Текст книги "Rock Bottom"
Автор книги: R. K. Lilley
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DANIKA
It was over a month later when I began to feel a familiar nausea that I associated with only one thing, as I’d only experienced it when I was in a condition I’d only been in one other time.
I couldn’t quite believe it when I first had the thought.
But why not? That last brutal, heartbreaking, soul-crushing time we’d had together had held such weight, contained such substance, that it should have been no wonder that it’d had such life-changing results.
I was pregnant. Again.
I was terrified, but excited, no, exalted, and it changed everything between one instant and the next. Having that life growing inside of me made what had seemed so insurmountable before seem like a possibility again. The divorce was suddenly unnecessary, this unbearable, permanent separation from Tristan had an abrupt, merciful end.
With one little plus sign, I went from believing that our breakup was the only way for me to survive intact, to realizing, with gasping, desperate relief, that I didn’t have to torture myself anymore.
I’d cut off all contact with Tristan with determined resolve, and I had managed to maintain that resolve, thus far. It hadn’t been easy. As though our hearts had been severed from each other, I felt an aching, twitchy pain, and I’d gotten through each day without caving through sheer force of will. But now I didn’t have to suffer anymore.
I felt like I’d been let out on parole.
My heart felt free again.
I’d tell him about the baby, and we’d find a way to work things out.
I told myself that the news would help to get him clean. It hadn’t before, but this was different. We had even more to lose this time. There was no more room for mistakes. I had to make him see that.
I didn’t call him, but I did call Kenny to find out where he was. I lucked out; Tristan was in town for the weekend.
I went through my day, floating on a cloud.
Everything would be okay now. I was just sure of it.
It was a Friday.
I remember everything from that day, down to the weather. It was a beautiful day in early spring, with the sun shining, and the lightest breeze played through my hair as I walked to my classes, an unassailable smile on my face.
I got ready with special care that evening. I only realized as I was putting on mascara and crimson lipstick that this was the first time I’d worn makeup in well over a month, the first time I’d even looked directly into a mirror. I’d been a zombie before I’d known about the baby.
It felt amazing to suddenly be alive again. Wonderful.
I could recall everything I wore that night, every detail, from my tight little button up black shirt dress that bared a lot of cleavage, since it was one of Tristan’s favorites (he always said it had spectacular access), down to my favorite red heels, that I knew he loved even more than I did.
I curled my hair, wearing it loose down my back. I painted my nails candy apple red to match my shoes, and my lipstick. I was going for the wow factor. I knew it couldn’t hurt to knock the breath out of him at first glance. I’d take any little advantage I could get.
I put on my wedding band and my engagement ring. He’d refused to take them back, and I’d never gotten rid of them. I never would.
As I drove to go see him, my hands trembled on the steering wheel. In excitement, in trepidation. I wasn’t naive enough to think this would be a smooth meeting. Still, I felt confident that somehow, eventually, we could sort this out. We had so much at stake now.
I didn’t linger on the morbid, like how happy Leticia would have been, if she had just held on a little longer. I could only focus on this child, and on getting our family back together, to give him or her a good life.
I planned to give this baby’s parents a chance at happiness again, to give its mother a chance at a joyful existence.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Tristan needed rehab, it was clear. Rehab and grief counseling. He was an addict, and he’d suffered too much loss in too short a time to recover without help. I knew it. If he could have stopped on his own, he wouldn’t have fallen this far.
I told myself that the baby would be enough to convince him. He wanted to be a father. A good one. A present one. There was no doubt about that in my mind. This baby was going to change things.
With the discovery of my pregnancy, all of the dark, scary corners of my life had been lit up again. Where before there was despair, now there was hope, and this news would give Tristan the hope he needed, too. For the first time in a month, I felt my heart bursting with optimism.
Everything was going to be okay now.
I approached that apartment with a light heart.
I knocked on the door. I’d given my key back when I’d sent the divorce papers.
Dean answered. I wasn’t happy to see him, but he sure seemed happy to see me, which had never been a good thing in my experience.
“Danika! What amazing timing! We were just having a little get together. Please, come in. You can find Tristan in the kitchen. He lost his shirt and his vodka, so he’s very, very grumpy.”
I rolled my eyes. Well, that explained his good mood. He thought I was going to blow up when I saw Tristan, and I was sure that would have made his day.
The house was crowded with people, men and women that I’d never seen before. Not one of them. I saw by the things being passed around that anything went in this apartment now. All of the house rules had been thrown out the window. It didn’t matter, I told myself. What mattered was the future and salvaging what we could.
