Hey everyone! My sincerest apologies for leaving you hanging for 3 months after all the drama that took place! Sometimes life just gets the upper hand, ya know? Following the last, I kind of struggled with this one a bit too. But here is a long one if you decide to forgive me.
Thanks as always to Idcam for the review. I was really heartbroken too as I wanted them to have more time.
*Warnings* Very brief mentions of pedophilia and rape.
After spending several hours in the Emergency Room concerning Reves's nose, they learned she hadn't suffered a break, just sustained some bleeding, swelling, and bruising. The doctor had prescribed her some pain medication which Sara was going to pick up later – despite knowing that Reves was probably going to be stubborn and not take them.
The ride across town was primarily silent save the occasional sniffle. The sniffles were produced by Sara and Heather, that is. Reves had all but cried herself out long ago and now sat wordlessly in the back of the truck's cab, her red and puffy eyes fixed in a dead stare out the window. Heather sat to her left, huddled against the opposite window. As one might guess, she was still having a difficult time holding it together. The tension in the vehicle was palpable and could be cut with a knife.
Even being positioned behind her mother as she drove, Heather would periodically witness her wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to maintain focus on the road. Had Heather not been in the state she was, she may have conjectured that her mother ought not to be driving in such a frazzled condition. As it were, however, every glance ahead of her was met with the sharp sting of betrayal. She did not suppose that her mother had committed such treachery with malicious intent, yet that did nothing to ease the sorrow she felt. Her mother's impetuous actions were, in Heather's estimation, utterly uncalled for and only served to bring forth her father's ire and unreasonable rage.
Heather glanced momentarily in Reves's direction, questioning what her sister must be thinking after all of the outrageous events that had transpired in the span of not even eighteen hours as it were. Heather could narrowly fathom the manner in which Reves had taken up for her, placing herself in the proverbial guillotine. Heather had wanted to thank her for her intervention, but what gratitude could be expressed in the face of one being physically assaulted for their efforts? If anything, the culpability of this chaotic disarray fell squarely on her own shoulders and it left her pondering whether her sister now had an irrevocable disdain for her.
Sara pulled into a parking space in front of her parents' condo and shut off the engine. For a few moments, she sat staring at the front door but said nothing. She wiped a lone tear from her eye and then let out an exhausted sigh before turning to her daughters. "Don't tell your grandparents about any of this fucked up shit that's happened. I'll just tell them your dad and I had a huge fight about something stupid, like money and we just need to stay here for a few days," Sara instructed them when she finally spoke.
"If it's about money, then why are we here?" Reves challenged.
"Would you rather I left you behind with him?" Sara asked turning to half glared at the girl.
Reves said nothing, but Sara knew she didn't get on too well with the grandparents. Still, as bad as they were, even they could not compare to the loathsome prick they left behind in their humungous ranch home. Reves hated him. She hated him so much at this point that she wouldn't care if she ever saw him again. Truthfully, she didn't even care if Mom decided to divorce his ass. Hell, she'd probably even be happy for her. What did it matter to her? Reves was grown, after all. She had spent too much time sticking around to look after Heather. Something she never told her, but she figured she knew in spite of everything. At least she hoped she knew. Reves didn't know why, but she felt the younger girl still needed her somehow. Reves glanced over at her sister, who was hugging herself for comfort, and felt a pang of guilt. Her one act of defiance (which Reves had somewhat encouraged her in) led to their downfall. Reves wouldn't reveal this at the moment though as her stoic expression remained.
Hopping down from the truck, Sara looked towards the front door. She wished she had called beforehand. Randomly showing up at her parents' place after a fight with Mark never yielded anything good, only an earful from her over-opinionated father and fretting from her worrisome mother. Sara had left her cell phone at home so she wouldn't have to worry about Mark blowing it up (he knew better than to directly call her parents' home in this situation) and apparently he had confiscated both the girls' after discovering everything that went down. She had thought about calling from a payphone, but it was too late for that now.
