The Breakaway (10 page)

“Isn’t Evelyn’s food great?” Jesse asked her one evening as he took her upstairs to the den. “She’s Italian, you know. She lived in Italy with her grandmother. She must have learned all her secrets there.”

“Her cooking is really good,” Naomi answered softly as they approached the pool table.

“You think so? You never eat very much.”

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. Jesse turned to her, waiting. Lately, he always waited for her to answer his questions, an unbending look in his eyes that said he wouldn’t accept silence.

“It’s weird down there with all of you,” she stuttered. It was the only explanation she could think of. “Eric tries to make small talk with me, and you’re all so nice to each other, even to me. It’s weird, that’s all. I mean, who eats dinner together every night like that?”

A soft smile played on his lips. “I get it. Everything inside of you expects us to hurt you, and we’re not doing anything like that.”

She shifted her feet. “Only because I haven’t tried to get away. If I did that, you’d—”

“Eric would kill you.” He stepped closer and took hold of her arm. “You know that. I see it in your eyes, the way you hold your breath around him, the way your face goes white as a sheet. He sees it too. If you give him a chance, I promise you’ll see a different side of him. It took me a long time too.”

She looked away. She already saw the other side of Eric—the nice side—and she wanted it to stick. The mean side made her want to punch something—or run into a corner and hide. She hated the way he made her feel. Jesse was different, more in control. Steady.

He released her arm and walked to the wall where the cue sticks hung, grabbing two and handing her one. “Chalk up and we’ll get started. Maybe one day I’ll let you win.”

She smiled and took the cue stick. In a lot of ways she liked the way he treated her. He didn’t try to hide his emotions or ignore her situation. It didn’t seem to make him as uncomfortable as it made the others. He had an odd sense of humor she connected with, and she didn’t feel like he would seriously hurt her no matter how much he invaded her space. Things were stable so far. Of course, that could end any second depending on her actions, and right now all she could manage was the lame flirting idea. She was such a coward.

She chalked her cue stick as he did the same. “Can I break?” she asked.

“Sure.”

He stepped aside and she acted flustered for a moment before bending over. She hit the cue ball with a soft nudge, barely breaking the rack.

“That won’t do,” Jesse chuckled. “I’ll let you try again if you like.”

She laughed inside too. For weeks she had pretended stupidity when it came to pool. She wanted chances for him to be close to her, and so far teaching her pool was giving her exactly that. The whole idea might seem lame, but at the moment it was the only way out she could see. It was quiet and deliberate and almost felt safe. “I’m sorry,” she said with a frown. “I’ll do better.”

“You just need to hit it harder. You’re not balancing it right, either. Remember what I showed you last time?”

She lowered her eyes. “I guess I forgot.”

“Let me show you again.” He smiled, stepping behind her. His chest touched her shoulder blades as he leaned closer, loosely wrapping his arms around hers. He moved the cue stick into place and balanced it next to her thumb.

“Like this,” he explained near her ear, his breath moving across her skin. Then he folded her forefinger over the smooth grain finish of the cue stick. “Or like this. The key is to feel comfortable.”

He could have pulled away at that point, but he didn’t. She tried to imagine herself wanting him, breathing in the clean, peppery scent of his cologne. It wasn’t a hard thing to imagine. Maybe she really did want him. He was wrapped around her, a pocket of warmth. The soft material of his sleeves pressed against her bare arms as his breath caressed the side of her face. Time stood still for a moment. She leaned a fraction of an inch against those strong muscles. Her breath almost stopped.

“I can show you a few more ways,” he said, clearing his throat. His hands still rested lightly against her fingers on the cue stick.

“No, I think I’ll try again.”

He stepped away. The air grew cold again as she leaned over the table and sent the cue ball into the rack—probably too soundly since she hit the one-ball dead on and with more force than she ever managed with Brad.

She straightened and Jesse grinned as he waited to see if any of the balls fell into a pocket. They didn’t, and he walked to another end of the table. “Good job, but it’s still an open table, so now it’s my turn, okay?”

“I remember that rule, yeah.”

He pocketed three striped balls and then missed an easy shot, either because he was too busy darting his eyes back and forth between her and the table or he wanted to give her another chance. Either way, it made her heart race. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

She flashed her eyes a few times in his direction, missing what should have been an effortless shot. Straightening, she rubbed her arms. Her dreams still swarmed with dragons, and they lingered in her waking hours too, circling over the burning valley like scavengers. Shivering, she watched her body split in half as she hit the rocks.

“Are you cold?”

She trembled when he walked to her and ran his hands up her bare arms covered with goose bumps. Why did his touch have to feel so good?

“I-I guess so.”

“Do you want me to get you something warm to put on? Didn’t Evelyn give you a sweater? Pink?”

She nodded and tried to relax the tension in her body. The dragons in her head flew away. “It’s in my closet,” she said. “On a hanger.”

He tightened his grip, the attraction in his eyes completely obvious. She remembered him in her room, his hand on her face, how he could take whatever he wanted and she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded and watched him leave the room. There was the clatter of Evelyn washing dishes downstairs.

Then she looked up and noticed the balcony.

It was already dark outside, but she could see the yard in the glow of the house lights. She caught sight of tall, sprawling trees meshed with others leaning over from bordering properties. A white vinyl fence surrounded the entire yard. There were lights on inside the surrounding homes.

She looked for stairs leading down from the balcony, but couldn’t see any. The only thing that appeared remotely promising was a nearby tree with thick, twisted branches close to the railing.

Walking to the doors, she reached for the handle.

She was barefoot.

“Naomi?”

