The Tornado Page 10

  "Ruby!" I rebuked, putting my hands on my hips. "Not helpful."

  "Okay, okay," Ruby said laughing. "He's always been in gym clothes every time I've seen him, right? He'll probably just wear something like that to your place, so just wear like yoga pants and a cute loose top or something. Just be casual. It really doesn't matter what you wear, okay? Now, chill, son."

  I sighed and pressed my fingertips into my temples. "What about the food?" I asked. "Do you think what I made is okay?"

  "It's perfect," Ruby said reassuringly, shooing me toward the door. "Stop freaking out."

  "I need, like, a tranquilizer," I said. "Or like a Quaalude."

  "A Quaalude?" Ruby repeated, stopping in her tracks. "Do you even know what that is?"

  "Obviously I'm not being serious," I replied with a frown. "But I can't relax and I really don't want to take my meds."

  "Really?" Ruby said, momentarily distracted. "Good for you." She waved a hand in front of me. "What you need is a good, stiff shot of whiskey and you'll be fine."

  "Right, I'll get drunk," I said sarcastically. "Perfect mindset to entertain."

  Ruby laughed, grabbing the deposit bag from my hand and shoved me out the door, locking the café behind. "Just go. Go get ready, go relax, and have a good time. And I want a full report in the morning, thanks."

  I waved and trudged off toward my apartment. It was only a three-block walk, and I'd have over an hour to get ready. I hurried up the stairs into my apartment and headed straight to my bedroom. I pulled out a pair of black yoga pants that had a leopard print, fold-down waist, and my favorite old NYU sweatshirt. It was dark gray with red lettering, and I'd cut the neckline out to hang off my shoulder. I pulled my bobby pins out of my hair and let my hair fall free.

  I went into the kitchen and pulled down plates from the cabinet and set them out neatly on the counter. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Asher would be here in fifteen minutes. A man would be here, in my apartment, alone with me, in just fifteen minutes. Anxiety spiked through me and I clutched the edge of the counter. My stomach twisted itself into knots.

  "Get a grip," I mumbled. I squeezed my eyes shut as panic threatened to consume me. I opened my eyes and spotted my prescription bottle a few feet away and moved down the counter toward them. I reached out to grab them, then stopped myself and pulled my hand back. I was becoming too reliant on the medication. My therapist in New York had given me a number of ways to calm myself down. Somewhere over the last year, I'd skipped the techniques and gone straight for the meds. I realized I didn't want to be dependent on them to ‘save’ me anymore.

  I thought back to what she’d taught me and shut my eyes again and took some deep breaths. I held my breath at the peak of my inhale for a few seconds and blew the breath slowly out between my lips. At the same time, I began to count backward from ten. I repeated the process two more times, and when I finally opened my eyes, I found that for the moment, I did feel a little bit more less crazy.

  Then the buzzer next to my door went off. Someone was at the main entrance to see me. My stomach tightened again as my heart rate picked up speed and panic climbed back up into my chest.

  "Fuck," I murmured, then went to the small box in the wall next to the door. I pressed the button. "Who is it?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. I knew who it was.

  "It's Asher," came the reply, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  "Okay," I called back, then realized I hadn't pressed the button. I growled in annoyance but then realized I’d already pushed my finger against it—meaning, he had heard me growl.

  Great. Real smooth.

  "Okay," I repeated uneasily, and hit the button to unlock the main entrance. I heard the electronic lock give and knew that he'd be upstairs in moments.

  Frantically, I tried my techniques again, but all I succeeded in doing was making myself lightheaded, as I couldn't control the speed at which I was breathing. I heard a light knock on my door and chewed my lip.

  "Get it together," I whispered, then reached for the knob with a shaky hand. I let it rest on the doorknob for a moment, steadying myself, then opened the door slowly, practically cowering behind it. My stomach dropped when I saw him. He looked good enough to eat. A sliver of dread opened up in my core then as my thighs felt like jelly.

  He looked stunning in his well-fitted jeans and a long-sleeved sky-blue shirt that made his eyes pop and glimmer. He wore shiny black boots and I could smell his spicy clean cologne from the hallway. I felt like a slob next to him.

