My Kind Of Crazy (14 page)

“Did you like the potato casserole, dear?” I recognize the
woman from the pharmacy, and judging by the look on Anastasia’s face she didn’t
eat that particular casserole. Yet she puts on a genuine smile and lies through
her teeth to Mrs. Evans.

“Oh, I definitely did. But Jonah here ate more than his fair
share, so I didn’t get to eat a lot of it.” I feel like kicking her under the
table for bringing me into the lie, but I pull off a smile that is only half as
genuine as Anastasia’s.

“I wouldn’t have eaten more than my fair share if you
hadn’t-” She must understand my tone and she’s not against kicking a person
under a picnic bench table. My grunt of surprise has everyone looking at me.
“Stubbed my toe.” I mutter, piling in a mouthful of the best potato salad I’ve
ever had.

After that, the discussion continues on about food and how
delicious everything is that Mrs. Hash made, and some of the other women
brought along. I haven’t forgotten about Anastasia’s past seeming to catch up
with her, but she’s putting on a good show, or it has slipped her mind. Out of
the corner of my eye to my left, I catch a glimpse of Cassandra being led to
the table by her husband.

Gently, I put down the deviled egg in my fingers and wipe
them on a napkin. Then I act irrationally and possessively by putting my hand
on Anastasia’s thigh. She startles, but no one notices and her eyes search my
intent. She must see them over my shoulder, and the strangest thing happens. I
had no idea that the warmth could seep out of a person’s jeans within an
instant, and her leg muscle tenses beneath my palm.

The look of absolute terror on her face chills me, and I
realize that whatever happened with Henry Cooper is much more serious than a
playground scuffle. This man
hurt
her in a way that changed her as a
person, and I don’t intend to stand around while he acts as if it hadn’t
happened. My hand starts to slide off her thigh, and she reaches down hurriedly
to grab it.

“Mrs. Hash, this was a wonderful party! But I’m feeling a
little under the weather today.” The way she bolts up from the table has her
hitting her knee on the top, and the glasses almost tumble over. I hear a
mumbled apology, and then she’s dragging me through the crowd. We leave behind
a bunch of stunned, confused faces, and before I know it she’s climbing into
the driver’s seat, and I’m attempting to pull her out.

“You’ve had too much to drink!” I tell her as I finally
wrestle her from behind the wheel. Her eyes are wild with their fear, and I
close the door, pushing her against the car so that she cannot get away.

“What are you doing?” She screeches at me. I realize that
holding her down is only making whatever is riding her worse, so I let her go
and watch as she retreats from me to the front of the car.

“Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll take you back to the
hotel room.”
Unless I deem the incident bad enough for relation by smashing
that asshole’s head into the ground, over and over again.

“Please, just let me drive! I just want to home.” The defeat
in her voice makes me sick, and I wonder if she’s talking about the farmhouse,
her home in the city, or the hotel room. Either way, I’m going with her.

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go, just get in the car
and tell me what happened. Do I have to kill him?” Her eyes widen at the
seriousness of my voice, and I think she finally realizes what it is that makes
people afraid of me. I’d be willing to kill someone for her without hesitation.
Some may call that not wrapped too tightly; I just call it defending someone I
love.
Do you love her?

I’m shocked to hear Tom’s voice interject into my thoughts,
and I don’t answer his question. She finally makes it into the passenger seat
and I make myself comfortable next to her. No one is out front so thankfully
none of them can see her pale, sickened face. Anastasia doesn’t say a word as
we head back to the suite, and I don’t push her anymore.

Just as we pass by the cluster of stores in the center of
town, Anastasia finally pipes up.

“Turn around!” She tells me, and I oblige without asking
why. Then she points into the cluster of stores, and I turn in. I’m heading for
the grocery store, but she makes me park outside of the liquor store. I have a
feeling this is not a good idea, but she’s an adult, and I’m not her keeper.
Not when it comes to vices she wants to indulge in.

I don’t go in with her, and I don’t ask her what’s in the
paper bag when she comes out. Her eyes are distant as she stares out the
windshield, and I furrow my brow when it begins to rain. When we left the party
it was bright and sunny, but the clouds have rolled in during the short amount
of time it took to get to the liquor store.

