Pretty and Reckless (7 page)

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

“The first time was on my thirteenth birthday. I was sitting in front of my vanity and testing out different lip-glosses Bella had gotten for me. He came in with a man I’d never seen before. I’ll never forget the man’s predatory eyes staring at me and sizing me up. They were icy, but melted when my dad told me to stand up, and he took me in. I was wearing a tank top and pajama pants with cherries printed on them. The man licked his lips and asked my dad if he was going to be the one to pop the cherry between my legs.”

Weston drew in a sharp breath, his lips screwing into a grimace while he looked at me infuriated. He was fighting back his anger for my sake. He wanted to hear everything before releasing it.

“I hadn’t understood his words, but that didn’t stop me from being terrified. My dad told him yes, it was all his as long as he stuck with the deal. The man scanned me over again and shook my dad’s hand when he told him he had forty-five minutes.” A sob rolled over my tongue and Weston’s hand soothed over my back. “I watched the man who was supposed to protect me leave me alone with this terrible person. I didn’t even realize what was happening until he took his pants off and demanded I do the same. He threw me on my bed, and his heavy body crawled over the top of me. I did everything he told me to do because I was too scared to say no.”

I wished I’d fought back. I’d replayed that day in my head thousands of times thinking maybe if I would’ve told him no or screamed out for help, it wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t.
 
I’d stayed quiet and followed his orders.

His warm body brushed against mine when he grabbed a tissue and started wiping my face. “Do you want to stop?” He asked, collecting my tears.

I shook my head. There was no turning back now. “It was painful. So fucking painful. I cried the entire time. He’d touched me for a few minutes, telling me he wanted to get me wet, before flipping me on my stomach and dragging my legs up. I didn’t look back at him once. I cried out as pain ricocheted through my body while this heavy man slammed in and out of me. He grunted like a dying animal while he raped me, and after what seemed like an eternity, he finally collapsed over me.

Weston’s hand went to my hair and he swept it away from my face. “You’re doing great, babe,” he told me.

I choked out another sob. “He told me I was now a woman and then he left the room. I stayed on my bed, naked and curled into a ball, and waited for my dad to come save me. But he never came. He left me alone. So I sat there and cried. I cried until I felt like I had nothing left inside of me. Later that night, I snuck into my dad’s office, grabbed a handful of matches and set my bed on fire.” I snorted. “That actually became a ritual of ours. He’d sell me off, and then know he’d have to buy me a new bed after I set mine to flames.”

I lost the warmth of Weston’s hand when he pushed up from the couch, grabbed a book and threw it across the room in a fit of rage.

“And …” I began to elaborate, not sure what else to do.

He paced in front of me. “That’s enough for today,” he said, cutting my words off quickly.

“But I thought you wanted …”

He inhaled a sharp breath. “That’s enough for today. I can’t fucking believe this!” He threw another book, that one smashing against the wall. “How long did this go on?” He asked, stopping in front of me.

“Until I was seventeen.” It was embarrassing that I’d allowed for it to go on that long, but I didn’t know how to stop it. So I let it continue to happen, feeling like I had no other options, or anyone to turn to. I let the guys keep coming.

His dark irises narrowed at me. “Did it happen after we met?”
 

I nodded. “Just once, but it wasn’t exactly rape. I allowed it to happen because my father insisted I show a man around the city and entertain him for the night.”

His chair fell to the side when he kicked it. “Mother fucker!”
 
I looked at him in shock. His hands trembled when he stalked my way and bent down in front of me.

“Why are you so angry?” I asked, quietly.
 

His hands went to my knees and his head fell forward. “I could’ve stopped it. But I didn’t.”

“When I was thirteen?” I shook my head. “No, you couldn’t have.”

He looked up at me with sorrow in his eyes. “Let’s stop for today, okay?”

“Okay,” I drew. He was disgusted with me. He didn’t see me as the strong girl anymore. “I’ll call a cab.”
  

“No,” he said, bringing himself up. “Let me take you to lunch.”

I blinked, looking at him with confusion. “What?”

“You need to clear your head. Let’s go get some lunch, my treat.”

“I really don’t feel like going out like this. I’m a hot mess.”
 

“We’ll order in. Give me a sec.” I nodded, and he walked out of the room.

I grabbed a handful of tissues, and swiped them across my face, removing most of my make-up in the process. I grabbed the compact from my bag, opened it up and looked at myself. Black mascara marks ran down my cheeks. I scrubbed them at with the tissue, removing the make-up, and my bruises resurfaced.

“Quit it, you look beautiful,” Weston said, coming back into the room with a handful of take-out menus.

I’d just told him the story of my rape, he’d just thrown shit across the room, and now he was asking me to eat? I was beginning to think he was just as fucked up as I was.

