Chapter 11
Brooklyn, November 1903
They had been watering down the laudanum for a week now.
It was Mary's idea, borne out of Spot's growing concern that Kate needed to begin slowly facing reality again. She had been mostly bed bound for over a month but had begun to move around the apartment somewhat on her own for the past two weeks. Her arm still remained secured in its sling, her ribs tightly wrapped, and though she seemed to traverse about with some difficulty she never uttered a word of complaint. She spoke sparingly to Mary, aiding her in the few household chores she could manage, but maintained a somber, ghostlike presence in all other instances.
Mary attempted a few different strategies to engage her—to pull her away from whatever internal loop she seemed to be chained to. She offered to take her shopping for one or two simple outfits, but Kate politely declined, murmuring that she wished not to trouble her. Next had been Mary's urgings for Kate to accompany her outside to get some fresh air. Kate, in turn, glanced out the window, and shook her head. Finally, the older woman had gently suggested that they trim her now much shorter hair so that it lay all one length around her neck. But again, Kate refused.
"It's fine," she whispered. "It doesn't matter."
Spot, however, was forced to develop an entirely different approach to co-habiting with the silent girl. Because ever since they had been weaning her off the opiate, his presence seemed to bring her nothing but terror and pain. So much so, that he had set up residence in the living room for the past week, attempting to give her as much distance as possible. Coming within an arm's length of Spot seemed to set off a strange episode of panic within her—shaky, sweaty, glassy-eyed states that could last for hours. It was an alarming reality that the two lived with for several weeks, and it frightened him almost as much as it frightened her.
Then the nightmares started.
After two weeks of tapering off the pain medicine, she was finally free from the foggy drug. And while she began making better eye contact, showing some emotional breadth, and saying more than two words at a time, her nights turned into an indistinguishable lattice between past and present that resulted in utter chaos.
On the worst of those nights, Spot would find her curled in the fetal position under the bed begging tearfully and hoarsely—half out of her mind—for him to just kill her. To slit her throat, to shoot her—
To be merciful.
It was those times that Mary would stand at the door, tears slowly and unintentionally falling down her face while Spot lay flat on his stomach, nearly unconscious from exhaustion with his arm extended to Kate, palm up in wait. And every dawn following those dark hours, he'd awaken with a sigh of a relief to find her fingers entwined tightly within his hold, as she lay fast asleep.
"Do you have any idea who may have done this to her? Put her in this state?" Mary quietly inquired one morning after Spot had repositioned Kate back into bed.
She handed him a cup of hot, black coffee and he nodded in thanks, sitting across from Mary at the table and taking a large sip. After a moment, he sighed heavily, shaking his head in defeat. "No. There's still a lotta unanswered questions. A lot a' people that she was involved with that I didn't know about."
He placed the warm mug down, staring into nowhere. His shoulders sagged, his head heavy with the weight of it all. He had seen so many things in his short life already, some so terrible he would never wish them on anyone—never speak of them again. He had been to the House of Refuge twice, endured the abuse, the beatings, the starvation, not to mention the horrors that his own family had put him through.
But it was so much different on the outside, watching someone else suffer. Because all he could do was sit there with Kate, offer her his presence, his body, perhaps his words if she were even conscious enough to hear them. But still, she would burn in agony over and over again, from things he could not see—things he did not know or understand.
Things he had no power to combat.
"Thomas." Spot barely managed to lift his tired, hopeless stare to Mary's steady one. "She can feel the enormity of all you've done—the care you have for her, even if she's not fully aware of it all the time."
"How do you know that?" he whispered. "How do you know that any of this is having an effect on her?"
Mary smiled softly toward him. "Because every time she opens her eyes, no matter how horrible the night before was, you're still here."
"How will she ever come back from this, Mary?" Spot asked, wide-eyed, real fear in his voice. Because he could see, just as anyone else with working eyes could, that she was spiraling the drain.
But Mary maintained her even expression. "One step, one piece, at a time."
Spot shot her an exasperated look, his red-rimmed eyes closing in frustration.
"She survived hell, Thomas. And God knows what else." He picked up his head, searching her face once more for her meaning. "You saw her body, same as me. Do you think someone weak—someone who hadn't been fighting tooth and nail every day could be immersed in something as horrific as that for that long and come out alive, let alone still speaking in clear sentences?"
