Page 81 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
That meant Colin would have come home. What had Shelly told him?
I had to think of some sort of excuse, something Colin would believe. I sure as hell wasn’t telling him the truth, not about what happened today, and not where it had taken my mind. Wouldn’t believe me anyway…
Don’t think about it. It was too late.
Chapter Sixteen
My mouth felt thick, my head too large, and my limbs sluggish. It was all the pain of a hangover but without the bliss of forgetfulness. No, I remembered every fucking detail from earlier today. Even things that hadn’t registered in that strange moment of disconnect came to me now. The smell of the cop’s aftershave, the rasp of the hair on the back of his hands, the harshness of his breaths. Make it stop.
I had to even my breathing. If I was going to play this off as a stomach bug or something, then I shouldn’t be in the middle of a panic attack. That was it, rational thoughts. Keep breathing.
Ever the coward, I wondered how long I could stay here. I heard faint clinking in the kitchen—someone was cooking dinner. That was good. Someone had Bailey. Someone was in control of the situation. How long could I lie here before that someone came to find me? It was a very nice cocoon, Colin’s bedroom.
Staring into the darkness, I heard soft thumps up the steps. Then whispers outside the door. Without moving I tried to make them out.
“…still sleeping…”
“…shouldn’t wake…rest.”
“…been four hours…”
The door creaked, and a band of yellow light fell across the bed. I shut my eyes. The floor creaked as someone walked toward the bed. I steadied my breathing. The floor creaked again as someone walked out. Then a soft click as the door shut.
I opened my eyes again to the dark. I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t. It would just invite the nightmare back. That was the one that came to me—not what happened with Andrew. And even then it was a rare thing. Usually only after seeing a cop. Sometimes even seeing a cop car would trigger me.
There’d been a neat row of cop cars when I’d gone to the police station to withdraw my complaint the next week. I’d worried myself into vomiting, thinking I’d have to see him there. But I hadn’t. It had all been very formal, very bureaucratic. There were forms to fill out, and a statement to sign. It had been a misunderstanding, that night with Andrew. I’d been drunk and hadn’t really said no, and so it wasn’t really rape, after all. The cops there, in uniform instead of in a suit like he had been, looked at me blankly. They did not judge me when I was a rape victim, and they did not judge me when I was a false accuser, recanting her statement. They just didn’t care.
But it was in those days that I’d formed my crazy ideas. Even then I knew they were crazy. All men couldn’t be bad. My dad wasn’t bad, even if he was gone a lot. Besides that, there had to be plenty of examples of good guys if I’d cared to look. But I hadn’t wanted to look, not at all.
I’d made the decision then never to have sex with a guy. More than that, I wouldn’t even put myself in a situation where I’d be near a guy.
Then I’d found out I was pregnant. Holy fuck.
I’d thought about trying to reach Andrew. His dad was a fucker of the worst sort, but he might have Andrew’s phone number or a way to reach him. In the end I didn’t do anything.
My dad probably guessed who the father was. Andrew had been my best friend, and then he was gone and I was pregnant. It was an age-old story, right? But he never said anything. He just gave me some cash and told me he’d send what he could.
After I’d had Bailey, it had taken a few months to heal, physically at least. Only after that had I come up with the idea of date nights. I’d thought it ingenious. Now I knew I’d been an idiot.
I’d hurt myself on those date nights, over and over again.
It hadn’t been about those guys, not really. They’d been props, whips used for self-flagellation. I thought maybe Shelly’s deals were flays of her own whip and that was troubling, but we’d agreed not to interfere. After they’d let her into the hospital room with me and I’d dry heaved for an hour, she’d apologized to me in whispered tones for making me do this. She hadn’t protested when I’d gone into the police station to withdraw my statement. She hadn’t guessed what had happened, I thought, not then nor ever, but she saw what it did to me. She didn’t understand why, but she didn’t want me to be hurt.
The cocoon grew stifling. Suddenly I wanted to see people, these people who cared about me, God knew why. I still didn’t know what excuse I would make, but surely I could think of something. I wanted to leech their comfort, their normalcy.
I descended the stairs, feeling an odd remoteness. There should be pictures here, I thought, as I trailed my finger along the blank stairway wall. At the bottom I found Shelly and Bailey on the couch in the living room, playing a game of cards. I paused there in the corner, watching.
I knew from experience how Bailey played. We would deal the cards, in whatever number and setup we wanted, and Bailey would grab for the face cards—the kings, queens and jacks—and collect them. I always figured it was a pretty decent strategy for a toddler.
She’d probably grow up a card shark and best us all. I could only hope as much. Maybe it wasn’t the doctor or president that other moms hoped for, but it was all about power in the end. The money, the respect, and not having to take shit from no one. That power came in different forms in my world, but no less potent.
A soft clang from the kitchen caught my attention. Colin. I floated past Shelly and Bailey—not sure if they greeted me or not—and leaned against the kitchen door. Colin looked up from the oven, lines of worry on his face. I felt a pang of guilt at that, like someone watching herself be mourned.
He straightened and came to me. “How are you feeling?”
It startled me out of my trance, that he could speak to me. Not dead yet after all.
I had no fake story prepared, no blithe comeback to deliver. In fact, as I opened my mouth to offer one of those practiced platitudes—It’s okay, I’m fine—I found I couldn’t speak at all.