I flipped through the menus and handed one back to him. “Chinese, good choice,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He came in ten minutes later with a bag in his hand. “I told Wendy to order half of the shit on the menu, so I hope there’s something you like in here,” he said, giving me a weak smile as he held the bag up in the air.

I forced a smile. “Thank you, I love Chinese.”

We settled down on the carpet where he sprawled out containers of food, sauces, and two drinks on the floor. He handed me a plate and a pair of chopsticks.

We ate in silence until I finally cleared my throat. “Why did you decide to do this for a living?” I asked.

He shrugged, playing with his food. “It’s personal.”
 

I snorted. “God forbid we share anything person with each other.”
 

He set his chopsticks down. “I had a twin brother, Wale. He was such a good guy and full of life when we were kids. But something in him ticked when we got to high school. He felt like a social outcast, like he didn’t belong. He developed jealousy towards my sister and me. I made better grades than him. I got varsity while he got JV. My parents would boast about my achievements, but pay no attention to his. He felt like he was never good enough. I tried to make him feel better, even failed a few tests so my GPA would drop, and it worked for a few months. But everything changed when he didn’t get accepted into college our family had attended for decades. That hit him hard. He got into drugs and drinking. He didn’t give a shit about his life. I tried to talk sense into him, but he’d shut me out.

I left for college, and he moved to Michigan because he met a girl at a bar who lived there. He called me one night, the day before my finals, and was acting different. He said his girlfriend had been cheating on him. He cried that he hated his life and didn’t think he could take it anymore. He’d talked about ending his life before, but this time it was different. His tone, his words, everything was different.”

He looked away from me when his eyes began to glaze over. “I jumped on the first flight to Michigan. I knew he was going to do something stupid. But I was too late. He hung himself in his apartment closet. After his death, I went through his things and found his journal. It was so damn raw. It was heartbreaking to read about what was going on in his mind. He had depression, hysteria, bouts of bi-polar, but he’d never sought out help. After reading every entry, I changed my major. I decided I was going to help people like him. It might’ve been too late to save him, but I could help someone else during
their
fight, and let them know things will get better. If I could save a life, that’s what I was going to do. I wasn’t going to let his death mean nothing.”

“Wow,” I said, gazing up at him. This man, he was one of the sweetest, down-to-earth guys I knew. Actually, he was the only good guy I knew. “You’re a really good guy.”

He took a bite from an egg roll and pointed to me. “Eat.”

I picked at my chow mien. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you. He was a great guy. You would’ve liked him.”

“Was he cute?” I asked, perking up, and getting him to crack a smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head at me. “If you think I’m cute, then you would’ve thought he was.”

“Oh yeah, twins. Maybe he would’ve shared his sex stories with me, since his boring brother won’t.”

“Oh, you would’ve scared the shit out of him. Your beauty would've transfixed him. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been able to mutter three words to you.”

“What about you? Do you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re a beautiful woman.” My insides gleamed, causing me to blush. “Inside and out,” he added.

ELISE

“How have you been?” My dad asked me from across the table. He’d insisted we go out to dinner in the city. We needed to show everyone I was a better person and I wasn’t out causing chaos. The world also needed to know that we got along and had a healthy relationship. He was tired of being questioned about me. He wanted the focus on him and his companies, not on whether I was on my latest rehab stint or dancing on a bar without a top on.

“Good,” I replied, playing with the napkin in my lap. I ignored the nosy stares, restraining myself from flipping off every nosey diner staring our way. We were at a five-star restaurant, but that didn’t mean people had manners and minded their own business. It was actually worse. Wealthy people loved their juicy gossip.

“I heard you’re going to therapy? I thought you hated therapy?”

“I figured I’d try something different,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and taking a drink of water. I knew he’d find out I’d been visiting Wendy’s office. I wasn’t sure how he managed to track my every move, but it annoyed the shit out of me.

“Good. I think that shows you’re starting to grow.” He took a drawl of wine. “Have you told her?”

“No, I actually like her,” I snapped. “Don’t worry daddy, I’ll keep our secrets and your abuse close to my heart.”

He looked at me baffled. “Abuse? What are you talking about? I’ve never abused you.”

My fork banged loudly against my plate when I dropped it. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, my mouth going dry as a bitter taste formed. He was going to flip this around on me like he always did. Somehow, he’d manage to make it look like I’d wanted to be raped.

He looked at me sternly. “Don’t you ever say that shit again,” he warned. “Do you hear me?” His lips pinched together while he tried to keep his composure in check. We had to look like the happy family that we’d never be. I glanced down at my barely eaten food. I couldn’t stand even looking at him. “Look at the life I’ve given you. Look at what you have. My money has sent you to get help in very expensive places. Look at the life I gave your whore mother. Everything I do, everything I’ve done, it’s been for you. I don’t ever want you to worry about money or working. I am a legacy and you will be, too. You’ve started moving forward, keeping your mouth shut, and I’m proud of you.”