He sat up straighter, his eyebrows knitting together as Mary's words began to sink into him with more profound meaning.
"Her body and her mind, they know how to do this. She knows how to build herself back up. There are just so many pieces, so many bits to find and put back together. And that is a very terrifying undertaking. Because she knows she'll have to go back and deal with every awful thing that happened just to make herself whole again."
Spot nodded, strangely understanding the painful process, feeling echoes of it inside of himself as well. "And how do we help her do that?" he asked steadily.
"Well, I believe your initial step should be to address the part you played in her pain, however small."
At first Spot looked shocked, confounded by her accusation, even though it was nothing but the truth. What did she know of his and Kate's troubles? And how could she dare compare anything he may have done to the other, far more horrifying trauma that had occurred? But as Mary's gaze remained steady, Spot finally conceded, shaking his head as the all too familiar guilt seeped into his body. Of course, Mary had seen the distrust in Kate's eyes, the unwillingness to even speak to him or entertain his presence. Of course, she had known he could be culpable of cruelty, no matter how much he felt the opposite.
"I don't know what transpired before—I don't need to. But whatever damage you have done, you need to right sooner rather than later."
"I know," Spot murmured into his cup of coffee.
"Does she know that you're in love with her?" Mary asked softly.
Spot's chest clenched at the phrase. A phrase he had once sneered at. One he had never been brave enough, or honest enough to say aloud to anyone, even when he had known that his feelings were the very same sentiment. And he sure as hell hadn't said it to the one person he felt it for. Even when she had said it first.
"I don't know if she'd believe me," Spot answered honestly.
At that Mary stood from the table, patting his back as she passed by him on the way to the kitchen.
"Well, then perhaps you should be extra convincing."
Brooklyn, February 1902
"I'm still sleeping with other women, you know. I have been. This whole time."
Katherine's eyebrows knitted together as she calmly finished braiding her hair. Her back was still turned to Spot as she stood near the attic cot that they now shared four nights a week—or at least every night Julia worked at her second job.
But before she could think to respond, a frigid gust broke through the poorly insolated walls, causing a chill to seep into her thin nightgown and the papers from her satchel to blow across the floor.
"Shit," she muttered to herself as she quickly ambled to pick up the somewhat crumpled sheets, taking a moment to squint through the dimness and put them back in order.
"You ever gonna let me in on that top-secret project you're always workin' on?"
Kate tucked the papers back into her bag before shooting Spot a coy smile. "Maybe. Gotta make sure I can trust you with such sensitive information first."
But another cold draft had Kate shivering. So, she swiftly deposited her bag securely behind an old, broken chest of drawers, before climbing onto the cot and wrapping a quilt around herself. However, when her eyes finally lifted to meet Spot's, she was somewhat surprised by the worried look of guilt radiating within his blue gaze.
"Did you hear what I said? About the other women?" he asked, waiting apprehensively for her reply.
He stood leaning against the wall by the small window opposite her, his body and face lit half by the oil lamp on the floor and half covered in shadow. His suspenders hung down loosely by his sides, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, and his dark golden hair messily swept across his forehead. She offered him a soft smile, somewhat confused as to what response he was looking for.
But when he remained motionless, she nodded, causing him to raise his hands somewhat exasperatedly.
"Katherine," he said, more emphatically. "I'm having sex with other women still. Regularly."
She raised her eyebrows at him, tugging the quilt tighter around herself. "I feel like you want me to say something specific right now, but I don't know what. So, all I can do is tell you the truth—I figured that you still were. Why would you have stopped?"
He looked at her incredulously, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "So, you're fine, sharing a bed with me almost every night, knowing that I'm fuckin' other women?"
Katherine clenched her eyes closed, feeling a strange tension building within her chest and a sharp pulse of frustration within her head.
What did he want her to say? That she was overjoyed to be one of many? Or was this something else? Perhaps a subtle accusation—that it was impossible for her not to want more from him?
Honestly, she'd rather die than allow her worth to be determined by whatever man decided to give her the time of day. Besides, did there really have to be some deeper meaning associated with the time she and Spot spent together?