Sara knocked on the front door and waited for her mom, Karen's worried expression to greet her.
"Sara," she said after looking at her daughter's face and then down to the rolling suitcase she was pulling behind her. Ignoring it for the moment she looked past Sara to her granddaughters. "And you've brought the girls. What a nice surprise," she chirped forcing a smile. "Are the boys too busy to come visit their poor grandma?" Karen asked as she opened the door to allow the three women inside.
Reves suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the question as she entered.
"Oh, you know, they are busy with the shop. And their girlfriends keep them hopping as well," Sara said, returning the same forced smile.
"You ought to keep better tabs on them. Already a teen mom, you don't want to be a grandmother at thirty-five too," Karen clucked.
Heather and Reves watched their mother blanch as panic flashed over her face. It was clear Grandma had struck a nerve – and probably for more than one reason as well.
"Well, they are eighteen now, Mom. I can't hold their hands forever," Sara reminded her mother as she glanced at her daughters, and tried to mask the pain in her voice.
Or so you say… Heather wanted to retort but remained silent. She learned long ago the less that was said in these situations, the better. At least that is what she had been taught. Now she was beginning to question all of it. Nevertheless, she didn't want to call attention to herself to be fussed at.
"You're right," Karen sighed shaking her head. "Sometimes I forget how long it's actually been. It seems like yesterday we were picking up your Homecoming dress, the red one. Do you remember?" She gave another strained smile. "Then a couple weeks later we found out you were pregnant."
Sara released a sigh herself and shifted her eyes, not entertaining her mother's never-ending reminder about how she fucked her life up – but of course in her mother's subtle and needling way. "How's Dad been?"
"He's fine. You know he won't slow down, despite the doctor's telling him to take it easy. He should be home from work in a couple hours," Karen informed her daughter.
Normally Sara would reply to such a statement with a chuckle and something to the effect of "Sounds like someone else I know," in reference to her own husband. But this time she merely grumbled, "Stubborn old goat."
They moved into the living room which resembled more of a curated museum than a cozy living space. The shag carpet looked like it hadn't been updated since Sara was half her daughter's current age. The tiny and already uncomfortable couch was bedecked with a plastic slipcover that crinkled and stuck annoyingly to one's skin when they sat for too long as they watched the contrastingly gigantic box television with a much too small screen. Nearly every surface, be it the top of the television, coffee table, side tables, or the curio cabinet in the far corner of the room was adorn with bric-a-brac. These surfaces were home to snow globes and Precious Moments figurines as well as framed family photos (a superfluous habit that Sara had no doubt inherited). The lion's share however was host to a collective of fat, half-naked cherub angels with rosy cheeks, Grandma's "babies."
"Well, I see you're planning to stay for a while," Karen commented, finally acknowledging the luggage they had dragged in with them. She paused and Sara knew she was about to ask what had happened between her and Mark this time. Instead, she said, "Go ahead and put them in the spare room and you can help me with dinner," as she pursed her thin lips anxiously.
As they began to move past Karen muttered, "Oh, well, come here dear," as she wrapped her arms loosely around Heather.
The awkward hug caught Heather off guard and the unwanted physical contact caused her to go rigid. The action may have been pleasant, perhaps even soothing to her, given her current traumatic state, but her grandmother's affection always seemed derived more from a sense of decorum than any familial bond that she shared with her grandchildren. Remembering her manners and to keep up appearances, Heather lifted her arms limply to return the hug for a brief moment.
"Oh, dear. Sweetheart, you're so thin," the older woman commented as she pulled away. "It's so hard to tell underneath those baggy clothes." She chuckled nervously before inquiring, "You aren't anorexic, are you? You know, throwing up and whatnot?"
For a brief instant, Heather cast a harsh gaze on the ignorant, if not well-meaning woman, before dropping it and muttering in agitation, "No ma'am, I am not." Had she been of a sound mind and a stable emotional state, Heather would have informed her how she had grossly misconstrued Anorexia and Bulimia, which were two separate, yet equally serious illnesses. As it were she was too exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally from the turmoil that had taken place not even one day ago.
