Pretty and Reckless (4 page)

THREE YEARS AGO

WESTON

I was twenty-five, newly graduated, and had just completed my last internship. The market was so saturated, and finding a job was hell. Sun Gate Rehabilitation Center was five hours away, but they were willing to take in a new guy and pay decently. Not great, but decent. So I packed up my things and left the Windy City for the Indiana cornfields.

I met her on my first day. My first two patient appointments had gone through smooth, and I was building up some confidence. Then she showed up with her attitude and sharp nails to deflate all of that intrepidity.

I hadn’t been ready for her. I wasn’t prepared for this sassy fireball to come barreling in and shoot me flames of attitude as her defense mechanism. She was trying to shield herself because she didn’t want me to see the pain and hate exploding through her.

I’d been given her backstory. She was a spoiled seventeen year-old woman who was on a mission to destroy herself, and she didn’t care who, or what she took down with her. She misbehaved when things didn’t go her way, spending her free time drinking underage in nightclubs and experimenting with drugs. She’d been caught screwing one of her dad’s business partners, along with a few other older men. The reason for her wrongdoings was apparently some vengeance to get back at her father.

Even with all of that forewarning, I still hadn’t been ready. There was no preparation for this woman flying down the hallway with full force, her face twisted with fury as she glared at me standing in the doorway. She looked like she wanted to rip my head off and stomp on it before I’d even said a word to her.
 
I knew things were about to get challenging.

“I’m surprised they sent you,” she said, stopping directly in front of me and narrowing her eyes.

“Why’s that?” I asked, keeping my voice cool.

“They usually don’t send men because I fuck them.”

“I can assure you that won’t be happening.” My chest locked up while a giant lump lodged itself into the pit of my throat. I was surprised I could even get words out.

She smiled wickedly. “You sure about that?”

I gulped down the lump. I wasn’t sure if she was telling me that for shock value or if she was being honest. They told me she liked to play mind games. There was no way they’d hold back the fact that she’d been busted fucking other therapists.
 

“So who the fuck are you?” She asked, abrasively, her hands flying to her hips.

I took a moment to look at the girl who’d been labeled unstable and out-of-control before answering her. She was breathtaking, and I felt like a complete jackass for thinking that because she was only seventeen, but there was no denying it.

It wasn’t a,
“I want to sleep with you,”
kind of beauty. Her features, from the long, dark hair to the plump lips, and the endless curves were attractive. Her face was clear of any make-up, and her brown smoldering eyes leveled on me like I was her prey for the day. She might’ve been pretty on the outside, but on the inside she was hideous, dark, and deceptive.

“I’m Weston,” I said, calmly. “I’m your psychiatrist for the remainder of your stay.” I grunted, my side colliding with the doorframe when her hip pushed into my stomach and she squeezed her way into the room.

“Where the hell is Patterson?” She snapped, pivoting around on her heels to look at me when she found the room empty.

“She resigned,” I told her, shutting the door. “I’m taking over all of her patients.”

Patterson had actually been fired because she was letting her patients watch TV instead of trying to help them with their problems, and I was positive the girl in front of me had been one to take full advantage of that. But that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen with me. I took my job seriously.

I shuffled around the room to gather my things, and she plopped down on the couch. I snatched up a folder sitting on the edge of the desk, and rolled a chair forward until we were sitting only a few inches apart from each other.

I took a deep breath of courage. This was a teenage girl for fuck sakes, why she was intimidating the shit out of me? I needed to get my shit together. I’d gone through years of school and training to deal with people like her.

“I’ve looked through your file,” I began, opening up the folder in my lap. I scratched my head as I focused on the first page. “Why don’t we go over your history? Get to know each other? We can talk about why you’re here.”
 

That was a good start. I was doing what I’d been trained to do. Let them talk to you. Allow them to open up. Gain their trust.

I kept my eyes trained on her while waiting for her reply, but she sat quietly playing with her braid. Well, that plan wasn’t going to work.

I crossed my legs and took another deep, long breath to calm my nerves. “Alright then, let’s start with the history of your drug and alcohol addiction.”

