There’s a reason why you’re still alive. I know I need you in my life. You’re one of the few people who understand me.”

I remember one of the firemen shaking his head in disbelief. “When we came across the accident, we all thought the driver of your vehicle had to be dead. The side of the car was completely crushed and the frame was bent in half. Had your dad not grabbed hold of you, trying to pull you to his side, you wouldn’t have survived.”

They’d all told me about how they had to use the Jaws of Life to cut me out of the car, because my legs, while intact and only scratched up, had been pinned under the dash and steering wheel. They’d all cringed remembering how my hand and wrist had looked. “We’ put a tourniquet just under your elbow to stop the bleeding and tried to bandage your hand, hoping they could save it, but…”

I’d been offered the chance to see the photos of my hand and wrist, but declined. The sight of blood always made me nauseous. Just hearing how my bones were sticking through the skin was enough to make me sick to my stomach.

I enjoyed talking with the team who saved me and asked about the other vehicles involved. It turned out that one of the drivers had a heart attack and crashed through the intersection, hitting another vehicle, which turned it toward our car. The man with the heart attack died, but the woman in the other vehicle was alive, but paralyzed from the waist down, having suffered a spinal injury.

Laurel’s plan had worked. I felt better and knew that my life had been spared and somehow had meaning. I still sought the attention of my parents, but soon realized that I may never have them look at me the same again, so, I opted to live for myself and figure out what I could do with my life and get it back on track.

When I returned to high school, my boyfriend was already dating someone else, the clique had a new leader, and I was kicked off the cheerleading squad. They’d cited some garbage about being unable to function in the capacity they needed. I almost returned to my hole of despair when a few girls and guys, very similar to Laurel’s temperament, extended the hand of friendship and I took it.

To my surprise, the kind of people she hung out with were easy to talk to and really listened to what you had to say. They didn’t treat me any different than they acted toward each other. They accepted me as is, flaws and all.

I had new friends and let my guard down some. I was still testing the waters to see who were genuine and who weren’t. My parents were a lost cause. I felt loved, but not as I had before.

Over the next year, I had to undergo another surgery and more physical therapy, before being fitted with a prosthetic. The hand looked real, but I could only hide what I looked like by wearing long sleeves. I was torn between who I had been and accepting who I had become.

I’d given up hope of ever being “Miss Popular” again when one of the seniors, who graduated last year, returned from college and saw me out and about and asked me for a date. I was hesitant at first, but felt the need to belong to the “in-crowd” again.

Barry and I hit it off on a date to the movies. He didn’t seem repulsed by my missing hand and I was getting attention from some of my former friends. The feeling was a euphoric high. He had a couple weeks off, so we went out a few times and ended up sleeping together.

I’d been fearful of a sexual relationship with anyone. A guy friend and I used each other to lose our virginity. He’d shown me that I was still a woman, no matter what, and that he found me attractive. We tried dating for a while, but there was a lack of chemistry beyond the lust.

Barry was gentle with me, trying to take into account my prosthetic. The sex was amazing, making me feel treasured. Just too bad things weren’t as they appeared.

I felt on cloud nine the following day, only to stumble across Barry talking with some of our mutual friends, or in my case, former ones. He was bragging. “Grace is one hot bitch in heat. She may be maimed, but give her the smallest bit of attention and she’ll roll over on her back and spread her legs for you.”

One guy I didn’t know stated, “Maybe when you go back to school, I can tap that piece of ass. She’s not good for much else. It’s not like she can give me a good hand job.”

Laughter filled the area. That’s when I moved away from them quietly, until I was able to run and get further down the road. They all laughed at me. He was using me to get his kicks. I was nothing more than a sick joke.

I walked home crying, trying to figure out what my course of action would be. I thought about just never talking to him again, but I wanted to teach him a lesson. I decided to go out on one more date with him, to let him think he could get some more, only to turn him down and walk away…

I felt warm lips place a gentle kiss upon my neck. I tipped my head, offering Jonathan more of my neck, when his arms slid around me and held me tight. “You’re lost in thought, darling. I called your name from the door twice to get your attention and you didn’t answer, so I stepped up to see you scribbling away in your journal.” He stepped back and turned the chair around, while squatting down to my eye level. “Is everything all right? You’ve hardly eaten.”