  He peered at me, his lips curling. "Hi," he said.

  I shook myself, realizing I'd been staring like an idiot. "Hi," I replied, feeling shy and horribly inadequate. I stepped back, still mostly behind the door, to let him in. I shut the door behind him and leaned my forehead against it for a moment before triple-locking it automatically. I turned slowly to face him.

  He stood in the middle of my living room with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around.

  "You got a nice place," he said finally, before looking at the framed photographs of my family. "Are they all your family?"

  "Yep, all of them," I replied, wrapping my arms around myself. "You'll be meeting them soon enough," I added wryly.

  He glanced at me over his shoulder and half-smiled. "So which one’s in love with me?" he asked jokingly.

  "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," I said, shaking my head and pulling a laugh out of him too.

  I realized then we were both still standing and I gestured to my cream-colored couch. "Have a seat," I offered and stepped around it to join him. He settled into a corner and I made sure to sit a few feet away, hugging a cushion.

  "You look nice," I commented. "I thought you'd be in your regular gym clothes. I feel like a total slob."

  "Was thinking the same thing," he replied playfully. “Honestly, you don't need to change. You’re the best looking slob I’ve ever seen."

  Before he had a chance to notice my blush, my grey cat sauntered into the room then, pausing in his journey to his water bowl in the kitchen to look at our guest curiously.

  "I didn't know you had any pets," Asher said. He flicked his head at the cat. "What's his name? Her name?"

  "His name is Rocky," I replied, then lowered my hand to invite Rocky to come closer. Rocky immediately moved toward me to rub his face against my hand and silently beg for behind-the-ear scratches, purring loudly.

  "Rocky, huh?" Asher said. "As in—Balboa?"

  I laughed. "No. Although, he thinks he's tough when he's squaring off against the alley cats…through the window, that is." I ran my hand along Rocky's back as it arched and scratched the area where tail met rump. Rocky's purrs grew louder. "I named him Rocky because of those dark gray rings circling his tail. It reminded me of a raccoon tail."

  Rocky jumped agilely onto the couch, stepping over my lap as he made a beeline toward Asher. Asher didn't move but his eyes followed my cat's movements as Rocky got closer. Finally, Asher extended a hand slowly and Rocky sniffed at it delicately. Apparently approving of Asher's scent, Rocky leaned his head against his hand and rubbed.

  "Is that okay?" I asked. "Are you okay with cats, or you allergic or anything?"

  Asher shook his head, his eyes still on Rocky. "Not allergic. Just never been into cats, but he seems cool enough." Rocky crept closer, swiping his cheeks against Asher's forearm before gently butting his head into Asher's bicep.

  "Aw," I crooned gently. "He likes you."

  Asher glanced at me, then back down at my loudly purring cat. "Why’d you say that?"

  "He bunted you," I said, then smiled at Asher's confused expression. "Bunting is where cats knock their heads against you lightly. It's a form of affection for a human. He bunts me all the time. Usually against my chest." I shook my head slightly and laughed.

  "Huh," Asher said absently, looking back down at my cat. "Can't say I blame him."

  My head snapped up but Asher never looked at me. Finally, he lifted his hand and scratch
ed Rocky behind the ears as I had done. Rocky's eyes closed to slits as he leaned euphorically into Asher's scratch. My eyes flickered between my pet and Asher, and I bit back a grin when a half-smile finally crossed Asher's face.

  "I guess you're all right, buddy," he murmured to Rocky, moving his fingers to scratch below his chin. After a few moments of Asher's ministering, Rocky abruptly decided he'd had enough and moved back toward me. Crawling into my lap and raising himself up on his hind legs, he pressed his front paws hard into my chest as he leaned into my face.

  "What's that about?" Asher asked, chuckling lightly at the sight as I tried to push Rocky down, who was refusing to budge.

  "He's hungry, that's all," I sighed. "It's his dinnertime." Suddenly I remembered the purpose of Asher's visit and glanced over Rocky's head at him. "Are you hungry?"

  "Sure," Asher said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

  "Okay. I made grilled chicken salads with feta and grilled flatbread. Is that okay? I tried to make something healthy since I know you're training."