That got a reaction out of her. She snorted and pushed a few strands of hair away from her face. “Drug addiction?” She asked. “No.” I leaned back in my chair, slowly opening up my mouth to argue, but slammed it shut when she kept talking. “Yes, I drink and take pills
recreationally,
but I don’t have an addiction.”

“Those pills are narcotics,” I pointed out. “Narcotics are drugs.”

“Look
Weston,
it’s not like I’m syringing heroin into my veins, or hanging out in some beat-up garage in a sketchy neighborhood toking on meth,” she argued, defensively.

“I see you’re still in denial,” I said, settling my gaze on her. “You’ve overdosed twice. I’m sorry, Miss Parks, deny it all you want, but you have an addiction.”

She held up a finger. “First off, don’t call me Miss Parks, my name is Elise.” She curled her upper lip. “And check your facts again,
doctor,
those overdoses were over two years ago. I know my limits now. You try living in my hell. Tell me you wouldn’t be doing anything to numb yourself, too.”

“You shouldn’t have limits because you shouldn’t be doing these things.”

She waved her hand in the air. “What else do you allegedly know about me?” She asked in a nasty tone, changing the subject. Apparently, she was calling the shots.

I looked down at the paper. “Sexual promiscuity, preferably with older men.”

She flinched, every muscle in her body tensing up, and instantly paled. The room suddenly shifted, and I knew this was it. This is what affected her. It was what she was scared of.

She quickly regained her composure, shooting me an annoyed glare. “I’m not going to deny that I have sex, probably more than I should, but it happens. But as far at the other part, the jab in my spine to keep me down, I think it’s a bit unfair to classify it as promiscuity.”

“Why is that?” Her guard was coming down and I couldn’t wait to dig in. I wanted to crack open her mind and discover everything hidden inside.

“Does me being held down, my legs pried open, while someone shoves themselves inside of me mean I’m promiscuous?”
 

I almost fell out of my chair. My mind began to drum as I scrambled for the right words. What? Why hadn’t I been told this?

“Are you telling me you were raped?” I asked, hastily flipping through the pages, but not seeing anything. “There’s no mention of you being sexually assaulted in here.” I kept turning pages, skimming over words, but saw nothing.

Then I found them, two small almost hidden words. Peter Kline.

“Are you talking about Peter Kline?” I asked, tapping my finger against his name.

She threw her head back. “God,” she groaned. “No, I’m not talking about Peter Kline. I fucked him willingly. I’m so goddamned sick of him being used as a cop-out. I’m talking about the other guys.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing anything,” I said, slowly. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Of course I have, jackass. Are you calling me a liar?”

I shook my head. “I’m not calling you a liar,” I stammered. I needed to look into this. Why would they leave this out?

Her eyes brightened, and a slow smile built along her lips. “So you believe me then?”

“I don’t know enough facts to answer your question, but if you’re telling me that’s what happened, then I believe you.” They’d told me she was deceptive, but that’d be real low if she lied about being raped.

“Then tell someone. Go and tell them this new information.”

She didn’t feed me any more details. She got up and walked out the door while I stayed frozen to my seat, asking myself what the fuck just happened.

I tried my best to focus on the rest of my patients through the day, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. After my last session, I went to Sun Gate’s director to tell him what she’d told me.

That’s when I found out Elise Parks was a bold face liar who’d made up that story to get me fired. She’d told other therapist the same rape story after she’d been busted screwing Peter to keep her lover out of trouble, and to get her dad back for turning him in. Two of those therapists had gone out of their way to help her and ended up getting fired, and sued, after spewing off false accusations.

Elise Parks had problems that I wasn’t equipped to handle yet. I could deal with addicts. I could help self-harmers, but I couldn’t manage a manipulative teen trying to fuck with my mind. And I sure as hell couldn’t afford to lose my job or get sued.

ELISE

I groaned out, feeling every muscle of my body convulse in pain, and timidly opened up an eye. I nestled my head back comfortably against the pillow and stared up at the white ceiling in confusion.

Who the fuck did this ceiling belong to? It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Oliver’s. My stomach fluttered. Shit, I’d broken one of my rules. I’d stayed overnight with some random guy.

I threw my arm out, reaching across the bed to feel for another warm body, but the space was empty. I grew dizzy, racking my brain to remember last night’s events.

