Dear Readers, I would highly recommend listening to Berlioz's 'La Captive' (again) while you read this chapter. It lends a certain air to things.
J~~~~~~~~~~
I swept through the greenroom entrance and hurriedly collected my bags. Visions of Jackson interspersed with flashes of Kyoya filled my head. Two years of abuse now tangled with my view of Kyoya. Just when you think you have a little happiness… It wouldn't do to allow myself to follow that thought. Self-pity did an awful lot for me last time. I decided to have a quick mental review of Kyoya's and my last discussion of the music. Pretty sure I shut down the idea of 'La Captive' when I mentioned themes being important. So, why would he insist upon a song when he knew it went directly against the planned music scheme? By this time I had sat down on a large leather chair, hidden from the view of the door by a partition in the back corner. It had long been my habit to find a small space for any type of deep thinking. That piece must either have significant meaning to him or he just likes it. I tried to hint that it is repugnant to me, but he obviously missed that subtle hint.
I let my mind drift…No longer attached to my current predicament, I was back on American soil closing up my studio. I stepped off the street corner humming my new piece, La Captive. SNATCH!
I was held back firmly as a rather large bus barreled passed. I'm usually very collected in times of crisis, so the shock didn't register on my visage. That is, not until I looked up.
My rescuer I had noted already was dressed in a business suit, a very nice one. That he was tall was more than painfully obvious given the fact that his arms cut across my torso diagonally, his hands on my mid-back, elbows at my shoulders, and shoulders above my head. I tilted my head back to get a look at him and to say thank you, but when I did open my mouth, I found nothing would come out.
I'd never seen such a handsome man in my life. I stepped out of his arms (Am I stupid?), gave him a grateful grin, and said my requisite thank-you's at a safer distance. I congratulated myself on my ability to think straight, not look really stupid, to smile, and to express gratitude to a truly handsome man. I was normally quite tongue-tied around such specimens, so this was no small feat.
"Are you alright?"
"Hmm?" I hummed bewildered.
"You nearly got smashed by a bus. Do you need to sit down?"
"No. Thank you. I'm just fine." I was really doing quite well. Maybe the shock of bus-death is what gave me voice. "I just wasn't paying much attention. In too much of a hurry."
"So I noticed."
"I'm glad someone did. That could have been unpleasant." I smirked. I often told myself dry jokes, and I'm afraid my sense of humor leaked out at a most inappropriate time.
He returned my smile, a little flabbergasted by my behavior. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"To my car."
"Are you? In the garage? So am I." He smiled and offered his arm to me. "May I walk you the rest of the way? Don't want more cars to get any ideas."
I laughed and took his arm. "Thanks."
"Lovely tune you were humming. Do you sing?"
"Yes, I do."
Back in the present, I shifted in the oversized chair. The squeak of it's leather beneath me threatened to pull me from my reverie, but to no avail. I slipped back into the past. This time, six months after our first date.
"Jackson, are you sure?" It seems so fast. In the background Berlioz's La Captive was playing on the record player. I had been studying differing styles of musical delivery before Jackson had dropped by the studio.
"It's been half a year, Judy. What is there to be sure about?" He stared at me from his kneeling position, and I thought, So, this is what love is.
"If you're sure, then I am, too. Of course, I'll marry you!" He slid the ring on my finger and embraced me.
"Now, you're mine. I might as well start calling you by my name, Mrs. Christopher Jackson."
I grinned at him. "Has a lovely 'ring' to it." Unfortunately, my little joke was lost on him.
He spun me around and claimed my mouth.
One month later found us knee deep in wedding plans and Jackson over his head in work trouble.
"Judy! Stop asking questions about the stupid ceremony! I don't care what color or who comes. Just shut up!"
"Jackson?.." He had cut me deeply, but I didn't feel like I could tell him that. I'd only seen him angry once before, when he had punched a hole through a wall. "What's wrong, Chris? Is it the office?"
He slowly turned to look at me. Rage became what I could only read as contemplation; contemplation became ideas; ideas became actions.
The first blow hit hard on my shoulder. I was too shocked to be angry. "Are you stupid? If it was the office, why would I tell you?" Another blow to my abdomen. "You and I are getting married, I provide," SMACK! "but I don't need to lower my IQ trying to explain my job to my singer wife!" He towered over my cowering form.
I raised my eyes to his, tears streaming down my face. "I'm here to support you, not to be beaten by you. Tell me how I can help." He raised his fist to back-hand me, thought better of it, then lowered himself to my eye level. Jackson grabbed the back of my neck and tilted my face upward, "Maybe you can help."
The rest of that night I listened as my fiancé detailed his plans. Though I was repulsed by the very idea, I had the ever present reminder of fresh bruises persuading me to comply.
