Romance: Love Left Behind - A Mystery Romance: (Romance, Mystery, Mystery Romance, Romantic Suspense) (4 page)

Their first two years of dating had been like a honeymoon.  Blair took care of Starla more than she thought anybody ever would.  He cooked her delicious dinners, rubbed her shoulders when they were tense after a long day of work, and watched all of her favorite television shows with her, even when they were trashy reality television.  He even pretended to like
American Idol
and
The Bachelor
, though Starla knew they were the shows he kind of despised.

Most importantly of all, Blair was patient with their intimacy.  He understood that not only was she reserved but that she wanted losing her virginity to be a special occasion.  On the night they finally had sex, finally had broken through that bridge, he had kissed her so tenderly at the end that Starla almost cried.  After the act, the two laid in bed for hours, using their fingers to explore the unknown territory of the other’s body.

The anger didn’t fully reveal itself until the two lovers had moved in together, to an apartment in the Bellen suburbs.  It was a small apartment, one bedroom with a tiny living room, bathroom, and kitchen.  But it was cozy, and it was theirs.  Starla was cooking dinner one night – steak with onions and mushrooms – and accidentally spilled part of a bottle of red wine on the floor.  Before she could clean it up, Blair had shoved her against the wall and screamed in her face, “How dare you mess up my apartment!”  Grabbing her hair, he had pushed her down to the floor and commanded her to clean the mess up before he punished her.  With tears in her eyes, Starla had crawled away, gotten a rag from a kitchen drawer, and mopped up the mess.  She convinced herself that she had done something wrong, that it would be the only time.

Over the next few years, Starla had been hit, pushed, shaken, slapped, and generally degraded by her boyfriend.  Through all of it, he had managed to convince her that she was at fault, that if she was a better girlfriend, it wouldn’t happen.  When times were good, they were very good.  Blair complimented her, cuddled her close, and stroked her hair.  But when they were bad, Starla sometimes feared what Blair would do to her.  Every time she thought about leaving him, his voice echoed through her head: “Do you really think you’ll find anyone better than me?  Look at you.  You’re useless.  I’m the best you’ll ever get.  You’re lucky to have me.”

Those words mixed with his current words as he berated Starla for not moving quickly enough that morning, for not making him food already.  She pulled away, swinging her legs out of the bed and slipping them into her fluffy pink slippers that sat next to the bedside.  Stepping out of bed, she ignored the angry glare from her boyfriend and padded over to the kitchen.  She was dismayed when she opened the fridge and found a slim amount of groceries.

“What do you want on your sandwich?” she called to him, rifling through the pickings.  “There’s salami, cheese, bologna…but not much else.”

“Why is there no ham?” Blair yelled back.

Starla sighed.  “I don’t know why there’s no ham, Blair.  I don’t do the grocery shopping.  If you want ham, you need to buy ham.”

“If you loved me, you would know that I wanted ham and you would’ve bought some when you realized I forgot it.”

Starla let out another brief sigh before grabbing the salami and cheese in one hand and the nearly-empty bag of rye bread with the other.  After placing them on the counter, she returned to the fridge to grab the yellow mustard.  As quickly as she could, she put together the sandwich on a paper plate, making sure to put the ingredients back in the fridge before carrying the sandwich to her boyfriend.  Blair was now relaxing on the bed.  He had turned the television on and was watching the morning news.  His red t-shirt was scrunched up around his waist, revealing a tiny sliver on muscle-toned stomach.

“Salami and cheese,” Starla said softly, handing him the plate.  “I’ll grab some ham from the supermarket on the way home from work, alright?”

Blair didn’t answer, just grunted.  He shoved the sandwich into his mouth.  Yellow mustard dripped down his chin and onto his t-shirt.  Crumbs fell haphazardly into the sheets.  Starla knew that later she would need to clean up but for now she needed to get ready for work.

She was still a waitress for the local diner.  Her outfit hung, crisp and ironed, in the closet.  She wore nice black pants, a pink t-shirt, and a name badge that she had designed herself.  It read “Starla Bluff” in large, loopy cursive letters and was decorated around the edges with colored stickers shaped like stars.  Watching Blair out of the corner of her eye, she slid out of her slinky red nightgown, revealing a matching black bra and underwear.  She liked the simplicity of black lingerie.  Then, slowly, she got dressed, relishing the feeling of her nice clean clothes sliding over her skin.