I glanced over at my half eaten plate of cold chicken piccata. I took a deep breath in and just shook my head. His hands came up to hold my face and wipe a couple of tears that managed to escape.

“You look exhausted. Are you ready to go home and maybe take a nice warm bath and jump into bed?” I looked into his eyes and saw the same exhaustion reflected in him.

He’s one to talk. He looks like he’s barely functioning.
“What happened to wanting dessert?”

“An unexpected crowd, a couple of emergencies with the staff, and working a full shift at work and then a full one here…that’s what happened.” He gave the tip of my nose a kiss. “I want to be buried deep inside you and let today melt away, but it’s late and all I need to be content is to hold you close to me.”

He always knew the right words to say. I half smiled at him as I turned toward the clock in his office. “When the hell did it get to be 1 a.m.?”

He stood, holding his hand out to help me up. “Hell if I know. One minute it’s almost seven and the next…” He turned back toward the kitchen. “Tommy, can you wrap us up two of whatever you have left to take home to nibble on?”

I grabbed my plate, walking it into the kitchen to discard the uneaten food and put the plate into the pile of dishes to be cleaned. I watched as Jonathan reached for my notebook. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t look at the pages and was relieved when he closed the book and handed it to me.

“Here you go, boss. There are a couple servings of veal parmesan, a large antipasto salad, and a couple of extra cannoli.” I watched as he handed the takeout bag to Jonathan before thanking us both for sticking around.

When we reached Jonathan’s, or rather our place, he put the food in the fridge and headed toward the bathroom to draw us up a nice bath. I decided to light a few candles in the bathroom and bedroom for aroma and relaxation purposes.

Chapter 5

The bath was more soothing than I’d dreamed. Jonathan washed me thoroughly and massaged some of the kinks out of my shoulders. I’d offered to return the favor, since he’d had a much worse day than mine, but he declined, stating that just touching me melted his stress and anxieties away.

The last thing I remembered was lying back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he turned on the jets to the tub. It felt so heavenly I soon felt myself drift.

My body seemed to float before coming in contact with a soft surface. Something soft and warm enveloped me, but was quickly pushed aside. A chill ran across my skin before sliding into the smoothness of sheets. I felt myself being pulled tight against another body as sheets covered us. A soft kiss was placed on my cheek. “Sleep well, my sweet Grace. I love you.”

I could feel my lips move, but I can’t recount what I said. Hopefully, I managed to utter words of endearment, since I have never loved someone as much as I love Jonathan.

Blackness surrounded me and I replayed what I’d begun to write earlier. How the pain of being used and mocked by Barry had sliced through my heart. I remembered my plan to go out with him again and then reject him, so he could feel what it was like to be used.

A brief memory flashed in my mind and sent a chill racing down my spine. I found myself subconsciously huddling closer to Jonathan in my sleep. I saw memories of that night.
How did I forget this? Why is he laughing at me? Please make the pain stop!

“
Nooo
!” Jonathan was quick to hold me tighter, but I needed space. I pushed myself from him and bolted upright in bed, breathing erratically and feeling the need to move.

His face was filled with dejection, but I’m obsessed with the need to write down this memory. I think this may be the answer I’m seeking as to why I’ve had problems submitting to one of Jonathan’s positions where I always safe word on him.

“What’s wrong, Grace? Talk to me, please.” He’s freaked out because I am.

I grabbed hold of my robe and wrapped it tightly around me as I searched for my notebook. I looked over at him. “Where’s my notebook? I remembered something that I’d blocked out and I need to write it down so I don’t forget it.” My hands try to express my urgency and need to get this done.

I watched as he jumped out of bed and threw on a pair of boxers. “It’s downstairs. I’ll go get it.”

He’s back within a couple minutes, but I’ve already begun pacing the floor. I wanted to call Laurel and talk with her to see if she remembers me telling her anything about my memory. However, I glanced at the clock and realized it’s three in the morning. She might be up for a feeding, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Jonathan stopped me mid-pace. “Here’s your notebook. Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe make you some tea to help calm you?” He bent his knees so we’re eye level. “I’m here for you, always!”

I wrapped my hands around his neck and drew him in for a quick kiss. “I know you are and I love you for that. Some hot tea does sound nice. I just need to get this thought down.” I’m not sure whether I’m ready to talk about what I remembered because it has my insides quaking with nerves. “I’m not sure, but I might need to talk this out when I’m done.”