"And this one too. Sara, what do you feed these girls, water and a crust of bread?" Karen clucked after releasing Reves who did little to mask her irritation at this point. She was beyond pretending with the niceties and truth be told, Heather could not blame her as she was swiftly approaching that point herself.
"They eat just fine, Mom. That's just the way their bodies are. It's called being a teenager," Sara argued.
"Well, I'll make sure they eat good here. Put some meat on their bones," her mother promised, seeming to disregard whatever Sara had said.
At that moment Sara was reminded why it was a bad idea to come here. Her mother's impetuous prying and prattling could usually make Sara forget all about why she was fighting with Mark. She was even tempted to pick up her suitcase again and tell the girls to return to the truck, but then she remembered the horrendous thing that Mark had allowed to happen to their innocent and unsuspecting daughter. Not to mention, he had savagely smashed the other in the face and her anger at her husband won out over her pride in regards to her mother's criticism.
Dinner was shaping up to be hardly a more pleasant affair.
"I told ya, you should of left him a long time ago," Sara's father, Carol chided her.
"Dad, please," Sara grumbled, rolling her eyes.
"Well, it's true. Yeah, he's got you a humungous house and all that now, but look what you had to go through to get it. Raising..." he stole a glance at Reves that didn't go unnoticed.
"You know, saddling you with four kids before you were barely out of high school."
"Why not just say it?" Reves insisted as she stabbed at the dry meatloaf on her plate. "Or you could at least stop pretending that I'm not in the room and that I don't know what you're talking about," Reves suggested as she lifted her eyes to him.
The table was silent as everyone stared at Reves - everyone save Heather. While she would normally be holding her breath under such tension, in this instance, she was scarcely perturbed by her sister's seemingly disrespectful words. In fact, she scarcely acknowledged any other existence at all. She was too preoccupied recreating her own trauma from the previous night and gradually manifesting resentment toward nearly everyone around her.
Reves watched her grandfather turn red in the face. "I'll tell you something, young la-"
"Carol can we not? I mean at the dinner table of all places?" Karen frantically interrupted him.
Carol huffed and his anger dissipated somewhat. "You're right, Dear," he reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth. After a few more moments of silence, he asked, "So, uh, how are your studies coming girls? Are you enrolled in any summer classes?"
That's what he wanted to know? Not why she had a massively swollen and bruised nose, despite having done a decent job of covering it with makeup earlier? "No, we've been on the road," Reves relayed in a despondent manner, knowing that was all over now.
Heather remained in silence, amazed that she even possessed the ability to maintain her composure to the extent that she did.
"Oh yes. That wrestling nonsense. I told your mom she was crazy to get into that. I can't believe she let you girls go galivanting all over God's green Earth like a couple of Carnies at the circus," their grandpa groused.
Grasping the dig, Heather glanced at her mother for the first time in hours. Sara bristled, visibly becoming stone-faced as she tried to keep her emotions in check. It wasn't apparent whether she was more bothered by the events that had recently taken place or her father's biting jab at her parenting.
The anger began coursing through Reves's veins. The only reason this man didn't like their father is that he was exactly like him. Controlling, overbearing, always right. A narcissist who couldn't stand to see himself reflected in his son-in-law. Oh, and the fact that her Dear Old Dad had – as he loved to remind everyone now – "saddled"his daughter with a tweaker's baby and then impregnated her with a few more for good measure. Reves had always felt her maternal grandparents had some sort of disdain for her compared to her siblings growing up. She had always thought it was because the boys were funny and outgoing, while Heather was good and quiet, the perfect child. After learning about Jody, it all made sense.
