Pretty Little Dreams (26 page)

“Is she allowed to get cleaned up first?”

“Yes… yes of course. We don’t need to collect any evidence from your person. There’s no question here what happened and who did it.”

I nod and begin walking Olivia to the bathroom, “You know we sure are spending a lot of time in the bathroom lately.”

She smiles a little and I ease her onto the counter and grab a washcloth, intending to help her. I hold the washcloth to her face, intending to wipe the blood from under her nose when she grabs my wrist, stopping me.

I look into her eyes and she whispers, “Thank you.”

“I want to help you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.
Thank you for saving me in there. Thank you for loving me, thank you for knowing me. Thank you for finding me in the middle of my madness. You’re my heart, Luke.”

“I’ll always find you if you get lost, Livvie.
Always.”

27.

HEALING TEARS

Olivia

A
ll I want
to do is talk to Luke. Instead, I have to give the police a statement regarding what happened before they arrived. Luke sits on one side of me during my question and answer session, and Pyper on the other. It feels like a cross-examination at times, instead of merely providing my recall of events. Each of them hold my hands the whole time – I’m not sure if they are offering comfort to me, or to themselves. I think both. When I get to the parts that are too upsetting for Luke – recounting Deacon tying me up, hitting me, and ripping off my clothes - Luke is off the couch. Pyper squeezes my hand so tightly, I’m afraid she will break it. She’s gritting her teeth; I can hear them grinding and see her jaw flex on the side. I know she’s trying to keep from crying, so I give her a reassuring squeeze in return.

Luke stands and paces, his hands fisted at his sides.
He mumbles under his breath, but I can’t make out what he’s saying, other than a four-letter-word now and then. At one point, he walks to the window, grips the ledge and stares outside. It’s obvious he’s not really seeing the gorgeous view before him; he’s lost in his own thoughts.

The entire time I’m speaking to the police, I’m hanging on by a thread.
My face and body are in a lot of pain. The paramedics get called immediately and they check me out and treat what they can. I refuse to go to the hospital, so there is nothing else they can do for me. They said to put ice on my swollen face, take non-aspirin pain relievers, to call my doctor immediately if the pain persists or gets worse. I swallow some ibuprofen to hopefully lessen some of the pain.

Initially, the police thought that Deacon was hiding out in the hallway, waiting for Luke to leave.
When he saw him go, he came into the condo. They had theories about how he would have gotten into the secure building or obtained the key to the condo. All were pretty much mysteries until they can interrogate him, but then Deacon’s car provided all the answers.

It was parked in the garage below the building.
Obtaining a search warrant must have been easy, because it sure happened fast. The officers found guns, rope, knives, more duct tape, wire, a small suitcase with personal effects for him, a few women’s clothing articles, and fake passports he had made – one for him and one for me.

Luke and I looked at each other in confusion when the police asked us to follow them to the parking garage.
They led us to a car that had crime tape surrounding it and a trunk propped open.

“Please brace yourselves; there is a dead body in the trunk of Deacon Brooks’ car.
We would like to know if you recognize him, Olivia, and we assumed you would want Luke to be with you.”

“You assumed correctly.”
I blindly reach out for Luke’s hand and grab it as I approached the car. I felt brave with Luke next to me and didn’t hesitate, walking right to the back of the car. At the same time I said, “That’s Ronnie,” Luke gasps and said, “That’s Brian!”

Officer Phish later explained, “Our assumption is that Deacon didn’t want to leave any loose ends when he took you this time,” he says looking at me.
“Ronnie Holt, aka Brian West, was Deacon’s buddy. When we ran a background check on Ronnie and Deacon, we found the connection. The two of them started getting in trouble when they were younger – and ended up in juvie at the same time, like he told you.
They stayed in touch it appears, and Ronnie had a stream of arrests - drunk and disorderly, DUIs, petty theft.” He hesitates, “He… he was even accused of assault and rape, but the charges were dropped - the girl disappeared with no evidence. The house you were kept in belonged to Ronnie’s aunt, like Deacon told you, Olivia. She died, leaving the house to Ronnie. Events surrounding her death were suspicious - but there was never any evidence found - only rumors. We don’t have proof that Ronnie murdered her, even though Deacon told you that. We will be looking into his aunt’s death again.”