  Asher bobbed his head agreeably. "Sounds good. Thanks.”

  Dinner went down better than I had planned. The conversation flowed and we laughed mostly, like we usually did. We were now sat back on the couch, eating yogurt and fruit parfaits for dessert.

  Asher seemed totally at ease around me, completely in contrast to how flustered I felt internally. I felt nowhere near the anxiety I'd felt before, but the more I studied him, the more flustered I grew. I had always known he was a good-looking guy, but I felt a jolt each time I looked at him now. His lips were tantalizingly full, especially for a man, and his face was lightly covered in a scruffy five o'clock shadow. I found myself mesmerized by it, wondering what it would feel like under my fingertips.

  As though he could feel the heat of my stare, his eyes suddenly slowly rose from his dessert to me. I quickly averted my eyes and focused on spooning up the cool yogurt, feeling my face heat up.

  I heard his spoon tinkle against the glass of the dish, and I glanced up, seeing he was finished. I rose quickly just as he did, reaching out for it.

  "I can take—" I began, and the words died in my throat when he stepped close to me and reached out, gently taking my dish from my hand. When his fingers lightly brushed mine, I was painfully aware of how big he was, compared to me. I felt electricity course through my tingling body, but at the same time, my stomach clenched.

  "I got it," he said softly, looking down at me. His heartbreakingly intense eyes came alive, just like mine did whenever I saw him. And they were taking me in. All of me in. I felt drowsy, mesmerized by the endless blue. I swallowed hard when I realized I was practically against him—

  But then Rocky saved the day.

  He jumped onto the coffee table, staring at us both, and proceeded to casually knock my water off the table with a swipe of his paw. The bottle toppled over, spurting water out onto the carpet as Rocky licked his paw and rubbed it over his ear, unfazed.

  I jerked upright, Asher slowly following my action. "Rocky!" I yelled, swatting out at my naughty cat who easily dodged my hand. He leapt gracefully off the table and took off toward my bedroom. "You little brat!"

  Asher chuckled and picked up the bottle as I raced into the kitchen for a dish towel. I hurried back out and dropped to my knees, soaking excess moisture up off my carpet.

  "That was his way of saying 'Fuck you, pay attention to me,'" I explained, mopping up the water. "He can be an attention-whore sometimes."

  "That was actually awesome," Asher grinned. He held up a hand at the glare I shot him. "Except for the spill. That was a bad kitty."

  I burst out laughing. "Hearing the word 'kitty' come out of your mouth just doesn't seem right—"

  Suddenly I felt his hand drop onto my forearm to stop me and I froze, looking at him. He was staring at my leg, his brow furrowed.

  "What's that?" he asked quietly.

  I glanced down and horror filled me. The hem of my pant leg had flipped up when I'd kneeled down, revealing the inside of my ankle…and a dozen raw, red, deliberate slices in my skin.

  Chapter Twelve

  Him

  I WATCHED HER with a calmness I didn't feel as she yanked the hem of her pant leg down. But it was too late; I'd seen the wounds. The clearly self-inflicted wounds.

  It hurt my heart. Jewel was so beautiful, so smart, so talented, that it made me ache a little to know whatever demons she was battling, forced her to take it out on herself.

  I studied her face, watching as her cheeks reddened and her eyes filled with shame and tears. "Jewel," I said in a quiet tone. "Talk to me, please. Why are you doing that to yourself?"

  She opened her mouth to reply, but whatever words she wanted to speak died on her tongue. She pressed a hand to her forehead as she struggled to stop the tears slipping down her face. I didn't press her. Just folded my arms over my chest, waiting patiently.

  "It's all right," I added gently after a moment. "Talk to me."

  Jewel drew in a shuddery breath and swiped a hand over her cheeks. I had a rough idea of what she was going to tell me, piecing together things she'd told me over the weeks, combined with her mannerisms. Although I was pretty sure what the punch line of her story was going to be, I sincerely hoped she wouldn't say it. That it wouldn't be confirmed for real.

  She seemed to be struggling for words again, so I cleared my throat and leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees. Maybe it would be easier for her if I wasn't staring at her.