I stilled at the sound of movement, holding in a breath, and hesitantly turned my neck to see
who
it was. The night instantly came back in flashes. Oh shit.

I slowly moved my head back, hoping he hadn’t noticed I was awake.
I’m still asleep. Get out of here, go back to your bedroom and let me sneak out.

“Good morning.” I slammed my eye shut at his cheerful voice. “Nice try,” he said, around a laugh. “I know you’re awake, so quit faking it. I brought food.”

“I’m not hungry,” I grumbled, keeping my eye shut.

“Too bad. You need to eat something. Your body needs replenishment if you want it to heal.”

“My body needs replenishment?” I mocked. “I’m fully capable of feeding myself.”

He ignored me, and I glared at him as a tray of food was dropped onto my lap. “Eggs and toast,” he said.

I carefully brought myself up to rest my back against the bed’s headboard. My stomach growled when I eyeballed the tray. Eggs, toast with jelly, fruit, and orange juice. Sitting next to the toast were two ibuprofen pills.

“Thanks,” I half-whispered, my voice sounding scratchy against my sore throat. I grabbed the toast, taking a small bite. “Why are you doing this?” I asked, popping the pills on my tongue and swallowing them down. “Why did you help me, and why are you being so nice?” People weren’t nice unless they wanted something.

He flopped down onto the bed, wearing a Columbia University t-shirt and sweatpants that reached his ankles. “You were alone in the city, pretty beaten up, and needed help. I was happy to be there.” His dark eyes set on mine like he was trying to remind me of everything that had happened.

I nodded, shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth. He ran his hands through his shaggy, morning-messy hair. “I’m almost certain you know who did this to you,” he continued to lecture, his voice sincere. “I hope you end whatever kind of relationship you have with him. I hope me helping you makes you realize that you need to make better life choices. You deserve more than being beat up and left in some shit alley, but you’re never going to get it if you don’t believe it yourself.”

ELISE

“Are you planning on dragging your ass out of bed anytime today?” The ear-piercing voice shouted at the same time my bedroom door flew open. I kept my eyes shut, but could sense his footsteps growing closer. I hated that he had a key to my apartment. “Let me guess, you’ve been out all night partying again? Typical.”

I slowly opened my eyes to find him standing to the side of my bed and looking down at me. I shoved my face deeper into my silk pillowcase, ignoring the ache penetrating through my face.

“It’s two in the afternoon, Elise,” he said, continuing to scold me when he realized I wasn’t planning on answering him. I yawned loudly, but stayed quiet. That was the best way to deal with him. Keep your mouth shut because anything you do or say will be used against you.

“Fucking
answer
me!” He ordered.

I held back the urge to scream when the cold chill of the room smacked into me as he pulled my blanket off, completely exposing me. I still didn’t lift my head up. I was a professional in playing his games. Let me freeze. Let him see my half-naked body. I really didn’t give a shit.

“Answer me!” He roared louder.
 

Fuck it, I’d let him win today.

“I was taking a nap, okay? I feel like shit,” I finally said.

I was beat-up, sore as hell, and my brain was playing kickball with my skull. The past twelve hours had consisted of me refraining from moving as much as possible to save my body from suffering any more distraught than it had to.

“Get up, get dressed, and meet me in the living room,” he demanded. “And put on some damn clothes.”

I was only wearing Weston’s sweatshirt and a pair of boy shorts. “I’m sleeping in my bed
alone
in my apartment where I live
alone.
 
I usually don’t do that in full ball gowns,” I sneered.

He snorted. “I’m sure that’s something new for you, waking up alone.”

“Oh, screw you!” I snatched my comforter and covered myself back up.

“Meet me in the living room,” he said, shaking his head and leaving my bedroom. “And don’t take your sweet little time. I know how you are.”

“Asshole,” I muttered.

Weston had dropped me off at the back entrance early this morning, and I’d discreetly snuck in wearing his clothes. I’d gone from looking like a hooker to looking homeless in less than twelve hours. As soon as I’d gotten home, I stripped down, unwrapped my ribs, and took another shower to rid me of any excess Oliver grime. Then I’d put Weston’s sweatshirt back on, snuggled into my bed and let the calming scent of him put me to sleep.