He seemed relieved by my words, knowing that I’m not pushing him away from what I remembered, instead I’m inviting him into my mind and sharing what’s bothering me. I get that whatever is bothering him will bother me and vice versa, so I’m willing to focus on the “we” to make “us” better.

I noticed his shoulders relaxed and a smile spread across his face. “We’re in this together, love.” He hugged me tight to his chest and ran his hands down across my back in soothing circles. “I’ll get your tea while you write.”

I was already at the desk writing when he left the room.

August 8,

How on earth could I forget such a thing? My last entry had my plans to go out with Barry and then reject him for using and hurting my feelings. I thought the plan had merit, and in my sleep I remembered that I called Laurel, told her what I was going to do, and she agreed. However, she asked me to take my cell phone and let her brother, Donny, know where I’d be.

Her brother, and his friend, Freddie, had stayed over at our place for the weekend. They were attending Duke University, which was only a couple towns over from ours. Donny was missing the familiarity of family and my parents had offered them to spend the weekend with us.

I remember thinking my plan was foolproof and I’d have safety with Donny as my back-up. How wrong I was!

Donny warned me that it was a bad idea and I should’ve listened. Barry was all nice and sweet until he pulled into the abandoned field outside of town. He seemed to go from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in a matter of minutes.

I’d let him talk me into the backseat, where we could get closer to one another and kiss. He kissed and groped my body like a mad man. He’d been gentler the first time he’d talked me into sleeping with him.

When he pinched my nipple hard enough to make me scream, I pushed him back and demanded he stop. He tried convincing me that I needed what he had and he was the only one who could give it to me. That was total bullshit. I didn’t want to be with someone I couldn’t trust, who only wanted to hurt me. Granted, he was amazing when we’d slept together, but I’d never admit it.

I remember reaching for the car door and hearing the locks engage. He grabbed hold of my blonde locks and pulled me back against him. One hand held my hair tight as the other wrapped firmly around my throat. “We are so good together, Grace. Just remember how good it felt, how I had you screaming my name when you came.”

I turned toward him, yelling, “I faked it, asshole!”

My comment must’ve angered him. His hands tightened, causing my head to hurt from the pull on my hair and my oxygen flow to restrict, making me feel light headed. “You will not lie to me. I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

I reached for my phone and pressed the speed dial number for Donny. I heard it connect. “Hello? Grace, where are you?” That was the last thing I remember before everything went black.

I remember waking to the pain of being slapped across the backside with a hard paddle. Both of my arms were bound together at the elbows and tied to the car door, immobilizing me, and the scent of sex was heavy in the air.

I tried screaming, but he covered my body and whispered in my ear. “No one can hear you out here. Remember, we’re miles away from town and any houses. The only scream I want to keep hearing is you coming.” Nothing had gone as planned. I wanted to be swallowed up by the earth and just die.

“When I’m done making love to you, I’ll take you within a couple of blocks of your house and then we’re done. I need to return to school where there’s more experienced cunt to fuck.” He held me close and taunted me with these words in my ear, making me want to vomit.

I heard glass breaking and felt Barry being pulled away from me. There was a struggle, some punches thrown, and some obscenities flying that even a sailor wouldn’t dare repeat. A blanket was quickly thrown over me and my arms were released. “It’s okay, Grace, we’re here to protect you. I’m just sorry we took so long to pinpoint where you were.”

It was Donny. He and Freddie had used some software to pinpoint the closest cell tower my phone call had come from and found me. It’s just too bad the damage had been done.

He pulled me from the car and sat me on the backseat of my parents’ SUV. I noticed Freddie’s knuckles were a bit bloodied and watched as he wiped his hands on Barry’s shirt before going over to the car to retrieve the rest of my clothes.

They tried to talk me into calling the police and pressing charges, but I refused. I told them about the evidence on Barry’s phone and they wiped his memory card clean, even going to the extreme of resetting his phone to the factory settings, so he’d lose all of his contact numbers, photos, and everything.

“I feel like a damn fool. I wanted him to feel rejection and instead he—” I couldn’t even say the words that night. I’d already lost the “perfect” status when I lost my hand, but add this to the pile and I was sure my parents would disown me entirely. I wouldn’t risk that.