"Professional wrestling as we know it today does find its origins within the carnival circuit," Heather finally spoke as though she wasn't disputing the facts of their eccentricities. They were the first words she had uttered since her grandmother asked her about her weight and she was certain that was only to keep herself from breaking down completely. Ejecting useless factoids, was how she had survived all this time. It was her defense mechanism and it tended to disarm people either in antipathy or simple unease. Heather could feel her poise slipping away. But she could not cry here, not at her grandparents' dinner table with no apparent cause. Luckily for her, her emotions were too depleted to continue her sobbing.
Heather glanced down at the food that she had been repositioning on her plate for the last ten minutes and felt too sickened to even continue staring at it. Her stomach clenched and blood pounded in her ears. She wanted to flee this place. Yet, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, demanding to know why she had to maintain this charade that everything was perfect and fine when it was indeed nothing of the sort. It hadn't been for quite some time and now that she had found some minuscule bit of joy, people saw fit to rip it away from her, leaving her shattered and empty.
After dinner, Heather and Reves sat on opposite ends of the couch to watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (grandparent-approved entertainment. Not like that MTV crap) while listening to Sara boisterously arguing with her parents about Mark as they cleaned up.
Reves had the urge to yell into the kitchen that everything they said was true, but in the same vein, she didn't want to give them, especially her grandpa, the satisfaction. She glanced – rather scowled in Heather's direction where she sat with her knees hugging her chest. Normally Heather quite enjoyed Jeopardy and would be spouting out answers like a breathing encyclopedia. Tonight, she was silent, staring at the tiny screen with a distant and forlorn look in her eyes and a frown marring her lovely face.
Reves turned her attention back toward the boring game show. She wasn't ready to talk about what happened, and truth be told, although she may have come to her sister's aid, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least somewhat pissed off at her for fucking everything up. Leaving behind the evidence to allow herself to get caught? What an amateurish and moronic thing to do. And it cost them their whole deal. Then there was Nash. The fucking idiot. He let it happen too.
It was obvious by Reves's rigid demeanor that she was seething. Perhaps she was irate with Heather? While Heather supposed she had every right to be, the feeling that she had no one in her corner rendered Heather feeling more devastated than she already did.
Heather had wanted to speak, to express her gratitude to her sister for stepping in the line of fire, but whenever she attempted to do so, the words became lodged in her throat. She had inadvertently destroyed everything, all from one simple mistake. She had been a fool and she had devastated so many people with her stupidity.
"Oh well, darn. I missed the Final Jeopardy question," Grandma said as she entered the living room.
Her sudden presence caused Heather to jump as she blinked back tears that were threatening again. This was going to be torturous and Heather wasn't certain how long she could keep her composure.
That night Reves shifted uncomfortably on the tiny cot that was now occupying the center of the living room. Their grandparent's spare bedroom only had a twin bed in it, which they gave to Sara, forcing Reves and Heather to crash in the living room. Reves pulled the flimsy throw blanket around her chin. They always kept it so damn cold in there, yet bitched about things like how much electricity cost. Reves wished she had another blanket but it obviously wasn't at the forefront of her mind after nearly having her lights punched out.
Turning on her side a sound hit her ears, a quiet, yet still audible sobbing.
Heather.
With an exasperated huff, Reves jerked upright. If Heather noticed this she made no indication. Peering through the darkness, Reves stared at the small formation that occupied the space in front of her. Hardly able to make out her even teenier sister, it looked like the thing was an enormous maw that had swallowed her whole.
Eyes adjusting to the dim surroundings, Reves could now make out the outline of her sister's tiny frame. She was curled up into a ball, shoulders quaking as the sobs wracked her small body. Her face was buried against the back couch cushion, probably in an effort to muffle her cries of agony.
Bleary from sleep, Reves was annoyed at first. Then she felt her heart wrench as she listened to her sister softly howling like a wounded animal. Damn it. Why does she always have to make me feel sorry for her? Reves questioned as she tossed aside the thin blanket. She had wanted to stay upset for a while but unbeknownst to her, Heather had a way of working on people like that.