My muscles strained against my skin when I pulled myself up and grabbed a pair of pajama shorts. I tried to hide my limp while making my way into my living room.

“Nosy much?” I snapped, when I found him rifling through my clutch. He dumped all of the contents onto my kitchen table, examining each item to find something incriminating.

“Care to explain to me why your face is busted in?” He asked, dropping my bag in failure.

I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass,” he growled, stomping towards me. With each stride, his face contorted with more hate and disgust. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.
”
He stood in front of me, his breathing rapid, as he stared down with repulsion.

Clint Parks was a very wealthy man, and with wealth came power. He was also very malicious, controlling, and hungry to keep that power in his grip.

I hated this man.

He hated me.

He was my father.

“Explain
yourself
,” he demanded, his mouth breathing fire.

Even being in his late fifties, I couldn’t deny that he was attractive for his age. The dark color of his hair matched mine, with the exception of a few salt-n-pepper grains sprinkled throughout the strands. His chest was broad and authoritative. His stature was intimidating, the evil smirk on his face threatening, and the millions of dollars in his bank account only added to his power. He was a businessman, owning several high-end hotels in the heart of Chicago, a few investment companies, and practically the entire Gold Coast District where we lived.

“I slipped in the shower and hurt myself,” I said, blurting out the first defense that came to mind. I was never one to be quick on her toes.

I whimpered, holding in a cry, when his hand forcefully curled around my upper arm. “Don’t you fucking lie to me. I know what happened to your pretty little face. I was simply inquisitive on whether you’d tell me the truth or not, which you didn’t.” He snorted. “That’s not fucking surprising.”

“You want the truth?” I asked, my bare feet pushing into the soft, plush carpet. “Fine, here’s the truth for you. Oliver did this.” I pointed to my face. “He’s the one who busted my face in by pummeling it with his fists. He also kneed me in the ribs, pulled my hair, and head butted me!”

His nostrils flared as he prepared to spit his fire. “When are you going to quit with the goddamned lies?”

“You don’t even know what happened,” I argued. “So don’t you dare say I’m lying!”

His hand added pressure to my skin as he took a step closer. I didn’t dare take a step back. “Oh, I know exactly what happened. Oliver called me this morning. He said you flew off the handle, attacked him because he found pills in your bag, and he confronted you about fucking someone else. When he asked about your cheating, you got pissed and left with some guy who picked you up from his place. I’m sure whatever slime ball you’re seeing behind his back is the one who beat the shit out of you.”

I wanted to fucking kill Oliver. I wanted to twist his dick so hard, the blood flow stopped, and it would fall limp in front of his thousand dollar shoes. Fucking jackass.
 

“You seriously believe that lie?” I asked in disbelief.
 
I threw my hand down my body. “He’s the one who did this.”

“You’re a damn lunatic, drug addict, and a whore.”

“You know I didn’t have shit in my purse. You drug test me twice a week, every week. You know I’ve been clean.”

I pulled away and snuck around him before he had the chance to stop me. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and went in search of something for my pain, in hopes he wouldn’t follow me. But I’d never been one to have her hopes fulfilled.

“When is this bullshit going to stop?” He asked, crowding around me. He leveled his eyes on me, getting closer into my space, and I stumbled backwards.

Shit, I shouldn’t have let him corner me. I was like one of those idiots in the horror movies who ran through the deserted cornfield instead of jumping in the getaway car a few feet away.

“Why?” he asked, his voice strangled. “Why can’t you ever just be honest? Why do you have to be like her? You like to flaunt it, oh yes, you love to flaunt it, with this long, dark hair.” His hand rose up and his fingers grazed my hair, causing me to shiver. “Those curves that developed way to young.” I froze up when his hand dropped from my head and roamed down my sides, giving me goose bumps. “But you can’t deal with the repercussions of your whoring ways. You keep acting like a slut, spreading your legs to every man, you’re going to get beat up a few times, baby girl.”

I looked away from him, my hands itching to shove him back, but I was smarter than that. “Why would I hit him first? That doesn’t even make sense,” I croaked out.

I let out a rush of relief when his hands left my side and settled to each side of me on the counter, caging me in.

 
“Oliver is a very intelligent man,” he said. “He’s not going to conjure up some ridiculous story like that.”