“You found all of this out already?” Luke asked surprised

Officer Phish smiled, “It pays to have connections.” Luke and I looked at each other, both shrugging our shoulders.

“Ronnie obviously got a job as Brian at your club, Luke, in order to keep a closer eye on what was happening with Olivia.
This also explains how Deacon got in the house. We believe Ronnie lifted your keys at the club and made copies.”

Now, as I contemplate all the information we’ve been told, I realize I obviously didn’t know Deacon at all.
He was truly psychotic. It’s hard to believe that I ever could have loved him. Or thought he loved me. Even after experiencing his evil, it is difficult to accept the fact that he was so
incredibly sick that he could actually murder someone – well, I have a hard time wrapping my mind around it all. It makes me aware of what he was truly capable of doing, even to me and to Luke or Pyper. Until now, it was all speculation, theory, wonder. But it’s the truth. He was my worst nightmare. The thought makes me shudder with revulsion and horror.

By the time I finally get Luke alone, several hours have passed.
We barely walk through my bedroom door and I turn to look at Luke. I can see conflict on his face, not knowing where to begin or what to say. I open my mouth to say… something…anything. He reaches a hand out and touches my cheek. His eyes are a mixture of love, compassion and sadness and I feel my whole face crumple, the breath leaves my lungs, and a sob rises in my throat. Out of nowhere, every suppressed and unexpressed feeling and emotion of the last several weeks comes hammering down on me and I can’t breathe, can’t bear the secrets and evasions any longer. My legs give out beneath me, and Luke grabs me and eases us to the floor as one.

I sob.
Gut wrenching, soul moving, deep heaving, nearly hysterical weeping that starts in my soul and erupts up and out of my throat, infuriated at being denied for so long. Massive tears flow, forming a salty pool where they fall. I grab for and hold onto Luke, dig my fingernails into his shoulders. I pull him so close to me, there isn’t a breath of space between us and his body shakes with every tremble of my own. Like flashes of a movie, my life plays out before my eyes, and with each scene, tears fall, but also cleanse and offer the purification I have been seeking.

I cry for the teenager I was that fell in love with a boy and made a hasty, life-changing decision upon hearing something not meant for her ears.
I cry because instead of trusting and confronting Luke, I made an assumption and ran. I cry for the naïve lost girl I became, so desperate to fill an ache inside of her, that she allowed it to be filled with the vileness of a man like Deacon. I cry for my stubbornness and pride that prohibited me from accepting that the only one who would ever be able to fill that ache, was the man currently in my arms.

I cry for every angry and defiling word, every painful touch, grab, pull and tear of my flesh at Deacon’s hands.
I cry for the girl who made excuses each and every time, when she should have said enough. I cry for the battered, insecure girl who never stood up for herself, for the girl who never felt she deserved more. I cry for the woman who felt broken when she found her husband cheating. A part of her already knowing, yet not accepting the finality, and lacking the courage to end things, so staying and taking even more. I cry for the moment the reality of her marriage was thrust into her face in such a repulsive way.

I cry at the fear I felt when I found my best friend bound and gagged.
I cry for each time I woke up naked next to a madman, not knowing what had occurred between us. I cry for each puncture I felt from the needle. I cry at the loss of hope I felt each time I looked for a way out but found none. I cry for my broken bones, the bruises, the injuries sustained. I cry for my family. Seeing their troubled faces and pain, but instead of allowing them to offer me love and comfort, I pushed them away.

I cry for today.
I cry because I have lost a piece of myself – and I don’t recognize this fearful, angry, revengeful self. Who is this woman that wants to kill a man - that has so much hatred that she wants him to feel the same pain he’s inflicted upon me? That wants him to pay. I was violated. I was hurt. I was hit. I was touched. I was drugged. Scratched. Bruised. Assaulted. Practically raped. But worse of all, I cry for the times when I wanted to give up. To give into the pain and misery and just let go. I cry for the times I hoped he would go too far and put me out of my misery. For my broken spirit. For my ravished soul.

Finally, I cry for the man that loves me.
Who wouldn’t let me push him away, who was strong, consistent, and unfailing and who has loved me through it all, unconditionally, waiting patiently for me to work through my hurt, my bitterness, my despair and struggles.