So, after a beat she opened her eyes, met his gaze, and took a calming deep breath, opting again for the emotionless truth.
"I suppose I'm not thrilled by it, no. But I just—I don't really see how it matters. We're not having sex—we're in no way together, Spot. I'm the same as all the other women save the physicality—I don't have a claim on you."
He bit his lip, looking more conflicted and unsettled by her words than he had by her silence before she steadily continued, "It's not my place to be upset. So…no. I guess I don't have a problem with it."
He stared silently at her for what felt like a long while, his face belying some type of internal struggle that he seemed unsure of voicing. But finally, he shook his head, running his hands roughly through his hair again as he irritably grunted, "Well, for some reason I do."
Katherine jolted slightly at his surprising sentiment, further bewildered by the strange direction into which their conversation seemed to be flowing.
He began pacing in front of her looking wholly befuddled himself. "It just feels off—completely wrong now. Ever since," he looked to her and motioned toward the cot on the floor, "This began three months ago. Everything—all of the things I've been doing feel fucking wrong."
Katherine felt her stomach sink somewhat at his phrasing, unsure of what her role in his current life crisis was—how she had disrupted him in such a troubling way.
But then he stopped pacing, looking her straight in the eyes, his gaze breathtakingly intense as he said, "Except you—you don't feel wrong. But," he paused looking away for a moment. "Goddamn if this thing with you hasn't been confusing the hell outa me."
She found herself floundering at his words, unsure of what he meant. "Well, I can just go back to Julia's. It's not that big of a deal. I just wish you had told me sooner. I didn't know that it was causing these kinds of problems. I would have—"
"No, Kate, stop," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Stop. That's not what I meant. I don't want you to go back to Julia's."
He walked the few steps to the cot and sat down next to her, studying her face. "I just—I wanna know what we're doin'. I wanna know what this is—with you and me."
Again, he motioned with his hand, but this time between his and her form. Kate noted, with interest, the earnestness in his stare—the real confusion and worry creasing into his face. His eyes searched hers for several moments as if trying to gauge her thoughts, but she just shook her head, feeling strangely attacked.
"You think I know?" She bit her lip and looked away as the same clenching in her chest began building again, but one deep breath managed to subdue it. "And since when are you in the habit of needing to label things? What does it even matter?"
She shot him a suspicious look, but his stare did not falter. If anything, he seemed more assured in his thoughts. "Since I figured out this doesn't feel the same as it does with other women." He paused, a challenge in his gaze as Kate rolled her eyes. "It feels like somethin' else, and I know you feel it too. So, why not just sort it out? Aren't you the one always sayin' it's better to lay shit out on the table?"
Kate couldn't hold back the scoff at his self-satisfied smirk, feeling suddenly exceedingly frustrated with him. No—more than frustrated. Upset. Angry. Vulnerable. Her chest clenched uncomfortably again as she tried to regain her composure.
Why was he bringing this up now? Why was he suddenly pushing her to think about all the complications surrounding them—all the heavy, difficult things that came with consistency and permanence? Because he no longer felt right sleeping around with the multitude of women he normally sought pleasure from? That her presence in his life was now more complex and stable? Even though he was the one that asked her to stay the nights that Julia worked. He had asked.
So, was she too supposed to start thinking through her own heavy items and where he fit in that space? Because for the longest time, she had managed to keep those two worlds mostly separate. And that meant that she could stay, could still be a person that had meaning and potential beside him.
The few glimpses he had accidentally caught before had been quickly recovered. He knew a few stories—a few more than almost anyone else did. He had made his way through some of her layers. But no one had ever gone to the very bottom of it all. Kate herself had avoided those deep pits for so long, that she suspected, any attempt to build something vaster with Spot would cause her whole system to cave in on itself.
"Well, I guess all of this hinges on what you want, then, Spot," Kate said in a stiff tone.
Because, really, what did it matter what she thought in the end? There was only so far he would be able to go with her—only so much he could tolerate. Her ambition, her need for freedom would certainly be off-putting. And what about all the far more troubling things affixed to her? The horrible blackness nestled so securely within her being—the fact that she was unable to be whole both in body and mind? Maybe he would go farther than any other person had dared just by his stubbornness alone, but she knew it would never last.
