As startling as diving into a pond of frigid, frozen water, an unanticipated autumn gale nearly pushed me down on the pavement as I plodded outside after my sentimental therapy session. Shivering, I shoved my arms into my red Aero jacket, warm and comforting against my bare arms. With bated breath, I exposed my scarred wrist to the sunlight, grimacing as the opalescent rays made the pale white lines glow like silver. "Ugly," I muttered, tugging the sleeve to conceal my mutilated flesh. Three feet away, a disheveled, balding man with a salt-and-pepper mustache dressed in a stained trench coat fished a pack of cigarettes out of his left pocket. With a pocket lighter, he ignited the tip, then took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke. As piercing as sharp nails pinching skin, I bit down on my lip, desperately attempting to avert my attention away from the release and relaxation that nicotine provided me with. Anxiously tapping my foot, I battled the temptation, berating my pure thoughts with threats and pleas. After five minutes, the urge became so prodigious that I almost snatched a cigarette out of the man's hand.
A beacon of sunlight among dark storm clouds, my mother pulled up in front of me in her red Subaru, laying on her horn insistently. Grateful, I yanked open the door and slid into the passenger seat. Adorned in a modest cashmere sweater, my mother's hair cascaded down her back in long waves of bleached blonde silk. Reeking of vanilla perfume, my mother disclosed, "I had a busy afternoon."
As bland as cotton, I apathetically persisted, "What'd you do?"
After she shifted the gear to drive, my mother asserted, "Well, I had a nice lunch at Burger Inn, I got my nails done, then I ran a couple errands at Treegap's outlet mall." As an obnoxious Lexus switched lanes unexpectedly, denying my mother the opportunity to turn right before the light switched to red, she cussed under her breath.
"Mom?"
"Hmm," she sighed, "oh yeah. There was a man named Ellis probably in his late forties dressed in a fedora and an ironed suit."
"A fedora hat," I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
Giggling like a preschooler, my mother slapped me teasingly on the arm and retorted, "Shut up, Em. He was totally hot. He looked like an older Corey Monteith. I bet you're jealous."
Rolling my eyes, I muttered sarcastically, "Sure I am."
"Too bad you're not my age," she bantered, "otherwise I might share him."
Despite my theatrical morose masquerade, it was easy to make me laugh; I guffawed in laughter, cackling like a deranged witch. Between chuckles, I inquired solemnly, "Did you get his number?"
Her hazel eyes orbs of rich amber in the sunlight steeping in through the driver's window, my mother enunciated each word, "I got every digit."
Like a teenager witnessing their first car on their sixteenth birthday, I shrieked euphorically, "Oh my God, Mom!" Envisioning my mom in white with a ring on her finger was terrifying because I felt I wouldn't be able to tolerate an older man living with me after my trauma, but any cause that put a smile on my mother's face was enough to pump happiness into my heart.
"How was therapy?" Like a dagger, those words pierced my heart, dropping the burden of pain and remorse on my shoulders. Even though I had been raped three years ago, these words etched a pristine picture in my mind, as if I had been taken advantage of only yesterday.
As bristly as a cactus, I instigated, "I don't want to talk about this." My nails were pressed into a sallow white as I dug my fingers into the armrest.
Although she realized her mistake, my mother still ignored my infuriation. Rather than the inverse, she pressed, "Oh Emily, would you stop shutting me out."
"How am I shutting you out?" I demanded indignantly. "It's my therapy, which I don't need."
"I still think you do."
My voice as shrill as nails on a chalkboard, I wailed, "Why?"
"The move was stressful. Honestly, I think we could both benefit from some counseling. Doesn't it feel like such a relief to confide in someone about your emotions?" With her eyes fixated on the road, my mother took a left turn into our neighborhood, placid as the brick houses were nestled among towering redwoods.
"No," I sulked, slouching in my seat. "Besides, we've moved hundreds of times and I've never had a problem. Most of the time I'm ghost; I hardly have any friends. It's just new scenery."
Tears as crystalline as diamonds glistened in the corners of my mother's eyes as she sobbed, "This is what I'm talking about!"
My cheeks deep crimson and blotchy, I protested, "What do you want from me?"
"I just want you to be happy," she wept, as grievous a widow at their spouse's funereal.
Trembling in rage, I exhaled, "Mom, I was raped at fourteen. My body was violated, I cut myself, and I attempted suicide. Do you expect me to be smiling and singing songs?"