She spun around. Jesse stood in the doorway, her pink sweatshirt tucked under his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“N-Nothing.”

His face was stern, but not upset. She expected him to yell at her or at least yank her away from the doors, but he just stood there, disappointment shadowing his eyes. She withered inside at that look.

“Let’s finish our game.” He walked to the pool table and carefully draped her sweatshirt over the edge. The room shrank. He was leaving it up to her what to do. She could turn and try to run or she could put on her sweatshirt and finish the game. The answer seemed obvious. If she ran, he would catch her and Eric would kill her. End of game. Now was not the time to escape. She was back to playing the lame coward card.

Relaxing as much as she could, she walked to the pool table and grabbed her sweatshirt. Jesse folded his arms and smiled. “I think it’s your turn.”

“No, it was yours.” She put her sweatshirt over her head, surprised to see him closer when she pulled it down.

“The hood’s all twisted.” Reaching around her, he pulled the heavy material straight. “There’s something about you,” he whispered, lowering his arms to her waist, squeezing her softly. “So innocent. I love that about you.”

He looked into her eyes, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She thought she might panic, but she was relaxed. He might mean freedom if she saw this through. She would use him to her own advantage if she could keep her courage long enough. Stay focused.

“Are you alright?” he asked, still pressing her to him. She could feel his heartbeat now. She remembered crying on his shoulder weeks ago, how her tears had soaked his shirt. There were no tears now.

“I’m okay,” she said, unable to tear her focus from him.

“Something’s different. Tell me.” The stern look came back into his eyes. His hold on her tightened.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice like a foreign thing in her throat. “Every time you touch me it’s not as ... scary as before.”

His expression relaxed as he released her. Coldness enveloped her and she shivered.

“I’m a nice guy,” he said and chuckled. “Just like Eric— you should give me a chance.” He turned and picked up his cue stick. “Let’s finish.”

THAT NIGHT Naomi buried herself under the covers and thought about the balcony and the trees she might be able to climb to escape. She thought about Jesse’s arms around her and how guilty he had made her feel for looking outside. It didn’t seem fair how he pushed her emotions around like the balls on the pool table. At the same time it was a familiar situation, one she could sink into and forget everything else. She liked that feeling. It was what had made her cling so tightly to Brad, the reason she still ached for him when she was falling asleep. She always cried before sleep took over, but she did it quietly enough that nobody would hear. She didn’t want them to think she was too unhappy in case it might upset Eric and put him on edge.

Burying her face in her pillow, she let the tears come. Pathetic. Weak. It was what she was and she couldn’t back away from it no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes drooped, but just as she started to drift away, the locks on the door turned. Great. Evelyn was coming to look at her again.

She tried to relax, sinking as far under the covers as she could. Why did they have to do this? It was creepy. Evelyn saw her all the time now, so it didn’t make sense that she would sneak in at night anymore. This time something was off. The footsteps were different. Then she smelled him, that familiar, spicy scent of his cologne. Jesse.

She froze.

What was he doing here? For a moment she thought about sitting up to ask him, but before she could decide what to do, she felt his hand brush her wet cheek. She looked up and his eyes fastened on hers.

“Are you alright?”

Realizing she must have made more noise than she thought, she blushed and backed away. She didn’t know what to say. More tears came and she couldn’t stop them. She curled into a ball and turned on her side so her back was to him. She didn’t want him to see her like this. He had already seen her cry too much.

“Please go away,” she mumbled.

“No, I won’t do that.”

Before she could stop him, she felt his weight on the bed beside her. He stayed on top of the covers and wrapped an arm around her, pressing his chest to her back.

The world stood still. Her heart made a whooshing sound in her head as she waited for him to do something else—touch her wrong, put his lips to her neck, anything. He didn’t. Minutes ticked by. She relaxed as his warmth seeped through the blankets and slid around her. Her tears stopped.

“I’ll stay until you’re asleep,” he whispered, keeping his breath away from her skin, his arm around her only tense enough to make her feel secure. “Then I’ll leave. You don’t have to worry about anything. I just want to be here for you.”

Against a million warning bells going off in her head, she believed him.

X

May

NAOMI PULLED THE CURVED MASCARA wand through her eyelashes. She hated her eyelashes. They were thin and brittle, light brown and practically invisible. She had worn makeup since she was thirteen. Her last nanny, Patricia, had helped pick out her first makeup during a trip to the mall. She drove Naomi to the department store, showed her the most expensive name-brand makeup in the display, and sat her down on a tall stool where excited women in pressed white shirts and five-inch heels showed her how to apply the makeup to make herself look older.

It was all very glamorous and very stupid. She was excited to try to attract boys like the rest of the girls in school, but even with the makeup nobody looked twice at her. She was too shy and timid and soon gave up until Brad started talking to her in history class the day she turned fourteen.

Now she was eighteen. Today, the first day she had worn makeup in three months, was her birthday. She knew only because Evelyn had told her the makeup was a gift for turning eighteen today. She didn’t ask how they knew it was her birthday. It didn’t feel like her birthday. It didn’t feel like anything. She looked down at the beautiful case full of eye shadow, blush, and lip gloss. It was new. Everything they gave her was new.

A knock on the bathroom door made her jump.

“You in there, sweetheart?” Evelyn asked.

Nobody had ever called her sweetheart before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or hated it. There wasn’t anything to hate about Evelyn, except that she was a freaking kidnapper. Still, she had never directly done anything to hurt Naomi. None of them had lately.

“Yes, I’m in here,” she said and cleared her throat. “I’m putting on the makeup you gave me.”