Because it couldn't.
No one in their right mind would voluntarily keep something broken and irreparable with them for the long term. Why would they?
His smirk had vanished with her sentiments, his eyes searching hers for quite some time, seeming to truly consider what she was saying. But finally, he shook his head, murmuring seriously, "It doesn't all hinge on me. That's a part of why it's different and what's so damn confusing about it. It has to be about what you want too, Kate."
The crushing feeling in her chest became so unbearable that she bent over momentarily, shutting her lids to regulate her breathing. And after several moments she lifted herself again to meet a worried pair of blue eyes.
"What's wrong?" he said, touching her arm softly. But she gruffly pulled away, standing with the quilt still wrapped about her.
"You just need to proceed as if I'm not in the equation, alright? Going any further than this is going against your own self-interest," Kate muttered, turning away from him.
"Kate—" he started.
But she shook her head, the anxiety again building. This was the problem with spending so much time with another person. With feeling some type of connection with someone else. Eventually, there would always be a pull for more. And the longer this conversation lasted, the more likely the disappointing truth would come out—neither of them had any business venturing into something so ill-suited for them.
Kate closed her eyes, irritably shaking her head. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"
"Because I don't want to. So, stop telling me what to do and how to think."
His voice was forceful, causing her to open her eyes and turn to face him. He stood from his seated position and made his way toward her, his stare sure and unwavering. And she found herself looking up toward his even, handsome face as her bare feet backed up right against the wall behind her. He was over a head taller than she was, and his lean, muscular body was so close that she could feel the warmth radiating through his shirt. Her own body was thundering with all sorts of sensations as her heartrate increased and her stomach coiled in what she thought might be anticipation.
No, she chastised herself. You know better than this.
His eyes narrowed at her in a combination of exasperation and amusement. "You are the most confusing person I have ever met, do you know that? All these other girls have tried to have this very same conversation with me over the years, and I've been the one runnin' for the door. But I bring up a slight possibility with you, and you're ready to jump out the goddamn window and end it all."
He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Am I really that repulsive? I thought we were getting along just fine. Better than fine even."
Kate frowned, feeling suddenly very guilty for the abrupt and irrational way she had reacted to his comments. She looked up at him, sighing. "I think you know that you're hardly repulsive."
She paused, a small smile appearing on her lips. "A tad plain, but nothing unpleasant to look at."
She chuckled as he rolled his eyes, somewhat humored by her cheeky remark. But after a moment, he absentmindedly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear causing her to shudder as he continued, "All I was thinkin' when I brought this up was just maybe seein' where this goes, minus the other people. I'm not askin' you for forever. Shit—that's a step I don't know if I'll ever be ready to take. But maybe letting this be somethin' if it is."
She pursed her lips, still unwilling to commit to his terms, no matter how loose they were, causing his eyes to narrow somewhat uncomfortably. "Is this about Jack?"
"No," she said automatically. "I mean—I don't want to hurt him, not that I think this would. But I was never particularly serious about him—or anyone really—and clearly he had no problem finding other company when I wasn't around."
Spot shrugged, looking unsure of what to say in response. So, he asked, "Then what is it? What's makin' you hesitate?"
And finally, after gnawing on her bottom lip until it bled, Kate decided perhaps it was time to lay it out on the table. That's what he wanted right?
So, she took in a shaky breath before murmuring, "Me."
His eyes narrowed, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"
Kate's gaze wavered as she slowly gained momentum. "It's me. I—I'm not right. I'm not suited for something more—with anyone."
Spot's eyebrows shot up in surprise and then quirked quickly in dissent. But before he could get any words out to disagree, Kate shook her head, continuing, "No—you—you don't understand. You say you want to see where this goes between us, but there are a lot of things that you don't know about me. So, the further along we go, the more you'll see of that—and those are things that're best left alone."
She searched for the words to describe the strange predicaments she had lived with for so long on so many different levels. "I don't know how to define it or explain it exactly, but you'll just see all the ways that I'm— that I'm not right—that I'm—I don't know—defective."
Kate's chest tightened as Spot stared at her, his eyes unreadable for several moments. She had no idea what he must think—perhaps that she really was mad after all. But finally, she saw him nodding slowly as the information seemed to settle within him.