I had to put on a neutral face when I saw him. Things were even worse than I’d imagined, and I’d imagined a lot.
He was shirtless and barefoot in the kitchen, jeans slung low on his hips, holding an empty bottle of vodka and bellowing something about finding out who’d drunk it all and not replaced it. He looked like he’d lost thirty pounds since I’d seen him last. The bones in his face had become alarmingly prominent. He’d had the healthy look of someone that bulked up at the gym before, but it was when he was thin like this that you saw that he was a big man, no matter what. It wasn’t just his height, though he was very tall, but his very bones were what made up the large frame that set him apart.
His eyes were scary, and they widened as he recognized me. He slammed the empty vodka bottle on the counter, the clanking sound it made loud enough to make me jump.
I wanted to cry, he looked so bad. Could he come back from this? Could either of us? I told myself firmly that it wasn’t a question anymore. We had to.
He pointed at me, his jaw clenching. His expression only made his ghastly weight loss more starkly apparent. “You,” he mouthed, like he didn’t believe I was really there, as though I was haunting him.
“Me,” I said softly, my heart aching for him.
He’d hit rock bottom.
He moved towards me, his fists clenched, his expression thunderous.
“I need to talk to you,” I began quietly.
He shook his head over and over as he crowded me against the edge of the counter, gripping my shoulders roughly.
Whereas before his size had always been fascinating, and a turn-on for me, suddenly he was menacing. I’d never experienced this side of him before.
His hands were more brutal than they’d ever been on me, his eyes cold and glazed over. His voice, when he spoke, was mean and rough, “Who are you all dressed up for? You moved on from me already?”
His big fingers were wiping at my lips, bruising them as he rubbed hard at my lipstick, wiping it off. “Who was this for, huh? I know it wasn’t for me. Tell me his name, so I can fucking kill him.”
“Tristan, stop. What are you doing? We need to talk.”
“Talk? You fucking divorced me, and now you want to talk?” His hands moved up into my hair, gripping hard enough to make my eyes water.
“Yes. Please calm down. I have something important to tell you. We need to go somewhere private. I don’t want to do this here.”
His hands went to my hips, and he heaved me onto the edge of the counter. I could tell that he was impaired at that moment, but he still showed no actual strain when he handled my weight. It was nothing for him.
He pried apart my legs, moving his hips between, his eyes on his hands as he inched my skirt up, pushing it high.
I used both hands to try to keep myself as covered as I could, but he just batted them away, exposing my panties to anyone that cared to look. He didn’t seem to realize that we weren’t alone, his apartment full of strangers.
“Stop,” I pled softly. “Please, stop.”
“What, you’re not ready?” As he spoke, his hands moved to the top button of my dress, situated right at my cleavage. He pulled at it roughly, popping off two buttons with a few swift tugs. “Who was all of this for? Tell me.”
“You’re out of control, and you need to stop.” I tried to make my voice firm, but it came out trembling and scared.
Tristan didn’t seem to notice, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at my body. “It’s been so long, and you come to me like this. Such easy access, so ready to take. You obviously wanted someone tonight. Don’t I do it for you anymore?”
He fondled me, grasping hard at my soft flesh. I’d be bruised in the morning, but he wasn’t done.
He kissed me savagely, thrusting his tongue down my throat. I nearly gagged, the taste of alcohol was so strong on his breath. He pawed at me and plundered my mouth, none of his normal finesse present. It was as though he’d totally forgotten his own strength.
Tristan was gone tonight. Before me was a stranger.
I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I couldn’t continue to let him touch me, not like this.
He popped another button off my dress, and then another. I’d felt daring when I’d put it on, and hadn’t worn a bra. What a mistake that had been. I’d be topless before long.
He bent down, sucking from my neck down to my chest, biting a sensitive nipple hard enough to make me whimper.
“Like that, do you?” he mumbled against my skin.
I tried to push him off, but of course it was no use. He could handle grown men like rag dolls, and I was certainly no match. I’d taken for granted how much he kept that brutal strength in check for me with every touch, but he wasn’t keeping it in check now. I moaned in pain as he again grabbed me too hard.
One of his stranger hands snaked down my body, and I scrabbled to keep it away from his goal, but it was in vain.
He pushed one huge finger inside of me, and I cried out in dismay.
I was noticeably dry, and so it hurt, but the dryness had one small saving grace; it seemed to take him out of his strange spell.
