Truth Out Of Darkness
Chapter 42
He closed the penthouse door behind him and leaned heavily against it. {Home} He couldn't even remember how he had gotten here. He'd been running on autopilot ever since Chloe left him in the park, taking his heart with her. It was the only way for him to function; he had to lock all his emotions in and bury them down deep inside, at least until he got home.
But now, the emotions were threatening to overflow – they were too powerful to ignore. "He raped me." Chloe's voice, like a lost little girl, repeated in his head. He saw her bent over, shaking and sobbing, in his mind. He could feel her pain in his heart.
He closed his eyes and tried to stop the images. He looked up the steps toward his room, his sanctuary. {Just a few more feet, Brady. Keep it together.}
He was halfway up the stairs when his father called to him from the living room. Brady swore softly. {I've got to get my own place.} He turned around and headed down toward his father.
"Hey, Dad." He said emotionlessly. He was looking down at the floor, shoulders slumped, hands deep in his pockets.
John took in his son's appearance with worry. "How was the session, son?" he asked. Then he saw the welt on Brady's face. "Brady, what happened?" After Brady's confused look, "To your face?"
Brady reached up and felt the scratches on his face. He had completely forgotten them. He went to the mirror and gently ran his fingertips along the lines of dried blood; tracing the marks she had given him. 'Get Off Me!' she had cried. He remembered the stinging slap, the raking claws, the knee to his gut. None of those had hurt him like the look of fear in her eyes. She had actually been afraid of him – actually believed him capable of hurting her. {She couldn't help it Brady. She was just reacting to the memories. It's not her fault.} "It's his fault." He added softly, out loud.
"Whose fault?" John closely watched his son. He noticed the sad despair in his eyes, the defeat in his posture.
Brady barely heard John's voice, barely even registered his presence. It was a minute before Brady spoke, his gaze focused on some unknown dot in the distance.
"I don't understand, Dad. How we can live in this great country of ours and things like this still happen. Men like him are still allowed to exist."
John raised his brow in confusion. "Men like who, son?" he asked deeply.
Brady's gaze hardened, cold fury emanating from his being. "Men who take a sweet, innocent little girl; a girl they are supposed to watch over, take care of, protect. But instead abuse her, beat her, rape her."
Understanding began to dawn on John, but he knew Brady needed to say it, to get it out of his system. "What happened in session today?" he asked his son.
Brady closed his eyes in defeat, holding back the tears, fighting for control. He said simply, "Chloe was raped, Dad, while she was in foster care. She remembers it now, every horrible detail."
John closed his eyes and exhaled lowly. "My God." He said softly. He turned to Brady. "Son, I am so sorry." He reached out and placed his hand on Brady's shoulder.
Brady shrugged him off. The last thing he wanted was someone's pity. He was afraid that if he allowed himself to give free reign to his grief, his sadness, then he would never stop crying. And crying wasn't going to help anyone. So instead he opted for the other strong emotion he was feeling. Anger.
He spun around and stared at his father, blue fire blazing in his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that @$$hole isn't here so I can beat the sh*t out of him."
John ignored his son's anger and strong language. He knew Brady was just venting his anger and frustration over his own helplessness. His love, his soul mate, Chloe was hurting, in pain like she's never experienced before and he couldn't do a thing to help her.
Brady began pacing the living room, crossing the room with long strides. He gestured wildly with his hands, struggling to understand. "What kind of sick bastard does that to a little girl?"
John just watched his son silently. Brady was so much like him. When John was upset, the last thing he wanted was someone's sympathy or empty words. So John stood there, trying to reassure him through his presence, waiting for Brady to unleash what he was feeling.
Brady stopped pacing and faced his father. He sighed with a defeated slump of his shoulders that portrayed both the grief and a rage he was feeling.
"She was fourteen, Dad. Fourteen! Do you remember what Belle was like at that age? She was getting ready to go to high school and was worried about making friends and getting good grades. That's what Chloe should have been thinking about. Instead, she was worried about the man who crawled into her bed at night."
John felt his own righteous anger rise at the mention of Belle. It was every father's worst nightmare. He remembered Belle telling him about Paul Mendez. How, she had been afraid that he would rape her. He remembered feeling so glad that the bastard was dead. He thought of Chloe. She wasn't his daughter, but she was very much a part of his family, through his children. What hurt her hurt his family. And he would allow nothing to hurt his family. He tried to shake the murderous rage that was threatening to consume him. Turning into the mercenary wasn't going to help Chloe, or his son. He turned toward Brady.
