Hello lovely readers….again another shoutout to coveredinbees because they are LITERALLY the best. Quick trigger warning for later in the chapter. The flashback might be rough for some of you, so please heed the M rating. I hope you like this installment of the story. Please, if you read it, let me know what you think! I love feedback so much! It makes me smile. 😊
Chapter 25
Brooklyn, February, 1904
"Please, say something."
Kate was surprised by her own voice, by the words leaving her mouth as she looked toward Spot's tense form leaning out of the window to his room. His eyes had been distant and worried since they'd returned from their outing a half-hour before, but he had remained quiet—asked nothing of her.
And it was in his silence, his trained hesitation, that Kate found herself truly falling apart.
She bit her bottom lip hard, clenching her hands in her lap as she waited for him to turn—to respond in any way. Her body had felt cold and numb since that moment in the bar. And once they had returned to the apartment, quietly entering his room, she had perched herself awkwardly on the side of his bed, unsure of her body—skeptical of her own sanity.
Terrified of what he must be thinking.
Had she finally done it then? Managed to push him to the brink—struck the last of his nerves?
Was he definitively convinced now, that she was too far beyond saving?
Several surprising tears dripped onto her face as she bit even harder down on her quivering lip. But the click of the window closing made her jerk her head back toward Spot.
He ran a hand down his face slowly, and Kate was alarmed to see a slight tremor in his movements.
"Am I losin' you again?"
His eyes were chaotic as he stared at her, legitimate fear evident in their depths. But Kate slowly shook her head before whispering, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
He sighed his eyes falling from hers, his tone hoarse, emotional. "You don't sleep. You don't eat. And you disappear inside yourself—sometimes for hours at a time. You're not here, Kate. And it's gettin' worse—way worse."
"What are you saying?" she asked thickly, fear building in the pit of her stomach, causing her to shakily pose, "Are you—are you going to leave me?"
Spot's head jerked up his face twisting, first in confusion and then dismay. "What? No—No, of course not." He swiftly walked to her trembling form, kneeling in front of her, his eyes searching her tear-stained face and his hands grasping hers sturdily in their hold. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere. I just…" he trailed off, seeming to think through his next words carefully.
"I see you go off somewhere else—in your head—somewhere I don't know about. It's happenin' more an' more. And….if you get trapped in there—in that place—I'm worried I won't know where to go to get you back. Do you understand?"
But she shook her head, choking out a sob while tears began to freely fall. "I'm—I'm sorry, Spot. I-I'm sorry. I—I'm messing things up. I'm trying so hard—so hard. Please—please don't leave."
"Hey," she heard him say softly as her cries intensified. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not goin' anywhere, okay? Come here."
And his strong arms pulled her to him in a tight embrace, her wails stifled into his firm chest.
"I—I don't know what to do, Spot. I don't know—what—how to—to—"
Her strangled statement was cut off by another wave of even more distressed sobs. Her body became wracked by even deeper pain, her gut starting to contract violently within her stomach. She felt herself pushing away from Spot's hold when a surge of nausea pulsed into her throat, the room spinning into colors and noises.
"No," she mumbled, falling to her knees as she held her head tightly in her hands.
Pain shot down her neck and face, her brain pounding against her skull, her lungs seeming unable to take in enough air.
"You're coming with me to my office. Now."
"Stop it!" she moaned, feeling a steely, cold hand yanking her away by her upper arm, even as she tried to pull against it.
But the world was shifting again, confusing sounds and colors bleeding through. Until she opened her eyes, whimpering as a dark blue stare glared at her in rage.
"What did I tell you, Katherine? What did I say?! That I would win, and you would pay."
Terror filled her as she stood in John Cooke's office, looking into his twisted face before he threw her to the ground.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Did you think that there wouldn't be consequences?!"
Her mouth felt glued shut, her body trembling in fear as she peered at the well-dressed man pacing before her. But he was not himself. Something was different about the way he moved, the lack of control he seemed to be struggling with. He appeared erratic—disheveled. Sweat could be seen on his brow, his actions belying some internal agitation that he was struggling to contain.
And then he marched to the closed door of his office and locked it before turning back to her.
His eyes were nearly black with rage, his face set in an almost feral growl as he picked her up by her hair, ignoring her cries of protest, and dragged her to his desk.