He reared back, staring at me. “What, you don’t want this?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No, no, no,” I whispered in a chant.
“Then what the fuck did you come here for?” he roared, backing away from me.
“To talk.”
“So you’re telling me no?”
“At the moment I am. I can’t handle you like this.”
“Oh, you can’t? You think you’re the only piece of ass around here?” He lurched away.
I quickly stood and tried to right my clothes. Tristan had disappeared around the corner, and I wasn’t at all sad about it. I needed to get away from him and fast, and stay away until he was himself again.
He came back while I was still standing propped against the counter, holding the front of my dress together and wondering what on earth I was going to do. I couldn’t stand the thought of just leaving with nothing settled, and I felt too shaken to walk across the room, let alone drive home.
He was holding the picture of the two of us on our wedding day, the one that hung above his bed
He thrust it at me.
I took it, using it to cover my top half.
“Take it. I don’t want to look at it anymore. It obviously didn’t mean a damn thing to you, anyway.” He stumbled away.
Dean startled a yelp out of me when he spoke to me closely from behind. “Come here, Danika, come have a seat on the couch. I cleared a spot for you.” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, which I didn’t trust, but I followed him into the living room. I did need to sit down.
I sat down on the vacated couch, clutching our wedding photo in front of me, and staring off into space. I was shaking, head to toe.
Dean crouched down in front of me, his brow furrowed, as though he was concerned. Who was this man? Another stranger. “Let me get you some juice. I think it will help. You look like you’re in shock. You could use a little sugar, I think.”
I nodded, feeling too numb to even try to figure out why he was acting this way. His words were noticeably slurred, so I knew he was drunk, but I’d seen him drunk plenty of times, and he’d never been this nice.
He left just as Tristan came into the room, two groupies in tow. I knew that they were groupies by the trashy way they were dressed, and the vacant look in both of their eyes.
I shook my head slowly, just wanting the night to end.
“Look how easy I replaced you!” he shouted. He was so drunk that he was swaying in place. He threw an arm around each woman. “Twice!”
I blinked back tears. “What is wrong with you?” I asked him, my voice trembling.
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?! Did you forget? You divorced me.”
Dean came back into the room, not saying a word, just setting a glass of orange juice down in front of me on the coffee table. He shot me one swift, drunkenly sympathetic smile before he disappeared away again.
I would remember the round shape of the glass, the exact shade of orange that juice was. I’d remember that that glass was full nearly to the brim.
“Oh, is that who you want?” Tristan shouted, his malevolent gaze swinging to Dean’s retreating back. “Wouldn’t that be fucking precious, you and douchebag Dean.”
I took a long drink from that memorable glass of orange juice, feeling almost too weak to lift it to my mouth. It tasted bad, a touch bitter, but I attributed that to the bad taste already in my mouth.
He lifted his arms, and shooed the groupies towards the hallway. “Go wait in my room, replacements. I’ll be right there.”
They went, and I took another long drink. It was hard to even look at him just then, but I did it.
Our drama, or Dean, had cleared this room completely. It was the closest I thought we’d get to being alone.
I looked up at him and whispered quietly, “I’m pregnant.”
He blinked, just blinked, and didn’t say a word, just staring at me. I had no idea if he heard me.
“How could you do that, Danika? How could you just send Jerry here with those divorce papers without even giving me a chance to talk to you?”
“I sent Jerry with those papers and a letter. I told you I’d meet with you, if you wanted to try to work things out. Didn’t you read the letter? All you had to do was go to rehab, Tristan, but instead you just signed those papers. We both made this mess. You can’t put it all on me.”
He threw his arms in the air, the muscles in his chest and stomach working with the motion. That had set him off. “A letter? Bullshit! There was no fucking letter!”
I shook my head, again and again. Was he just so out of it that he didn’t remember?
“There was,” I whispered, feeling woozy suddenly. I shook my head, but that just made the feeling worse.
Carefully, I set the orange juice down.
I would remember that it was half-full exactly as I studied it. I didn’t touch it again.
Something was wrong with me.
“Tristan, I don’t feel well. I don’t think I’m okay to drive. I need to lie down.”
“Dean, will you fucking take her home?” he shouted. He pointed at me, his mouth shaped into a snarl. “You divorced me. Did you forget?” he said, yet again. “You got yourself stranded? Not my problem.”
I just kept shaking my head.
Tristan turned to the wall, punched it three times, leaving a gaping hole, then stumbled from the room.