Brady sighed loudly, staring up at the ceiling. "God. Fourteen. She was still a child, forced to grow up too fast, her childhood ruined, her innocence robbed. I… I just don't understand. I don't want to understand."
Brady laughed bitterly. "Was it just last night, Dad? We were dancing and kissing and becoming one. Finally ready to take a chance on us, all the obstacles out of the way. And now, like a punch in the gut, life throws this at us."
Brady began pacing again. "From the moment Chloe and I first met, there was this thing between us, a connection of some type. We just KNEW each other, even when we were at each other's throats. That connection has only grown stronger over time. At times, we know what the other is thinking, feeling. And last night, it was amazing. I can't describe it, it was spiritual.
But now, there is this wall between us. I felt it in the park, when she walked away from me. This unbreachable, unclimbable wall dividing us. And I don't know how to get through it."
John tried to comfort Brady. "You will get through this. It's just going to take time. Chloe will get over this."
Brady whirled on John. "Over it?! There's no getting over it! Chloe was RAPED!"
"What?….No…" came a small voice behind them.
They turned to see Belle and Shawn in the doorway of the penthouse. Belle's eyes grew wide as tears welled up in them. Brady swore softly and breezed past them out the door, leaving John and Shawn to help Belle. Brady couldn't take it right now, his family's suffocating pity. He needed air.
As soon as he was outside, he took off at a run, as fast as he could. He ignored the winter chill stinging his cheeks. He ran and ran, past houses with their happy little families preparing for a happy Christmas. He ran past stores with their last minute Christmas shoppers. He ran and ran, ignoring his muscles screaming for a break. He ran and ran, not knowing where he was going until he was there.
He stopped beneath her window. He couldn't hear her sobs. But he could feel them. Even through the barrier between them, he felt her pain, for it was his pain. As his soul mate cried into her pillow, he lifted up his face and cried into the winter sky. He unleashed everything he had inside in one gut-wrenching, heart-rending cry that filled the air for miles around him. As the echo died down, he dropped to his knees and cried.
Chapter 42
He closed the penthouse door behind him and leaned heavily against it. {Home} He couldn't even remember how he had gotten here. He'd been running on autopilot ever since Chloe left him in the park, taking his heart with her. It was the only way for him to function; he had to lock all his emotions in and bury them down deep inside, at least until he got home.
But now, the emotions were threatening to overflow – they were too powerful to ignore. "He raped me." Chloe's voice, like a lost little girl, repeated in his head. He saw her bent over, shaking and sobbing, in his mind. He could feel her pain in his heart.
He closed his eyes and tried to stop the images. He looked up the steps toward his room, his sanctuary. {Just a few more feet, Brady. Keep it together.}
He was halfway up the stairs when his father called to him from the living room. Brady swore softly. {I've got to get my own place.} He turned around and headed down toward his father.
"Hey, Dad." He said emotionlessly. He was looking down at the floor, shoulders slumped, hands deep in his pockets.
John took in his son's appearance with worry. "How was the session, son?" he asked. Then he saw the welt on Brady's face. "Brady, what happened?" After Brady's confused look, "To your face?"
Brady reached up and felt the scratches on his face. He had completely forgotten them. He went to the mirror and gently ran his fingertips along the lines of dried blood; tracing the marks she had given him. 'Get Off Me!' she had cried. He remembered the stinging slap, the raking claws, the knee to his gut. None of those had hurt him like the look of fear in her eyes. She had actually been afraid of him – actually believed him capable of hurting her. {She couldn't help it Brady. She was just reacting to the memories. It's not her fault.} "It's his fault." He added softly, out loud.
"Whose fault?" John closely watched his son. He noticed the sad despair in his eyes, the defeat in his posture.
Brady barely heard John's voice, barely even registered his presence. It was a minute before Brady spoke, his gaze focused on some unknown dot in the distance.
"I don't understand, Dad. How we can live in this great country of ours and things like this still happen. Men like him are still allowed to exist."
John raised his brow in confusion. "Men like who, son?" he asked deeply.
Brady's gaze hardened, cold fury emanating from his being. "Men who take a sweet, innocent little girl; a girl they are supposed to watch over, take care of, protect. But instead abuse her, beat her, rape her."