The next day, I cancelled my lessons and told the other teachers to cover the studio. Jackson had laid my clothes out for me and given me specific instructions on how to arrange the buttons, etc. I was even instructed on my hairdo and makeup.
Around three o'clock in the afternoon I left my apartment. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders and couldn't believe what I was about to do or even how I was dressed. Jackson had found the one blouse in my closet I'd kept hoping to fit into it again. Its stiff, white placket was tugging tightly against the small buttons. Too deep a breath would be my undoing, quite literally. A slim fitting business blazer kept me from total exposure. I was wearing a favorite pencil skirt that I knew hugged me all the way down. At least, it was a favorite until Jackson took a pair of scissors to the small, side slit. "If you've got it, flaunt it," he growled as he sliced the skirt halfway up my leg. Now here I was in my highest heels, standing in front of Jackson's office, my hair styled to magazine perfection in a loose updo and my makeup so thick my skin felt weighted.
I pressed the button for the top floor as I stepped into the elevator with another man. I knew he was giving me more than a little bit of eye. I also knew who he was, my target.
"I've never seen you before." His voice was repulsive. "Friends with the big boss. Hm?" I felt ill. So, the 'big boss' has girls up to his office often.
I swiveled slowly, sultrily, while I simultaneously unbuttoned my jacket. "I might be." His eyes were greedy in their perusal. I took a step forward and cupped his neck with one hand. That move cost me my top two buttons. I felt my face color slightly. Just do it. I loosened my hair. His quickened pulse and heavy breathing told me that I had him hook, line, and sinker. I knew Jackson would be pleased: but, I also knew if this worked, it wouldn't be the last time.
As he started to move into me, I came to a realization. "I can't do this."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, sir. Forget I was here." I pressed the button for the next floor, stepped off the lift, and left a very confused man in my wake.
Jackson was in a subdued but satisfied mood when I set his plate before him at dinner. "I haven't seen any indications from the higher-ups yet, but our little ploy should get them moving. Where are the pictures, Judy?" I stayed silent. "You did remember to get them, didn't you? As you were dressed like that," he looked pointedly at my gaping neckline and smirked, "I can't imagine he wasn't willing." Jackson pulled me onto his lap and began administering what I suppose was his idea of affection. If I don't object to this, maybe there won't be a repeat of last night. I kept still for a few minutes, building up my courage.
"I didn't forget; I just didn't do it." I kept my gaze carefully lowered.
"You what?" His voice was measured, and his hands went completely still. Okay, maybe I misjudged his lust, but he's gonna get even more angry in a minute.
"You were asking me to commit a crime, to sell my body to further your career. You tried to force me to break the law by dangling your love in front of me. That's not love. You don't love me."
"Baby, of course I love you." He kissed me tenderly. Oh, how I wanted to believe in that single moment, that one token. "What we are doing is for both of us, our future. I asked you to get the pictures to secure your own happiness." He began his ministrations again, trying to insight passion. Though, why he thought getting me to give into my passions would work when it never had before is beyond my comprehension.
"Why couldn't I see it," I queried myself. "I'm ending it; We're done." There was a pause, an utter stillness in the room. I remember every detail of that moment: the stubble on his chin, the muscles in his hands slightly tighter than before, the flame of the scented candle in the kitchen sputtering, my perfectly planned meal cooling on the table.
The table flipped. Forks and knives flew through the air, as did I. I scrambled to my feet. Jackson grabbed my foot as I attempted to flee the apartment. I fell with a thud and don't remember anything else.
I awoke in a hospital bed with the words, "useless" and "worthless" along with several other less savory platitudes floating in my brain. My entire existence was spinning. I cracked my eyes open to see my parents and sister sleeping in various positions about the room. I fully focused my vision only to wish I had never woken.
Jackson was leaning in a dark corner watching me. He obviously knew I was awake because he slunk to my bedside, leaned over and whispered, "If you tell them, I'll tell them, too. I know what you did, what you were about to do. Wouldn't want to break their hearts. Would we? You are their baby, after all."
I snapped back to the present when an icy set of fingers slipped over my shoulder and grazed my collar bone. I stiffened at the voice.
"So, this is where you ran off to."
Hope y'all enjoyed the look into her past associations. I also hope it explains a few things.
Also, I've spent a long time editing and rewriting this chapter, so I hope it makes sense and isn't offensive. Yes, I'm paranoid. I don't often write things of this sort because it's more than a little unpleasant to think about.
Just an FYI, I'm not sure who I hate more, Sato or Jackson. Let's take a poll and see who gets more down votes. I'll let you know who "wins."
Oh, P.S. In a previous chapter I said this would be a 40 chapter thing, it's gonna be longer I think. I just can't let go of it now when I have so much I want to write.