Tears seeped slowly from my eyes as I lay back against couch and let my lids drift slowly closed. I just couldn’t keep them open for another second.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DANIKA
I started slightly as I felt a hand on my arm.
“Come on, Danika. I’ll take you home.”
It was Dean’s voice, and I opened my eyes, but I didn’t quite process what he said.
He helped me sit up, and then stand, and then I was leaning on him as he led me out of the apartment. I blinked, trying to clear the strange cloud that had come over my mind.
“What’s going on?” I mumbled, struggling not to let my eyes close again.
“I’m just giving you a ride. Shh, now, you’ll be home in no time, and you can talk to Tristan in the morning, or whenever he sobers up. He’s a maniac tonight.”
He supported most of my weight as we made our way very slowly, very carefully, down the steps.
“Why are you being so nice tonight?” I asked him, letting my eyes fall closed after he’d helped me, very gently, into the passenger seat of his car.
He didn’t answer, in fact he barely looked at me again as he set my large wedding picture into my lap and shut the door. I hadn’t even realized that he was carrying it.
I hugged it to my chest and closed my eyes.
The car began to drive, and I struggled to stay awake, as I felt a cold touch on my leg. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but I knew that it was wrong.
With effort, I opened my eyes.
Dean’s cold hand was on my thigh.
“What are you doing?” I whispered hoarsely, trying to shift away.
His hand lifted, going back to the steering wheel. “Shh, go back to sleep. You’re fine. I’ll have you home in no time.” His tone was still soothing.
It was only then that I realized this nice version of Dean was far scarier than the unfiltered prick I was used to, but I was just so drowsy, and my eyes drifted closed again.
I had a thought that made me fight to stay awake, and I opened my eyes again. “You shouldn’t be driving,” I pointed out. “You’re drunk.”
He laughed. “And high as a kite. We’ve been chasing speedballs with shots of vodka, in honor of our dearly departed Jared. But don’t you worry about it. I drive better drunk, so you’re in good hands. Now go back to sleep.”
I wanted to argue with him, because of course everything he said was asinine, but the effort it took to open my mouth and speak was just too much for me, and I couldn’t get the words out.
His icy fingers moved to grip my leg again, this time higher, and I protested as loudly as I could. He shoved his hand higher, briefly fingering the edge of my panties, before he pulled away again.
“I know well what’s under there. You don’t even want to imagine how many times I’ve seen you and Tristan together. I love your tight little body. You’re just my favorite kind of girl. I like them tiny and curvy, with snug little pussies. I won’t be the fit you’re used to. Tristan is a beast. So don’t worry, you’ll probably barely notice a thing in the morning. And I heard you say you’re pregnant, so you don’t have to worry about that either.
“You’re sick,” I told him. “I wouldn’t let you touch me if you were the last man on the planet.” I was happy that I’d gotten such a long sentence out. I was so lethargic, that little spark had felt like an accomplishment.
He gripped my thigh again. I glared at his sideways smile.
“I really wish you’d finished the glass. I like you better when you’re not talking.”
“What are you thinking? Tristan is going to kill you, literally kill you, for this.”
“Maybe if he knew. Are you gonna tell him? You realize he’ll be disgusted if he finds out. He may kill me, but he’ll also never touch you again.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care. I’ll tell him so he’ll kill you. I’ll tell everyone. You won’t get away with this.”
“That’s if you remember. I have a feeling that your memory is going to be a bit fuzzy tomorrow, but feel free to speak up tomorrow, if I’m wrong.” As he spoke, he inched his hand higher, and higher, rubbing and kneading at the skin of my inner thigh.
I kept telling him to stop, but he didn’t listen, shoving his fingers inside my panties, touching where he had no right.
I hadn’t remembered the frame of my photo being so heavy, but it was now, so heavy that I could only manage to pitch it forward, so that it covered my lap, the top edge digging into my abdomen, but at least it blocked my thighs from his roving hand.
He didn’t seem to mind, his hand then going to the open neckline of my dress, and roaming freely over my chest.
“Stop touching me,” I told him, sounding more drowsy than angry, even though inside I was so angry that I was surprised that my rage alone wasn’t enough to give me some strength.
“Hmm, I don’t think I will. How about you go back to sleep? As I said, I like you so much better quiet.”
“I hate you,” I whispered, raising one hand up to try in vain to cover my chest. There was too much skin exposed, and his hand was so much stronger than my own.
“What are you planning to do?” I said in as loud of a voice as I could manage. “And why? Why would you do this?”