A low rumble of thunder reaches my ears, and so does the sigh
from Anastasia. By the time I pull up to the hotel, the rain is pouring down
hard. I guess it was a good thing we left that party anyway, or we’d both be
more soaked than we’re going to get heading for the suite. She clutches the bag
to her chest as we dodge and weave through the rain, hopping over a particular
large puddle beside the side walk.

Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion when I open up the
door and slip inside. Without hesitation, she pulls a plastic cup from one of
the cupboards and pulls the vodka from the bag. “Whoa, don’t you think you
should take it easy there slugger?” She’s got half the cup full by the time I
gently pull the bottle away.

“I’m adult, and I’m legal, I can drink however much I want
when I want.” That sounds like a person with a problem. “But you’re right,” she
says quietly. “Do you want half?” She had more champagne than I thought if
she’s offering vodka to a crazy man on antipsychotic medication.

“No, I can’t drink that much.” Her eyes crinkle at the
corners as she gives me a wicked smile, and she takes a large swig. It looks
like about two shots worth.

“Too bad, because now I can’t pour it back into the bottle.”
Why not just a few sips, Jonah?
I really wish Tom would just go away.
He’s more than a bad influence. He’s going to get me killed someday.

“If you don’t slow down on that, I’m going to have to give
you a cold shower later.” The smile only gets wider, and she throws her head
back and laughs. It’s not the sound I’ve heard before. This is the sound of a
broken person.

“If you want to get in my pants, just say so, Jonah Quinton.
You don’t have to give me a cold shower to do it!”
No, just a few more sips
of that and she’ll probably dance naked on the countertop for you if you’d
like. Maybe that pretty mouth-
I just him off. I had no idea I could do
that, but it’s like he’s just gone in that instant. Thoughts like that will land
me in jail or worse, and Anastasia’s too important to just take advantage of.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and I’ll get you a
glass of water to go with that?” I attempt to pluck the cup from her hands, but
she’s too quick. The alcohol has not settled in enough yet for me to gently
overpower her, so I let her have it. While she’s focused on trying to find
something to watch for the rest of the evening on television, I busy myself
with putting the bottle of alcohol on the highest shelf I can find. She’ll have
to get a stool to stand on to get at it again, and I’m pretty sure that, after
that cup, she won’t be able to sit on a stool much less stand on one.

Then I grab two plastic cups of ice water and settle onto
the couch beside her. I’ve seen her do this twice now under two different
stressful situations, and part of me feels bad for getting her started with the
champagne. I’ll have to remember that for her alcohol is a mind-eraser, not
just a recreation to partake in occasionally.

“How did you lose your virginity?” The question takes me off
guard and startles me, so I look at her as if I didn’t hear her right. She
repeats the question a little louder with a giggle and takes another swig of the
alcohol as if it’s water. Maybe I should try to take it now.

“Where are you going with this?” I stare at the strange,
British television show playing so I don’t have to show her how embarrassed I
am by the question.

“It was just a simple ‘get to know you’ question, Jonah!
What’s the big deal?” I narrow my eyes as I pick up the glass of water and take
a sip from it. My mouth has suddenly gone dry, and I have a feeling talking
about sex openly with Anastasia is not a good idea right now. But I do it
anyway. I never said I was smart.

“Well, I lost it to a girl in high school. We were fourteen
and thought we were in love. It was quick, messy and happened in the back of my
mother’s station wagon. How about you?” The large gulp of alcohol she takes
tells me this is not going to be a pleasant story. She’s starting to look
glassy eyed, and almost drops the cup on the floor.

“I was in love once, too. Or so I thought.” I have to lean
in to hear her, not because she isn’t speaking loudly, but because her words
are slurred. “Benjamin Cooper was his name, everyone in his family called him
Benny. I called him Ben because I thought that sounded more grown up.” She
giggles, and yet I hear the pain laced in that sound. My fist curls at my side
as I wait for her to go on. I feel like we shouldn’t be having this
conversation while she’s trashed, but maybe it’s the only way she can actually
talk about it. Whatever
it
is.