“But I can?”

His face was so close, he was practically spitting on me with every word. “You can. It’s flowing through half your blood. It’s what you do. You enjoy playing the victim. You want the attention. It turns you on and it eats you alive when you don’t receive it.”

“You’re just like him. Maybe that’s why mom couldn’t stand you. That’s why she hated your guts.”

I inserted that verbal knife, twisted it into the small sliver of a heart he had, and relished in his hurt like he did mine. Like father, like daughter. You can’t escape, or destroy the monster without becoming one yourself.

I cried out when my head rammed back into the cabinet, and his rough palm connected with my already sore cheek. “Don’t you dare talk about your bitch
mother.
She didn’t deserve a man like me. She was nothing but a poor cunt I took off the streets.”

He hated her, but he was still in love with her.

He’d take his love for her to the grave.

His finger poked in front of my face in warning. “This is my last goddamn warning. Stop with the antics, the fits, and your fucking erratic behavior, or your apartment will be gone, and you’ll be back right across that hallway. I may not be able to admit you anymore, but I will always control you. Remember that.”

He pushed off the counter, stalked out of the kitchen, and slammed the front door shut without saying another word. He’d said what he needed to say. He’d gotten his point across, and he didn’t care what I had to say about it. He always had to have the last word.

I sagged down the cabinet and landed on the chilly tile. I didn’t cry. I didn’t get angry. I just sat there, staring blankly at the floor without moving.

I’d had too many bad things hit me to cry over something that small. When bad things keep happening to you, you learn to hold everything in. You don’t cry. You sit there and feel numb. You surrender, losing your emotions, because you’ve already given everything you had. You’re empty.

An hour passed before I pulled myself up from the floor and opened up the freezer. I grabbed a tub of ice cream and held it up to my check.

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered, filling up a glass with water, and heading back to the living room. I sunk down onto my couch and ran my hands against the soft material.

I’d gotten my own place last year and I loved it, even if it was directly across the hall from him. It wasn’t freedom to a lot of people, but it was to me. I’d never had a place of my own. I’d been allowed to choose my own furniture and I’d gone eccentric. My couch was bright purple and white furry pillows were scattered across it. Baby blue chairs sat to each side of the couch, and a coffee table covered with bright colored mosaic pieces was in front of me. The rest of my apartment had the same chromatic look.
 

I flipped on the TV and turned on a re-run of,
Sex and the City,
before opening up the ice cream and shoving a bite of mint chocolate chip into my mouth. I knew what people said and thought about me. I knew I got mocked.
Poor little rich girl is upset that her daddy yelled at her.

 
That wasn’t the case. Those people had no fucking clue what I’d gone through. They had no goddamned clue what that man has done to me.

I paused the TV when my phone rang, and looked down at the screen debating whether or not to answer.

“Hey,” I said, picking up on the fourth ring.
  

“How are you feeling?” Weston asked.

“Alright, I took some medicine to help with the pain. I just need to pull out my high coverage makeup.” I lifted my legs up and slowly rested them onto the table.
 

 
“You can still go to the police. I’ll go with you,” he said, softly.

I rolled my eyes. He was delusional if he thought that was an option. I’d only become more of a mockery. “No, I can’t.”

He let out a sigh. “Don’t forget what you promised me.”
 

“I don’t remember promising anything,” I lied, shoving another bite into my mouth. I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn’t hold me to what I’d agreed to last night.

“You said you would,” he argued.

“Oh no, buddy, not happening. I don’t like that shit and I’m old enough to not be forced into it anymore.”
 

“I’m not asking you to do therapy. I’m asking you to talk to me.”

I huffed. “Same difference.”

“I did what you asked me to do,” he said, growing aggravated. “Are you really going to go back on your word?”

I should’ve called him private last night so he didn’t have the ability to pester me. “You know if my dad finds out, he’s not going to be happy about it.”

Obviously, I’d quit seeing Weston for a reason. There was no way I could go there without my dad finding out. He had eyes and ears everywhere.

“He’s not going to know. I’ll meet you at my friend’s office. We’ll talk there.”

Damn, he already had a plan and everything.

“Fine, I’ll be there,” I said, throwing my head back.

Fuck me.