"Alright. Well tell me some of the ones I should look out for," he said nonchalantly.
Kate widened her gaze at him, completely taken aback. "Spot, I feel like you aren't understanding me. I'm trying to warn you. I'm telling you that you're better off attempting something exclusive with someone else. Someone without so much—someone easier."
At that, Spot smirked, grasping her chin lightly. "I thought I told you to stop telling me what to do. And in case you haven't noticed, lady revolution, I'm no barrel of laughs all the time either. No one is."
"I have nightmares," she offered suddenly, pulling away from his grasp. "Really horrible ones. Sometimes Julia has to pour cold water on me to make me come out of it."
He nodded, nonplussed. "You forget I lived in a bunkroom full of orphaned kids and runaways. You're kiddin' yourself if you think there wasn't a kid every night screamin' about some terrible shit that went down when they were livin' on the street."
"I don't like being contained—forced into roles," she continued solidly. "I want to go where I want to go and do what I want to do, and not have someone tugging me back because they feel less…. manly. Less in charge. I've been taking care of myself for a long time, and I think I know how to do it best."
He crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You think a girl that can speak for herself and take care of herself is somethin' I'd find unappealing? That's just one less thing I have to take care of."
"A lot of men don't find it appealing, Spot," Kate said softly. "It challenges their ideals—that women are the gentler sex. The submissive partners. So they're repulsed when they come across a woman that doesn't fit those values. Some even find it their…duty to…fix the situation."
The last sentence was whispered to herself, and Kate quickly shook her head to rearrange her sliding thoughts.
Not that pit. Not today, she chastised herself.
Spot tilted his head, looking as if he wanted to ask her further about what she had said, but he sighed, thankfully seeming to think better of it. "Well, if that's all of your supposed deficiencies…"
"No," Kate started fervently, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes for several seconds before forcing out, "There's—there's others. So many vices I don't even know where to start, but…" she squeezed her eyes tighter unsure of whether to go on.
"I'd be surprised if you could shock me," she heard Spot say calmly.
And so, after sighing heavily once more, she murmured, "There's—there's something wrong with—with my body."
She slowly opened her eyes glancing swiftly at Spot's unreadable blue gaze before looking away and saying even more softly. "It doesn't feel things I know it's supposed to feel. It's like certain parts of me are—broken—cut off. If I quiet everything in my head—or when I drink or—I don't know—even spend time in a pipe den, it doesn't help. I—I feel nothing. It's like—" she paused, unsure of how best to describe it. "Those parts of me were never there to begin with. But I don't know if that even matters as far as you're concerned. It just becomes more and more noticeable as time goes on, but it only affects me."
Kate felt her cheeks heat up as she maintained her avoidant gaze, immediately feeling as if she had said far too much. She didn't know what she expected him to do—maybe walk away, pretend she hadn't shared what she had just said, or change the subject quickly. A small part of her hoped that she had finally scared him off the idea of a relationship for good. But she certainly hadn't expected him to come closer.
The warmth of his body was both comforting and distracting as he brushed it up against hers, his hands softly running down the length of her arms.
"Hey, look at me." His strong fingers lightly gripped her chin and turned her head toward him to meet his surprisingly gentle stare. His blue eyes were light, his face free of judgment.
He moved his head down toward hers, her heartbeat speeding up. "It does matter. And if you'll let me, I bet I can prove to you that there's nothing wrong with you, or your body. That you're not broken at all."
Kate felt warmth spread from her cheeks, down her neck and into her chest and stomach. But she still managed to mutter, "That's an awfully big task you plan on undertaking. With very little hope for success."
He looked at her quietly, his eyes almost seeming sad as she added, "And then, how long until you become frustrated with me? I find it's best to ignore it and focus on the other person. That's what's worked in the past, anyway."
"Have you told other people about this?" Spot asked, his eyes sparkling with a small hint of possessiveness.
"Absolutely not," Kate quickly supplemented, almost aghast at the thought. "I don't stay with anyone long enough for it to become a topic of discussion. Honestly, I've never spent enough time with anyone else—save Julia—for them to really notice any of my habits or issues. But with the way you're talking tonight, I figured I should mention it. Give you one last chance to bow out."