“I knew him four months when I had just turned fifteen, he
was seventeen. I guess I should have realized something off when a seventeen year
old was interested in me, Anastasia D’Salvatore, the wishy-washy little girl.
That’s what he called me once you know.” Her finger points in my face and I nod
along like a fool. This isn’t going anywhere pretty. I can tell by the look in
her eyes.

“Anyway, he wanted to have sex, and I said no.” I feel
relief flood me, but she goes on. “Then he said he was going to break up with
me, well, not in those words, but you know. I knew what he meant. So I thought
that if I showed him I was grown up enough to have sex with him, it would show
him I was ready for a serious relationship.” The hairs on my arms rise as I
start to figure out where this is going.

“So you had sex with him, and it sucked.” She blinks when
she looks at me and slugs me in the arm with a smile.

“No, silly! Not Ben Cooper. I mean, I thought it would be
him, when I got to the barn, but he just held me down while Henry Cooper showed
him how it’s done right. Now you know.” To say I’m enraged would be an
understatement. No amount of medication is going to make me feel better about
what she just said. Alcohol won’t cut it either. Blood and a dead body in the
woods might, though. It’s not until the ringing in my ears starts to subside
that I realize she’s still talking as if she didn’t just admit to being raped
by the man who tried to stare me down at Mrs. Hash’s party.

“But you know, I survived, and I’m alright. Of course, I had
to cope with it somehow when I was younger, but I managed.” She holds up the
plastic cup with the vodka in it and downs the rest. She makes an ah sound as
if it’s refreshing and smacks her lips together as she settles back onto the
cushions. I feel sick to the stomach because of what I did to her at the
farmhouse, and I wish I had known about that creep before I meant him. I would
have ripped his head off those broad shoulders and tossed it onto the floor
like the piece of dirt that man really is.

“It’s the eyes.” She whispers, staring at the ceiling. “The
eyes are what really got me today. I recognized them, but honestly I don’t know
if I’m mixing two memories together or not. Could that be possible?” She looks
at me, and I wish I knew what she was talking about.

“You know, the flashlight shone on his eyes in the barn. I
could see them the entire time, and they just look so familiar. Maybe I’m
mixing up the color of his eyes with the man’s in the cabin because they were
both similar events. Maybe they both just have hazel eyes. A lot of people have
hazel eyes.” She starts to drift off, and I put my hands on either one of her
shoulders to shake her. Anastasia wakes up with a grumpy slap at my chest but
misses.

“What are you talking about?” But I think I know all too
well what’s she’s saying.

“The man,” she grumps out, trying to inch away from me.

“What man?” I just need her to say it. I’ll be justified in
killing him then because I can claim self-defense on Anastasia’s behalf, right?
Part of me says I should go to the police with this information, but how could
they link him to the kidnapping of Anastasia? I have no idea if they have DNA
evidence, and if they don’t then there wouldn’t be a way. I’m sure the psycho
doesn’t keep his tapes anywhere near his family.

“The man in the cabin who wanted the tape, his eyes, they
were like Henry’s.” Her head lolls back, and I pull her forward, making sure
that her face is downwards.

“I think it’s time for that cold shower, and then some
strong coffee. We’re going to the police station.” She tries to resist me as I
pull her back towards the bathroom. I don’t realize that I chose the wrong one
until she’s sitting in my tub attempting to get her shirt off. I help her with
it methodically and ignore the scars up and down her arms, her stomach, and the
ones that lead below her pants. There’s no time to ask her about those.

“I don’t want to talk to the Chief.” She whines, and starts
unbuttoning her jeans. Then she flops back onto her elbows, and I wince at the
whacking noise. It might not hurt now, but that’s going to smart in the
morning.

My hands work as if I’ve left my own body and pull her pants
down. I try not to flip her back as I shimmy them from her ankles and toss them
onto the floor. Her face is pale, and she’s starting to breathe rapidly. Maybe
I should call an ambulance.
Just spray her with some cold water and let her
puke into the toilet, she’ll be fine.