He laughed, and it was the usual Dean again. The nice act was long gone.
“You really want me to tell you? Okay, if you insist. It’s not like you’ll remember any of it. I’ll talk dirty to you, if that’s what does it for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, Danika, fuck you. Here’s what I have planned for you. We’re going to take a nice long drive out into the desert, about an hour out from the city. No matter how hard you fight it, you’ll be out by then, dead to the world.”
He twisted my left nipple hard, and just kept twisting, no matter how I batted at his hand. “You’ll be so out of it that I can do whatever I want to you, however I want it, and you won’t have any recollection of it come morning. And make no mistake, I have plans for you.”
I could hear the sick smile in his voice as he continued. “First, I’ll strip you naked. You won’t even get to keep your shoes on. All of that will stay in here. Then, I’ll drag you out of the car, push you facedown, ass up onto the hood. I’ll spread you wide and fuck your pussy first, because you know I’m dying to know how that feels. I’ll pull out before I come, because I want to feel your ass too. I’ll fuck that next. I won’t use lube. I don’t mind tearing you up. You won’t feel a thing, but I like that your body will remember me tomorrow.”
“Fucking sicko,” I bit out, my body starting to shake. I thought that might be a good sign. Perhaps the effects of the drug were starting to wear off.
“Whatever. I’ll come in your ass, or maybe on your lower back. I don’t like to plan it out, so that’ll be a surprise. I’ll be sure to leave the mess on you, wherever it is, so you’ll have to clean it up yourself later. You’ll be so confused. Maybe you’ll think it’s from Tristan. Who knows, but one way or another, you’ll have to handle the mess. After I’m done with that, I’ll lay you out on the ground in front of the car, so the headlights shine on you nice and bright.”
He took his hand off me, finally, as he stopped at a red light. I had no idea where we were, but at least we weren’t in the desert yet.
“I’ll look at you, every inch of you. I’ll open your legs and look my fill. I’ll study your body hard, so that, anytime I want, I can close my eyes and remember. That will take some time, but when that’s done, I’ll shove my dick down your throat. I’ll shove it as deep as I can, but I won’t get off like that. You’ll be too out of it to suck me proper, but I want to shove my dirty dick in there either way. After that, who knows? Maybe I’ll titty fuck you, maybe I’ll fuck your pussy again. I’ll see what gets me most excited. One thing is for sure, I’ll have you at my mercy for hours, and you can’t undo the things I’ll put your body through. I’ll shove my dirty dick in every orifice, and you won’t say no.”
“When I’m done, I’ll put you back in your clothes and drop you off somewhere. Maybe the apartment, or maybe I’ll sneak you back into your very own bed. Does it matter? You’re going to wake up tomorrow feeling dirtier than you ever have before, and you won’t remember why, but you’ll be too disgusting for Tristan to ever lay a finger on again, because he was in love with you, and you let his best friend use you like a dog.”
“You aren’t his best friend,” I found the voice to say. “He can’t even stand you anymore.”
That set him off, and he was practically foaming at the mouth as he whirled on me. “Fuck you! That’s your fault!”
I was watching his face when it happened. One second I was at his mercy, and the next, I was at the mercy of fate, as another vehicle crashed into his side of the car.
I remembered spinning and spinning, and when the spinning was over, the pain.
Later I would learn that we’d spun out until my side of the car made solid contact with a telephone pole, caving in my side, though Dean’s half of the car got it far worse.
I was still staring at him, at his crushed, bloody body, his blank, empty eyes, when my side hit.
No one ever had to tell me. I saw Dean die.
I never so much as asked about him after that.
I remember that my head smashed onto the dashboard. I remember the windshield breaking, bits of glass embedding itself into the skin of my face, chest, and arms, but that was but a taste as it was followed almost instantly by a burning pain in my stomach that I’d never forget, as the frame in my hands broke into pieces and stabbed into several vital parts of my belly.
I don’t know to this day if I screamed out loud, but deep down in my soul, in the place inside of me that was bursting to be a mother, that pined for it, that lived and breathed for the day that I could give birth to my own child, my own flesh and blood, that part of me screamed, “Nooooo!”
It was quite possible that, somewhere deep down, I never stopped screaming it.
That pain was profound and unforgettable, but the agony of my leg being crushed was what finally, blessedly, made me black out.
When I woke again in the hospital, recovering from multiple surgeries, I didn’t have to ask.
I knew.
I’d lost everything in that car.
Only, even I didn’t know what all that loss entailed.