When she walked out of the closet, refreshed, she noticed that Blair’s face was now uncomfortably red.  He had the sandwich crushed in one hand and Starla’s phone in the other hand.  Starla’s breath caught in her throat.  Why was he looking through her phone?  What had made him so mad?

“Your phone was buzzing while you were getting changed,” Blair said, his voice unnaturally smooth.  “I thought I was going to be a good boyfriend, check it for you.”  His voice grew louder and rough.  “But then I saw that you had gotten a Facebook message from, guess who, Starla?  Guess who sent you a message on Facebook?  I’ll give you a hint.  It’s someone that you promised me you weren’t keeping in touch with anymore.”

The room suddenly felt very cold.  Blair stood up, throwing the sandwich scraps to the ground.  In three large steps, he crossed the room to where Starla stood and smacked her across the face with an open palm.  Her head snapped back as she stumbled backwards, falling to the floor with a thump.  Her tailbone cracked against the hardwood floors and pain radiated through her body.  Blair knelt down and hit her again.

“Now imagine my surprise when I looked through the messages and realized that you’ve been directly disobeying my wishes and have kept in touch with
fucking Ben Brindell
for the last few years.  Am I not good enough for you, Star?  Are you still in love with Ben?”  Another slap forced her head back again.  “I thought I made myself very clear.  You were not meant to speak to him anymore. And today you get a message from him?”

“Babe, please,” Starla pleaded, a fourth slap momentarily disorienting her.  “Please don’t hurt me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying wordlessly that the torture and suffering would end soon.  She never prayed to God anymore but rather just sent out her words into the universe, hoping someone or something would find them.  It was hard for her to believe in a God.  If He existed, how could He have taken away Lisa?  How could He allow Blair to mercilessly beat her on a whim?  Unless she was a terrible person and she was being punished, Starla saw no need for God to decide this was her path in life.

There was momentary silence followed by Blair’s sharp intake of breath.  Then Starla felt the vibrations of the floor boards next to her as Blair slammed her phone over and over against the ground.  When she opened her eyes, slivers of her broken phone were scattered across the floor.  It looked as though there had been a mini car wreck with black and silver debris everywhere.  Her cheeks stung from the repeated slaps and her legs and lower back ached.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry, Blair.  I’m so sorry.”

He was breathing heavily.  Slowly he leaned in and gathered her into his arms.  She winced as his hands grazed her arms, anticipating another slap but not receiving one.  His nose buried into her hair; he took a deep breath.

Voice muffled, he said, “Babe, I love you.  I love you so much that it hurts sometimes.  You can’t do this to me, Starla.  You can never, ever leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t talk to people I’ve told you not to speak with.  You can’t talk to Ben.  You’re mine.  He gave you up.  You’re all mine now.”

“I know.”

They stayed on the floor for a few minutes, although the time dragging by made it feel like hours.  Starla had her head resting on Blair’s shoulder, her cheeks still stinging with her supposed betrayal.  Blair kissed her hair, stroked her arms, her back, any exposed skin that he could find.  It was strange, the way his touches could change from scary and excruciating to soft and loving in just a matter of minutes.  But in Starla’s life, that was always how love had worked.  It was never as wonderful as the romance she saw in the movies, the men that would bend over backwards for the women they loved.  Her love was raw beaten flesh, quiet moans in the middle of the night.

Finally Blair lifted her head up from his shoulder and said gruffly, “Hurry up, now.  You don’t want to be late to work.”

On her way to the diner Starla tried to clear her head from all of the negative thoughts rolling around like marbles.  It was a weekly thing, her consideration about leaving Blair and traveling somewhere far away to start fresh.  She would’ve liked to move to California or Arizona, somewhere hot and far away.  But she knew she wouldn’t leave.  Despite it all, Blair was the best she would ever find.  After all, hadn’t he told her for years that she was stupid and useless?  For all Starla knew, she was the lucky one because Blair had still stuck around.

“Sorry I’m late,” she called into the kitchen, after she had parked the car and sprinted to the door.  “I hit some traffic.”