She felt pain and nausea fill her as he gripped an even bigger handful of curls harshly within his fist and yanked the upper half of her body onto the top of the polished wood, pushing her face down against the surface. He leaned heavily against her back, causing her stomach to be further smashed into the ridge of the desk while her feet hovered just above the ground.
She sobbed audibly when she felt one of his hands twist her arm into an unnatural angle behind her back, his breath against her ear as he hissed, "What else can I do, Katherine? How else can I make you understand that I have the control—the power over you?"
"Get off of me!" she cried out, attempting to move—to struggle against him.
But her feet only caught against the fabric of her skirt, his hands clenching even tighter against her hair and arm.
"Planning a strike in my factory? Telling those stupid fools to walk out and refuse to sign? You thought I wouldn't know exactly what you were doing?! That I haven't known since the moment the thought entered your pretty little head?"
"Go….to…hell!" she rasped through gritted teeth, the pain shooting through her arm and neck making her see white.
And suddenly, he released her, leaning into her as he laughed—a terrifying sound of erratic rage.
Kate closed her eyes, lips quivering, trying to calm her mind for a long enough time to figure out what to do—how to get out of this situation. And her eyes caught sight of a pen just above her head.
"I was foolish to have struck a deal with your friend—to believe she could in anyway temper your actions. Your nature. Clearly, more extreme measures have to be taken."
He pulled away from her, and she quickly grasped the pen within her palm before she turned to face him, gripping the edge of the desk with her hands for support.
But then his words began to slowly seep through her body, icy and foreboding. "What are you talking about?"
His smile was eerie, the slow chuckle emitting from his mouth, cruel. "Julia Hawthorne. Your supposed friend—your sister. Isn't that what she tells you? That you mean the world to her—that you're her family?"
His smile grew wider when she stared back in silent confusion, still unsure of what he was saying. "What's more is how you whole-heartedly believe her. That she's looking out for you—protecting you."
Kate felt her chest constrict in pain at his insinuation, but she shook her head. "She is. She would never do anything to purposefully hurt me."
"You are a foolish girl," he scoffed in amusement. "How do you think I found you? How do you think I was able to become your guardian?"
She felt her body shaking, tears welling involuntarily into her eyes. "My parents….you—you went to them…."
He threw his head back and laughed, a cold, heartless sound, before he met her gaze once more. "And you never once considered who led me there in the first place? Who told me about the debts? She sold you to me, Katherine. She sold you to save her own skin."
"Shut up!" Kate nearly shrieked, shaking her head as tears blurred her vision. "You don't know what you're talking about—you're a liar. A monster!"
"You can think whatever you like. But I assure you, I'm not lying about this," he responded evenly.
Before Kate could even process what he was telling her, she saw his face darken, his eyes suddenly empty and cold. "But that's all beside the point, isn't it? Because she's now proven useless to me. And seeing as how you have refused—time and again—to follow her simple directions, she's no longer of use to you either." Kate's body felt cold in the wake of his words, the thinly veiled threat ringing out loud and clear. And she winced as he continued, "So, it seems all that's left is for you to be under my direct authority. No middleman necessary."
Kate's body trembled with an intensity she had never felt before as he walked nearer to her, coming to quickly trap her between his hard body and the sharp edge of the desk where she leaned. His fingers bruised into her jaw and cheek as he forced her to look at him.
"I think you'll find that pain, humiliation, and desperation—when used correctly—will make even the strongest crumble. And since this strike was your idea, I think it only fitting that I make a proper example of you. In such a way so that no one will ever feel safe marching out on my rules again."
Her face shook as she peered at him, unsure of what exactly "making an example of her" meant, but not wanting to give him any chances to demonstrate. So, knowing she had only moments before he again attempted to restrain her, she impulsively fisted the pen tightly within her grasp and then jabbed the sharp writing utensil as hard as she could into his shoulder, pushing him over as she ran toward the window.
"Goddammit! You little bitch!" his howl of fury and pain made her heart pound as she nearly tripped over herself rushing to the other side of the room.
But his rage was too strong and her strides much too short. The wind was swiftly knocked out of her lungs as he tackled her against the wooden floor. And even as she kicked at him, bucking wildly against his much heavier form atop her own, he still managed to subdue her. To win.