Torrents of tears splashed on my mother's jeans. "Why can't you heal? I thought you were better, but I saw you cutting again. You have this wound but it never seems to form a scab."
"I'm sorry... I was just stressed." Guiltily, I glanced down at my wrist were a coarse line of burgundy skin peeked out among the red fabric. "It's not easy," I admitted solemnly, my eyes as azure as the ocean, distant and melancholy.
In exasperation, my mother slapped the wheel. "It was hard for me, too, when my parents divorced. But a year later I escaped depression; I was perfectly fine."
Despite the unshed tears glistening on the red rims of my eyes, I giggled hysterically, "I think my situation was a little more traumatizing than yours."
"Doesn't matter," she snapped. "Normal people are able to bounce back."
Offended, I prompted, "Oh, so now you want me to be normal? I guess you don't like me the way I am."
"No, Emily," she blustered urgently, "I..." Like an unreliable rusty pickup truck, she broke down completely, howling and sniveling.
"What do you want me to do?" I queried, tentatively placing my hand on her shoulder to coax her.
Her face buried in her hands, my mother whispered, "I just want my baby back."
As if I'd been shocked with an electric current, I snapped my hand back, repulsed by the contact with the woman who had given birth to me. "Your baby is gone. I thought you were the one person who understood me, who loved and accepted me no matter what. You say I have a wound that will never heal, but what you just said has infected it. I don't know if I can forgive you." As the car puttered along the street, I popped open the door, setting of an alarm, before jumping out. Blinded with tears, I sprinted forward, ignoring my mother's cries. Variegated leaves of orange, red, and green garnished the branches of the surrounding trees. My heavy tread muted by the stirring of the leaves in the wind, I darted into the dense foliage.
As fast as a cheetah, I barreled through the forest, dodging shrubs and snarled tree branches. Stumbling on an adjacent tree root, I was sprawled on my stomach and the palms of my hands. "I can't do it," I bawled, sitting on my bottom with my knees pulled to my chest. Swiping away the dampness on my cheeks with dirt-caked hands, I reluctantly forced my body to stand up. There was nothing left for me here. "Keep running," I mandated myself. With one foot in front of the other, I scurried at an even more rapid pace; I just wanted to disappear. Visions of Mr. Carlyle pulling his pants down, Hello Kitty panties, a silver razor blade tarnished with gore, a dark room with the shades drawn to shut out the world, and the hazy, distorted sensation of prescription pills haunted my mind. "Go away!" I screeched, shaking my head vigorously to terminate the reminder of the mistakes that I've made.
Through a thicket of shrubs, I stumbled into a clearing teeming with white lilies, the pale hue as luminous as pristine white snow. At the far edge of the clearing a mighty oak tree skimmed the azure sky, its roots bumpy and uneven and stretching around the tree in all directions. In front of the robust trunk was a rectangular gravestone, the letters engraved in the limestone weathered from several years exposed to the elements. Donned in an faded Hard Rock Café t-shirt and ripped jeans was Jesse Tuck, his focus fixated on the marker of the deceased. "Jesse," I gasped.
Like he had been scalded by boiling water, Jesse whipped around, his mouth agape as he absorbed my presence. Instantly I felt like an intruder. "Emily," he pressed slowly, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry," I stuttered, desperately trying to smooth the creases out of my rumpled pants. "I was just hiking, and I sorta found it."
Incognizant of the lie I had just made, Jesse enlightened, "It is beautiful, isn't it? I always come here when I feel like the world is closing in."
"Yes," I conceded, then I recalled the gravestone. "Were you visiting somebody?"
As I indicated the gravestone with my index finger, the bewildered expression subsided on Jesse's face. "Just an old friend," he affirmed. As gentle as a summer breeze weaving through a field of daffodils, Jesse's suspicious blue gaze softened into sympathy as he noticed the tears on my cheeks. "What happened?"
"What? Oh yeah," I substituted the sleeve of my jacket as a Kleenex. "Nothing."
"That's a lie," Jesse objected. Aromas of pine needles mingled in my nose as he pulled me into an embrace. Surprised, I nearly jumped away at the contact, but then I melted into his warmth. Lust kindled and resurfaced within me, roaring like a lion; my limbs ached. All I wanted was this boy right here and now.
Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed my mouth against his, drinking in the taste of him contently like he was exquisitely aged wine. Halting, Jesse held me out at shoulder length, his gaze scrutinizing. "Please," I murmured, "kiss me." Diffidently, he seemed to contemplate my offer, but then he leaned in and molded his tender lips with mine. His breath as warm and gentle, Jesse sucked on my bottom lip. Cocooned in his heated embrace, I passionately used my tongue to explore the inner regions of his mouth. Up his slender, flawless neck I planted feathery kisses, my nerve endings tingling as I tasted his skin, as soft and supple as bread dough. Applying gentle pressure on my cheek, Jesse tilted my mouth back to his. Slowly, he lowered me into the lilies, their perfume as saccharine as powdered sugar.
Clutching the folds of his shirt, I yanked it over his head, tossing it haphazardly behind me. For a moment he eyed me like he was imploring my consent. With a small nod of my head, he unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them down to my knees. Straddling me between his muscular legs, his eyes mirrored worry as well as desire. "Are you okay?" he queried, pushing an astray wispy lock of blonde hair behind my ears.
"I need you," I whispered, staring into his cobalt orbs, seeing the fear evident on my reflection's face. With his hardened member, he gently delved into my core. Moaning in ecstasy, I felt dynamic as he thrusted once, twice. Despite the pain I had to withstand, I'd never felt more like a queen, royal and cherished. Synchronized, both Jesse's and my heart pounced erratically in our chests, flurried and rapid like a hummingbird as it flaps its wings. Panting like he had run a marathon, Jesse converted back to peppering kisses on my collarbone. Placing all his weight on me, he licked my neck, then nibbled my right ear with his teeth.
While he continued to have intercourse with me, I had become as rigid as stone, not returning any affection. What had I done? Horrified by my actions, I wanted to hide away under a blanket, to conceal myself away from the sexual ambitions of men. It seemed as only yesterday I was a victim of rape, but today I was a slut, hooking up with boys who were practically strangers. In the wilderness I had exposed my body, grateful for the presence of hands on my hips, but now I was repulsed. Rather than the slender, warm hands cupped around my small breasts, they felt like reptilian skin, rough and jagged, chaffing my pliable flesh. With the palms of my hands, I callously pushed Jesse off of my body, cutting him abruptly from the series of kisses he had been placing on my inner thigh. Half naked, he stared at me, bamboozled. "Emily..." he started.
"Don't," I interrupted. "I'm sorry, just forget this happened." Springing to my feet, I buttoned my shirt with agile fingers, pulled my jeans back over my legs, and slipped my jacket back on.
"Come on, Emily, we can talk about this."
Torrents of emotions bubbled inside my heart, but instead I just pinched Jesse's shirt between his fingers and tossed it back to him. "Put your clothes back on," I asserted. When I had laced up my Converse, I dashed back into the autumn leaves. Overhead, the sky had become black and yellow like an ancient bruise, promising a storm. To the north I heard Jesse calling my name, beseeching me to come back, but I was too far gone. Squirrels with bushy brown tails scampered up the trees; some were scavenging for acorns on the forest floor. Deeper among the verdure a deer was munching on wild grass. With eyes as large as softballs, the doe captivated my presence. Jealousy gnawed at me like terminates weaken wood; I wanted the innocence and purity of the young doe. Perhaps she belonged to a herd who adored her, who protected her, who were not afraid or resentful of what she had become.
A sudden snap of a twig made the deer jolt to attention, before bounding away. Petrified Jesse had found me, I began running to evade his apologies. Several feet away, I could see the wooden picket fence that opened into my backyard. Relieved that it was unlocked, I shoved it open. Rain was showering down in sheets of ample drops. Trudging through the sodden grass, I climbed up the stairs ascending to my back porch. As alluring and comforting as homemade chocolate chip cookies, the heat was switched on in the house as I staggered into the threshold, sending shivers spiraling down my spine. Dropping my drenched coat over the heater, I nearly had a heart attack when I noticed my mother sprawled out on the beige microfiber couch. Despite my earlier antagonism towards her, I exploded into a mess of tears. When my mother outstretched her arms, I curled into my her warm body, cocking my head so I could listen to the steady thumping of her heart. As she rested her chin on the top of my head, the gesture reminded me of when I was five and I would wake up in the middle of the night with excruciating fevers. For hours she would lay awake with me until I drifted into sleep. "I'm sorry you lost your baby," I mumbled into her shirtfront.
"What are talking about?" My mother chuckled hoarsely, her voice cracking with emotion, "My baby's right here."
I know some of my reviewers wanted a happy chapter, but you're just going to have to stick with me for these next few chapters. They're going to be depressing, but I promise the story will be more bubbly and fluffy later. At least I reconciled Emily with her mom. :) Please review, it makes my day.