“And I haven’t done my part?” I sneered. “You wouldn’t even have a “legacy” if it weren’t for me doing the spread eagle to your scumbag associates.”

“I greatly appreciate what you’ve done for this family.”

“How sweet, you appreciate me being abused for your benefit.”

“That’s not abuse,” he argued.

“You let men rape me,” I hissed. “You sold out my virginity to the highest bidder.”

“Elise, my sweet, you wanted it,” he disputed. “Look at all of the men you’ve been caught fucking. You like it. You like sex, so what’s the difference? Might as well get something out of it.”

“I didn’t like it when I was thirteen,” I said, my throat catching.

“Thirteen, but wearing make-up and mini-skirts. You were hardly a teenager and already dressing like a little slut.”

“I was still a virgin.”

He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him and against the table. “How many men have you willingly fucked? You like it, now shut up and finish your dinner. I wanted us to have an enjoyable meal.”

I tried to keep my own cool, but I wasn’t sure how long that would last. “Take me home,” I demanded.

“Absolutely not.” He pointed to my plate with his fork. “Finish your dinner.”

“I don’t have an appetite.”

“And I really don’t give a shit. I haven’t seen you in a week, and you don’t answer my phone calls, so you’re going to sit there and spend time with your father.”

“Too bad I don’t enjoy spending time with you.”

His hand tightened around his glass. I briefly noticed his eyes grow glossy, but they instantly heated up when he came to his senses. Even though he tried to hide it, I knew my rejection hurt him.

“You are the only thing I have, baby girl. You will never leave me, so get used to it. I will chain you to your goddamned room if I have to, but I will not allow you to turn out like her.”

“How would I turn out like her if I don’t even know her?”

“You want to know her?” He asked, stroking his throat.

“Yes, I do.”

“She was a whore,” he said, straight forward, no bullshit.

I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s not true.” I was tired of him constantly calling her that. “You loved her.”

“When we met, it was because your mom was paid to fuck me. Is that what you want to hear?” My stomach dropped in disgust. I didn’t want to hear about my dad being fucked, and I most definitely wished I hadn’t heard what he’d just told me.

“You’re lying.” He had to be lying.
 

“It was my birthday and my dad bought me a hooker. That’s right, your mother was a paid whore and she was damn good at it. She fucking excelled at fucking. But she wasn’t like any hooker out there. She was exceptionally beautiful, striking. She catered to me the entire night like I was her king. So I rented her the next night, eventually becoming a regular customer until I finally begged her to quit that life and be my wife. Your grandfather was furious and cut me off. I gave up everything for her.”

He took another long drag of wine and I knew where this was going. Like me, my dad couldn’t stomach talking about problems without having a high. “But I had to have her. I loved that woman more than I loved breathing. She was
my everything
. I took her off the streets and bought her everything she could ever want. I worked my ass off to give her the life she dreamed of. And you know what she gave me in return?” He paused, taking another drink. “She went out and fucked around. She fucked my best friend.” He snorted, his eyes slamming shut. “And my own father.”

“You’re lying,” I repeated, trying to wrap my head around what I’d just been told. That wasn’t my mother. She wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t this horrible person he was describing.

He looked at me with sorrow. “I wish I was.”

“If you hate whores so much, why did you marry her?”

“Because I loved her. She promised me she’d change, but she couldn’t stop. She loved that life.”

“Did you kill her?”

His eyelids squeezed shut before he looked at me with distraught. “I would never, never hurt your mother. I loved her and she left me. I was pissed, but I could never hurt her.” His hand lightly hit the table. “I fucking loved the stupid bitch. She ran off with another man and ended up getting herself killed. I heard she was tricking on the streets. She craved the nightlife. She couldn’t let it go. She left me and ended up dead. Do you understand why I don’t want you out there? I couldn’t save her, but I’ll be damned if I let you turn out like her. You have her blood in you. If you ever went on your own, you’d do the same thing. I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose you. You’re all that I have left.”

I stared at him speechless. My mind rambled with questions, but my mouth wouldn’t open. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? He’d never opened up about her.

I took a few deep breaths before I choked up the nerve to speak. “I’m not like her, dad.”

“I can’t trust you. I trusted her. I did everything to make her change, but that wasn’t good enough. She ended up back with her pimp and he stabbed her fifteen times before throwing her dead body on the side of the highway.”

And there it was, the truth about my mother. She was a hooker, a whore, and she was dead because her pimp killed her. I no longer had an appetite. I needed a drink.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You say you don’t want me to be a whore, but you let guys screw me for business deals. Isn’t that the same thing?” I didn’t want to say it, but in reality, he was my pimp.

“There’s nothing for you to get. It happened a few times, Elise,” he said, motioning to the waiter for the bill. “I wish you’d just forget about it and move on.”