Her blouse sleeve ripped against the force of his hold. But Kate, left with nothing else at her disposal, grunted before spitting directly into his face.
And that proved to be her final undoing.
The act immobilized him only long enough for her to roll to her stomach. But he easily caught her hair in his hold before she could push herself to standing, leaving her body rigid beneath him, and much more vulnerable than before.
"Stop! Get off me!" she hoarsely cried, feeling his free hand pulling at her clothes.
"This is how you learn, Katherine—that you have no power. That there are consequences when you cross me!" he hissed, pushing her face hard into the ground. She saw stars, her heart clenching in fear as she heard the metal click of his belt buckle coming undone. "This should have been done long ago!"
"Please…" she cried. "Please…don't…"
"Kate…."
She felt confused as a different voice slowly pulsed into her awareness, gently calling her name.
"Kate...come back..."
Clenching her eyes shut, she attempted to place the familiar timbr, but her thoughts were too muddled—her sense of time too fractured. So, all she could do was focus on clearing her vision, blinking through the haze.
"It's, Tom….please, stop. It's Tom. You're safe. Please, listen to me."
"The strike…..the factory…..he said….he knew…." she mumbled, dizzy and confused.
And slowly, her body began to come back to itself. She felt a hard floor underneath her, the cold wetness of tears across her cheeks, her hair plastered to different places on her forehead and face. She felt a weight on her, felt her arms pinned to her sides and her fists sticky and aching. And when her vision finally cleared, she looked up into the terrified face of Spot Conlon, his hands restraining her limbs, his body immobilizing her shaking form.
"What—what're you—"
"Kate, it's okay. You're with me, Tom. Mary's gonna come back in a second with some bandages for your hands. But you're gonna be okay. I just—I didn't know what else to do. I had to hold you down before you hurt yourself more."
"Hurt myself?" she murmured, squinting up at him. "What's happening?"
"I think it's all been too much," he said, more to himself than to her. "Dammit, I shoulda known—"
"Oh, oh God," she began, eyes wide, seeing what looked to be a line of deep fingernail scratches on the right side of Spot's face, his nose bloody, and a bruise beginning to form on his jaw.
"I did that? To you?" she whispered, horrified.
He offered her a tempered smile, his eyes reflecting a deep pain that she didn't fully understand. "You were…confused. You—you just ran to the mirror suddenly and started beating your fists against it. I didn't know how to make you stop. You weren't listening to me. I don't think—I don't know. It was almost like you couldn't hear me, Kate."
And then she felt the pain in her hands as Spot released her from his grip and helped her into a sitting position. She raised her fingers in front of her face, seeing the blood, the tiny bits of glass still stuck onto the outside of her palms.
She turned to Spot, terrified. "I—I'm so—I'm so sorry. I made a mess—of everything—oh no."
His eyes looked sadly back at her, his hand gently wiping the fresh tear that tumbled from her eyelid. "It's okay."
She shook her head, her eyes filling to the brim, her voice shaking. "It's not. It's…not okay. I'm not okay. I—I hurt you—I—"
And he wrapped his arms gingerly around her, pulling her face into his shoulder.
"I know," Spot murmured after several moments had passed, running his hands gently through her knotted hair. "We're gonna make this okay. We have to—because I won't lose you again. I won't."
"How can this possibly be okay? How—how can you even look at me after what I did? Oh, God, Spot, I—I can't—I can't hurt you again," she cried exasperatedly into the crook of his neck, more tears falling down her face. "You need to stay away—to send me away. I'm a lost cause—"
"No," he said firmly, pulling her back from his embrace, gently grasping her upper arms. His eyes reflected a determined intensity that made Kate audibly gasp, even through her tears. "No, you don't get to give up, you hear me? Not for fuckin' anything, okay? I won't allow it." Kate remained silent and still, stunned by the assuredness in his statements, but also confused by the sheer terror etched into every line on his face.
Was he afraid of losing her? Even in this state?
But his hand gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing away stray tears, brought her focus immediately back, as he continued, "So, we'll figure this out—you an' me. I don't give a shit how long it takes. We'll get you back to yourself."
"How?" she whispered, finding herself unable to help leaning her face into his hand.
"I have an idea," he said after a short pause, his voice halting. "One that I think might actually work."