My sobs turn into silent shuddering and slowly, the tears begin to subside and I realize that Luke is murmuring words of love to me, has been rocking me back and forth.
“It’s okay, Livvie. I’m here. Let it out. You are safe. I love you. I’m here. Let it out, angel. I love you.”

As my sobs quiet, I’m left with little hiccups and I pull away and look at him.
He immediately wipes the now slow falling, faint trail of tears from my cheeks and attempts a smile, “Feel better?”

“A little.
I’m sorry for blubbering and getting this….on your shirt,” I rasp, gesturing at the river on his chest.

“It’s just a shirt, angel.”

My body and face hurt from all of the abuse. I feel emotionally spent – exhausted- I could sleep for days. “Luke, I need to talk to you.”

“There’s no rush, love.
Maybe now isn’t the right time. You need to rest.”

“No, I can’t,” I shake my head, emphasizing my words.
“I’ve stayed quiet for too long, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“Okay,” he whispers uncertainly.
Luke looks at me, waiting patiently for me to begin.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit.
“I need to tell you some things about when I was kidnapped.” My heart starts to pound in my chest. I’m so afraid of his reaction. Part of me would like to tell him I changed my mind and that I do need rest after all, but I can’t.

“Livvie, I really don’t thi-”

“No. Please don’t argue with me,” I look down. “I need to tell you now, I need this for me too. I can’t, no, I must not, keep quiet any longer.” I take a deep breath and look up again to meet his eyes, “I know that you know the basics. I was kept in a room, drugged most of the time. When I was alone, and coherent, I would try to find a way out. I never found one, but I would still look, try again, determined not to give up.”

I swallow and take a deep breath, look up to the sky and then force myself to meet his eyes again as I continue.
“But sometimes… sometimes, in my darkest moments, when I couldn’t be comforted by dreams of you, I wanted to give up, Luke. I’m so sorry!” My words catch on a newly formed sob, and I do my best to fight it down. “There were moments, just a few, where I didn’t want to fight anymore. It all felt so hopeless.”

“Baby, that’s understandable.
All that matters is that you didn’t give into it. You didn’t give up. You’re here, and you’re going to be okay.”

“Deacon.
He… he would make me sleep with him… n-naked,” I blurt.

Luke’s only reaction is to curse low under his breath and to increase his hold on me.

“When I would sleep, almost always my dreams would be about you and I...I would dream we were together, happy.
Sometimes we would just be talking about random things in my dream like the weather, or trips we wanted to take together. Other times, we would be intimate. I would feel you touching me.”

I stop.

Tears gather in my eyes.

I try to stop them, but they start their silent descent down my cheeks, not caring for my wishes.

I take another deep breath.

“Your hands would run up my legs or over my breasts, and I would wake up, wanting you so much. I would turn to you, eyes closed, wanting to return your touches and words of love, only to open them and find it wasn’t your face looking back at me. It wasn’t your hands touching me. It wasn’t you in bed with me.”

Luke lets off a stream of curses this time, flashes of pain he tries his best to cover run over his face.

Now that the words have started, I couldn’t begin to contain them even if I wanted to.
He needs to know – and I need to tell.

“Luke...I…what I’m trying to say…”
I hesitate, these next few words feeling stuck in my throat.

“Angel -”

I hold up a hand, stopping him once again. “No, Luke, please. Let me get through this.” He nods his head, looking conflicted, but I continue, “What I’m trying to tell you is that I thought Deacon raped me. When I was awake and aware of my surroundings, it never happened. We never had sex. But, I was in and out of it most of the time, and until he told me today that he never went further, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if he tried to take advantage of that. He insinuated more than once that he had.” I look down, momentarily have those recurrent feelings of being ashamed and unclean. I wonder if I will ever truly feel clean…pre-Deacon…again. It’s as if a tainted film covers my whole body.

I still can’t bring myself to look at Luke’s face as I continue, “I want you to know that they did a rape kit at the hospital.
They tested for STDs and did a… a pregnancy test,” Looking up now at Luke, I see him running his hands through his hair in that all-too familiar nervous gesture. He has turned his face to the side, and a lone tear falls down his cheek. “They got the results rather quickly, and I was told they were all negative. I wouldn’t have been with you sexually if it wasn’t safe. I hope you know that.”