When Barry came to, he tried to rationalize that we’d been lovers and he’d only taken what I’d offered. Technically, that was true, since I’d offered my body freely a few nights ago. There was no evidence since he used condoms. He did get me to…I can’t say the words. I’m too embarrassed. I felt conflict that night. I guess I blocked certain aspects out of my mind, because now, when I think back on things, I’m still conflicted.

I remember both Donny and Freddie closing the doors on the SUV and walking over to Barry to have a talk. They didn’t want me to hear what was being said. It was funny to watch how fearful Barry was when Freddie held his fist up to him. In hindsight, I wish I’d had the chance to kick him in the nuts while he was unconscious.

Was I nothing more than a quick screw to him or anyone? I’d cried hard that night. I remember feeling my soul had been sucked from me. I just began existing at that point.

Donny, Freddie, and I swore that we’d never bring up what happened. They did encourage me to talk to Laurel a couple weeks later when they saw that I’d withdrawn emotionally from everyone around me. My parents and all my friends had noticed a difference.

Laurel had already saved me from myself once after the crash; she did it again by just listening. She helped me realize that my only mistake was going back out with him. Whether I’d intended to call it quits with him or not, he’d used me. At least I’d been rescued and could focus on putting it behind me.

My relationship with my cousins and Freddie intensified. We stayed in touch and supported one another’s goals and aspirations in life. As for Barry, he returned to college the next day and I never saw him again. I still don’t know to this day what the guys told him, but I’m thankful I never had to deal with him.

I felt ashamed and stupid for having fallen victim to Barry, but when Laurel had a similar experience to overcome, we both realized we were victims to things that shouldn’t have happened. I was so thankful I could be there for her and help her heal, but hated that she had to go through even more emotions than I did.

To this day, my parents thought I’d just been in a bad mood for a few years; going through what they called the “loner” phase, but I was bitchy in order to keep everyone away from me. I’d gone from confident to nervous about everything in a heartbeat, but I hid it as well as I could. I began to use guys and turn them away, rather than let them into my heart and be used by them. Rejection was easier served than received.

I put on the act of needing to have power over others, when silently I needed to be controlled to feel safe. Jonathan is the first person to see through my façade and give me that comfort, to a degree.

After a couple of years had passed I’d decided to take my life back and focus on my future. I distanced myself from the incident and focused on my studies, found a college far away from my town, and built a new life for myself. At least that’s what one side of me wanted. The other wanted to give up on everything. But I wouldn’t let Barry have the satisfaction. I was a fighter who’d win!

My parents were shocked when I finally declared a major and found my calling. They’d advised against the job I wanted, citing it would be an impossible field to penetrate because it demanded perfection. I remember telling them, “Perfection can go screw itself! I’m going to get the job I want and do what I love!” They weren’t happy with my decision, but did offer their support.

I was in the doctor’s office for a check-up when I noticed a handsome guy walk to the counter and ask for a moment of the doctor’s time. I was surprised when he was warmly greeted, shown into an adjacent room, and the doctor stepped out to chat. The guy was a pharmaceutical sales rep and had the respect and attention of the doctor and his staff. He offered to set up a luncheon to come in and talk about a new drug they were carrying and the rest was history.

I liked the idea of being looked up to and getting the reverence I deserved. I wanted to walk into an office and be treated with kindness. I had the gift of gab and being able to talk to pretty much anyone. It wasn’t until later, after digging into some research that I realized most of the reps were hired based on their physical appearance. But I wouldn’t let that stop me. I was smoking hot in appearance, just one small flaw; I was missing a hand. Maybe I could be the first to break down some of the stereotypical barriers.

I thought writing all this out would show me the answer to one problem, but now I have two. I question whether I have my job based on my abilities, knowledge, and drive, or if I was hired because I’m Laurel’s cousin, since Garrett owns the company I work for. I already knew this was a problem, but it’s resurfacing more, forcing me to find a solution. Maybe Jonathan can help me figure out a way to talk to Garrett and put my mind at ease. In one sense I want to know, but not if I find out I was only given special favor because of my cousin.

My other problem lies with my inability to handle a doggie style position, whether I’m tied to the headboard of our bed or the spanking bench Jonathan has in his play room. Now I know why I’ve panicked and safe worded on him every time we’ve tried that position. I’ve blocked a portion of that night from my mind; the position I was put in. I’ll need to talk with both him and Jocelyn to try and figure out the best way to overcome this fear so we can try to replace the one bad experience with good ones.