He laughed softly, seeming amused and overdone.
"What?"
He shook his head. "You say the most off-putting and strange things sometimes. Things that nobody would normally say out loud. Things that, if anyone else said, it'd be fuckin' bizarre as hell. But when you say it, it just, I dunno, it just makes me….it makes me wanna…"
He trailed off looking down at her, the soft smile remaining on his mouth. And all she could do was stare up at him, wide-eyed, trying to figure out whether he was insulting her or complimenting her.
But before she had a chance to think on it at all, his warm hands solidly took hold of her face, his own head leaning down so his eyes were level with hers. She felt her back gently hit the wall behind her, her heartbeat rapid and face warm as she stared at him.
"Let me show you somethin'. Proof that I think we should see where this goes," he murmured lustfully, his eyes darkened with want, his breath moistening her lips.
She met his gaze for a few moments before she couldn't help but let her hands snake their way slowly up his abdomen, over his chest and around his shoulders. She felt him shudder at her touch, a strange sensation stirring in her as well.
Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt his thumb gently begin to trace her bottom lip, an intoxicating warmth seeming to pulsate in her chest and lower abdomen. And before she knew what she was doing, her teeth sank softly into the skin of his finger.
And that became the match that lit the explosion.
His mouth was on hers before she could intake a breath, soft lips and wet heat consuming her every thought. And when his tongue more forcefully traced the outline of her lips, demanding entry, she felt herself go limp, falling against strong arms and hands that seemed to caress her clothed body in a way that made heat radiate from every pore of her skin.
But it wasn't enough.
She needed more from him—more of him. She needed to feel his body closer to hers, and so she aggressively pulled herself against his torso, one hand grasping his neck, the other gripping his hair as his arm snaked behind her and held her in place tightly against his hard chest, his mouth exploring even deeper within hers.
Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and all she wanted was to add more heat. To chase these new, exhilarating sensations to whatever peak there was.
But then she felt him slow his touches, his mouth pulling back. And even though she made a noise of protest, his strong arms managed to separate their entwined bodies. Both were breathing heavily, his eyes looking somewhat surprised and covetous as his brain seemed to catch up with his movements.
"Okay," was all Spot managed to breathe, looking her up and down, a hesitant, though somewhat overwhelmed smirk growing on his lips. "I think that's proof enough then."
She smiled hesitantly at him, breathless but unsure of what to say. Her thoughts were racing and she needed to process the interchange that had just happened. Because, this was something different. Something unexpected. And she didn't know what she needed, or wanted, to do with it.
She quickly tucked the hair that had come loose back into the braid she had plated, picked up the quilt on the floor and went to lie on the cot. And after he went to turn off the gas lamp, he joined her. Her eyes were staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully.
"Is everything alright?" Spot asked quietly, clearly somewhat unnerved by her sudden emotional pullback.
She remained silent for several moments, anxiety still present in her chest, but also something new—something she did not yet have a name for.
"Can we trade questions?" she asked after a while.
"Of course." He rolled to his side as she did the same, their gazes meeting.
"Have you ever felt like that—like you did a few minutes ago, when you've kissed other women before?"
Spot stared at her for a few moments, causing more anxiety and now insecurity to fill Kate's abdomen. But finally, he murmured somewhat perplexed, "No. Never."
And after several more quiet moments he posed, "Have you?"
Kate shook her head, feeling the same bewilderment fill her. "Never."
Silence filled the small dark attic for some time, but Kate found herself unable to sleep. There were so many thoughts running through her head, so many logical arguments she was making clearly to herself for why none of this should make sense. Why none of this should even be. There were too many reasons that she could not be that woman and he so clearly could not be that man. No, this couldn't possibly keep happening, this loop of connection bringing them closer and closer each day. She just needed to—to—
And then the thoughts stopped as a surprising, though soothing warmth came into Kate's awareness. She looked down to see that Spot had intertwined his fingers through hers and she couldn't help but smile at the wave of peace it brought her.
"Not everything has to make sense right now. We'll figure it out, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered.
And without another thought, she rolled toward him, hands still linked and allowed herself to rest.