Katie Winer, one of the other waitresses, walked slowly around the serving station.  Her thin blonde eyebrows were raised.  She stared speculatively at Starla before saying, “Or someone hit you.”

When Starla didn’t answer, Katie sighed and closed her eyes.  Opening them a few moments later, tears rested at the corners, threatening to spill down her cheeks.  “Your face is a little bruised, Star.  And your nose is bleeding.  Not a lot, just a little bit.  You shouldn’t let him do this to you.”

“He loves me,” said Starla softly.  “I know he does.”

“People who love you don’t hurt you like that.  He’s an asshole, that’s what he is.  I should call the police on him and report his ass, with the amount of times you’ve walked into work all bruised or bloody or whatnot.”

“Please don’t!”  Fear flooded Starla’s body.  She couldn’t imagine what Blair would do to her if the police showed up at their house to speak to him.  Of course she would never press charges against him for anything and she could try to explain to him for days that it wasn’t her that had called the cops.  But she doubted he would believe her.

Katie walked forward and pulled Starla into a tight embrace.  “I’m worried about you,” she whispered, “but if you’re that upset about it, I won’t call.  Okay?  Now clean yourself up and get out there.  You’ve got tables.”

2014 - Ben

There’s nothing like the smell of a freshly printed page, the sweet but slightly musty scent of ink drying on paper.  It only grows better with age, too, which is why Ben loved buying used books.  Society was becoming more interested in reading on Kindles and the computer.  To be fair, it was much easier to download books.  Someone could have thousands of books held in an app on their computer, allowing them to read whatever they wanted whenever they wanted.  But in Ben’s opinion, nothing was better than holding a used book in his hands.  He liked to flip through the pages, noting creased corners and pencil scratches, and wonder what the past owners thought of the stories held within.

His favorite book store was located only a few blocks away from Central Park, which meant that it was within the walking distance of his apartment.  Argosy Book Store had six stories full of old, rare, antique books.  Although he could rarely afford to buy some of the special books in their collection, which sometimes ranged up to four thousand dollars, he loved to walk around the store.  That smell, that old book smell, permeated everything.  He could soak in it forever.

That day, though, he went in with a few extra dollars in his pocket.  Earlier in the week he had sold one of his stories for a couple hundred dollars. The plan was to peruse the collections and buy one book for him and one for Mina.  He wandered through the various floors, examining the enormous variety of books available to him.  Every so often he would reach out and run his fingertips along the book spines, shivering as he felt the decades’ worth of history and language course through him.

He ended up choosing an old novel about feminism for Mina; she had always been interested in gender studies and ideas of equality between the sexes.  His own choice was a weathered copy of Jack Dunphy’s memoir
“Dear Genius…”: A Memoir of My Life with Truman Capote.
  His two selections, at the register, cost him a bit over fifty dollars.  But it was worth it.  The pursuit of knowledge and the acquisition of happiness were always worth it.

On the walk home, he imagined Mina’s joy and surprise.  One of his favorite things to do in the world was buy her little gifts.  Money meant little to nothing to Ben, but his heart soared every time he saw those stormy brown eyes light up.  It was cliché, he knew. But he couldn’t help it.

When he arrived back at the apartment, he was met with the greasy, delicious smell of grilled cheese being made on the stove.  Mina stood with a look of determination on her face, consistently stirring a red-filled pot that Ben assumed was tomato soup, and held a mildly oily spatula in her other hand.  She wore only a gray t-shirt with no bra underneath and a pair of his black boxers.  Ben took a deep breath.  His girlfriend looked very sexy as a chef.

“Smells great, babe,” he called towards the kitchen.  He saw Mina start, then turn to him with a smile.  “Can’t wait to eat it.”

He dropped the bag with the two books in it on the couch before walking into the kitchen.  Standing directly behind Mina, he ran his hands from her shoulders down her back before resting them on her voluptuous hips.  “Of course,” he whispered, leaning forward so that his lips just grazed her right ear, “the chef looks just as scrumptious as the food.”

Mina giggled, lightly pressing her body back into Ben’s, but didn’t take her attention off from the food.  “Who says scrumptious anymore?  Nerd.”