  "You told me something bad happened to you in New York," I said, my eyes downcast. "Something bad enough to make you leave. What happened?" I lifted my eyes momentarily to her and she was still staring down at her lap.

  There was an extended pause, the apartment so silent and still, I could hear the cat scratching against something in her bedroom. I had all but given up on getting an answer when she finally spoke.

  "It… happened to me last year," she murmured, her voice shaky. "I-I was the lead in this little ballet being shown twice a week…This was when I lived in Harlem..." She shrugged. "I had to leave Brooklyn and try to do my own thing for a while. I had friends in Harlem. I liked it there...One night I was coming home on the bus from Queens and there was a man on the bus. I got off at my stop in Harlem. I started getting nervous because I thought he was following me…he did follow me to my apartment building."

  My stomach clenched, my fist tightened, and I continued to glare at the floor as I gritted my teeth. "But I got on the phone with my friend and told him I was on my way over. And when I got inside, I went down a different hallway. So I stopped to check my mail, and I continued up to my apartment… I’ll never forget what happened next…”

  I could hear her breath coming out heavier. After a long pause, she continued. “When I got to the door, I felt something press into my back and felt hot breath on my ear and a man's voice telling me to stay quiet and let me in or he’d shoot me. I was terrified, so I let him in and as soon as I was inside with the door shut, he pistol-whipped me. I fell on the floor and I remember him flipping my coffee table over with one hand like it didn't weigh anything, just to get it out of his way. He looked around and I thought he was there to rob me…but… I watched him walk over to me and stand over me, just staring at me for a long time…and I realized in that moment… he wasn’t there to rob me."

  I pulled in a deep, silent breath as I listened, shutting my eyes for an instant before returning them to the carpet. I folded my lips inward as she continued, her voice beginning to tremble. I ignored the rage boiling in my veins. Jewel didn’t need me going all Hulk. She needed a friend.

  "He knelt down over me and got hold of my hair and banged my head on the floor. I guess I was too afraid to move, fight—anything. He pressed the gun to my head and told me he’d seen me dancing on stage, that he thought I was the most precious thing he’d ever seen and that he loved me. He then told me to take my clothes off and that I’d better be quiet or he’d shoot me…He didn’t wa
nt any man loving me, he said... So, I did. I took them off." I heard a light smacking sound and glanced up in a shot, seeing her hand pressed to her forehead again. I didn't have time to look away before her eyes opened and she looked straight into mine.

  I saw shame and utter humiliation in them, and the look was almost enough to make me want to tell her to stop, that she didn't need to continue. But she seemed to want to, to need to. And what she told me next made my jaw clench so tight, I thought I had cracked my teeth. She said the words without looking away from me, her voice dull and almost flat. “He dragged me across the floor toward my bedroom. He kept saying, 'Can't say no now. You won't be able to say no now.' He pushed me back onto my bed, pulled my hair and told me, ‘I'm gonna make you scream…and you're gonna fucking love it.’ He was so angry. His face was so angry. It was almost like he was more of an animal than a person. I closed my eyes, I didn’t want to look at him but he told me that unless I opened them, he’d cut me up so bad…I wouldn’t be able to recognize my own face anymore…

  "I thought he was going to do it, then leave. But he didn’t. He spent the whole weekend raping me. Over and over and over. Forced me to ring my friends and family, to lie to them, to say I was going away for a weekend…When…when he wasn't raping me, he kept me tied to the bathroom door and dressed me like I was his doll. He even made us dinner like we were a married couple, forcing me to eat with him at the table."

  I looked away then, bringing my hands to my face. I rubbed them over my skin, my throat tightening. "Jesus Christ," I said hoarsely.

  "He made me lay next to him while he slept, making sure to tie me to the bed… He made me hold him." A sob involuntarily erupted from her throat and she clapped a hand to her mouth. It was a long moment before she could talk again. "When the weekend was over…he…he beat me so bad I thought, that’s it. He’s going to kill me after all of this and I’m going to die. Cracked six of my ribs. Broke my hand. Gave me a concussion. He even knocked three teeth out of my mouth which I later had to have replaced." She stared off into space, as if seeing herself in the aftermath of what had happened.