Understanding began to dawn on John, but he knew Brady needed to say it, to get it out of his system. "What happened in session today?" he asked his son.
Brady closed his eyes in defeat, holding back the tears, fighting for control. He said simply, "Chloe was raped, Dad, while she was in foster care. She remembers it now, every horrible detail."
John closed his eyes and exhaled lowly. "My God." He said softly. He turned to Brady. "Son, I am so sorry." He reached out and placed his hand on Brady's shoulder.
Brady shrugged him off. The last thing he wanted was someone's pity. He was afraid that if he allowed himself to give free reign to his grief, his sadness, then he would never stop crying. And crying wasn't going to help anyone. So instead he opted for the other strong emotion he was feeling. Anger.
He spun around and stared at his father, blue fire blazing in his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that @$$hole isn't here so I can beat the sh*t out of him."
John ignored his son's anger and strong language. He knew Brady was just venting his anger and frustration over his own helplessness. His love, his soul mate, Chloe was hurting, in pain like she's never experienced before and he couldn't do a thing to help her.
Brady began pacing the living room, crossing the room with long strides. He gestured wildly with his hands, struggling to understand. "What kind of sick bastard does that to a little girl?"
John just watched his son silently. Brady was so much like him. When John was upset, the last thing he wanted was someone's sympathy or empty words. So John stood there, trying to reassure him through his presence, waiting for Brady to unleash what he was feeling.
Brady stopped pacing and faced his father. He sighed with a defeated slump of his shoulders that portrayed both the grief and a rage he was feeling.
"She was fourteen, Dad. Fourteen! Do you remember what Belle was like at that age? She was getting ready to go to high school and was worried about making friends and getting good grades. That's what Chloe should have been thinking about. Instead, she was worried about the man who crawled into her bed at night."
John felt his own righteous anger rise at the mention of Belle. It was every father's worst nightmare. He remembered Belle telling him about Paul Mendez. How, she had been afraid that he would rape her. He remembered feeling so glad that the bastard was dead. He thought of Chloe. She wasn't his daughter, but she was very much a part of his family, through his children. What hurt her hurt his family. And he would allow nothing to hurt his family. He tried to shake the murderous rage that was threatening to consume him. Turning into the mercenary wasn't going to help Chloe, or his son. He turned toward Brady.
Brady sighed loudly, staring up at the ceiling. "God. Fourteen. She was still a child, forced to grow up too fast, her childhood ruined, her innocence robbed. I… I just don't understand. I don't want to understand."
Brady laughed bitterly. "Was it just last night, Dad? We were dancing and kissing and becoming one. Finally ready to take a chance on us, all the obstacles out of the way. And now, like a punch in the gut, life throws this at us."
Brady began pacing again. "From the moment Chloe and I first met, there was this thing between us, a connection of some type. We just KNEW each other, even when we were at each other's throats. That connection has only grown stronger over time. At times, we know what the other is thinking, feeling. And last night, it was amazing. I can't describe it, it was spiritual.
But now, there is this wall between us. I felt it in the park, when she walked away from me. This unbreachable, unclimbable wall dividing us. And I don't know how to get through it."
John tried to comfort Brady. "You will get through this. It's just going to take time. Chloe will get over this."
Brady whirled on John. "Over it?! There's no getting over it! Chloe was RAPED!"
"What?….No…" came a small voice behind them.
They turned to see Belle and Shawn in the doorway of the penthouse. Belle's eyes grew wide as tears welled up in them. Brady swore softly and breezed past them out the door, leaving John and Shawn to help Belle. Brady couldn't take it right now, his family's suffocating pity. He needed air.
As soon as he was outside, he took off at a run, as fast as he could. He ignored the winter chill stinging his cheeks. He ran and ran, past houses with their happy little families preparing for a happy Christmas. He ran past stores with their last minute Christmas shoppers. He ran and ran, ignoring his muscles screaming for a break. He ran and ran, not knowing where he was going until he was there.
He stopped beneath her window. He couldn't hear her sobs. But he could feel them. Even through the barrier between them, he felt her pain, for it was his pain. As his soul mate cried into her pillow, he lifted up his face and cried into the winter sky. He unleashed everything he had inside in one gut-wrenching, heart-rending cry that filled the air for miles around him. As the echo died down, he dropped to his knees and cried.