Reves slipped off the cot and walk the few paces to the couch where Heather lay in distress. Forcing her way onto the couch cushion beside the smaller girl, Reves cocooned herself snuggly around the other girl's frame. Her arm draped around her waist. Startled for an instant, Heather gasped, but upon realizing it was merely her sister, settled again and inched over as much as possible.
"You really miss him, huh?" Reves whispered her question in the dark. It was an all too obvious and stupid one, but she was unsure of what else to say.
Heather made a small yet unnerving keening sound in her throat as she shook her head. A fresh wave of tears spilled forth as she felt the knife twisting in her chest.
As emotionally charged as she could be, Reves couldn't recall seeing her sister in such a shattered state in years. Although, this did bring to mind when they were very young kids. Heather was just a toddler, in fact. She couldn't have been more than three or four, but she had this hideously ugly stuffed monkey that she was exceedingly attached to. She called it Mitzy and she would cart the damn thing literally everywhere, wrapping it in a blanket, pretending to feed it, singing to it. Reves couldn't remember where it had even come from. It seemed to have just appeared at some point and she fell in love with it.
Then one day, just as swiftly as it came, it disappeared. Not so much disappeared as she had lost it. They were playing at the park. Heather had busied herself with picking the wildflowers in the grass, even though Reves was insisting they go to the merry-go-round. All of a sudden a high-pitched shriek broke out and Heather ran barreling towards their mom, wailing at the top of her lungs. She had gotten stung by a bee and Ma had loaded them all up and taken them home. Heather didn't realize until later that she must have dropped that stupid monkey at some point which upset her even more. To make matters worse, when they went back to look for it, it was nowhere to be found. Reves couldn't imagine who would want the gruesome-looking thing, but truth be told, she was glad it had gone missing. Heather, as one might assume, was absolutely inconsolable, bawling her eyes out almost nonstop for the next few days on end.
Naturally, that didn't sit well with Mark, who had little – if any – patience for tears and needless blubbering. Reves had at one point even told Mark to leave her alone and quit being a bully. Naturally, Reves earned a fine ass whooping for her attitude.
Surprisingly, Mark came home one day with a stuffed bear and not your typical teddy bear. This one was orange with a red heart in the middle of its tummy, a Care Bear. Thus began Heather's affinity to the rainbow-colored creatures that persisted even to this day. That was a couple of years before Mark had broken into WWE with his Undertaker character, therefore the family didn't have much money, but he had gone out of his way to get her that bear as a replacement, likely so he wouldn't have to keep hearing her cry.
Reves expelled a despairing sigh. They weren't talking about some stuffed animal that could easily be replaced with another toy. Her little sister who was cagey and skittish around most people had haplessly fallen for a man who was at least twice her age. A man who she couldn't logically be with. Unpleasant and unfamiliar guilt settled into Reves's stomach and churned as she acknowledged that she was the one who had, in part encouraged Heather's feelings. Now here she was, heartbroken and bawling her eyes out on their grandparent's couch while Reves could do nothing but hold her while she wept like a baby. So they stayed like that for some time, until exhaustion took over for the both of them and they fell asleep, the way they might have when they were kids.
Kevin sat staring out the window from his hospital bed. He had just woken up from surgery on his quadricep not too long ago and he was still feeling a bit drowsy from the effects of the anesthesia.
The large man let out a sigh that was a half growl as he fixated on nothing in particular. Fuck, he was miserable.
"Don't be discouraged, Kev. This is just a setback. You'll come back even stronger, bro. If I can do it, you can do it."
The words broke Kevin from his lamenting as he turned towards his close friend, Paul Levesque. Paul had come to see him through his surgery, along with Scott, Shawn, and Kid.
"I know. Thanks, brother," uttering the short sentences, Kevin attempted a pathetic grin, but when that proved to be more painful than his surgically repaired knee, the muscles of his face fell back into a frown.
Paul was right about one thing: this injury was a career setback. One he would have to rehabilitate and work and train back into shape along with the rest of his body. Did it blow? Hell yes. But this injury was more of an inconvenience than anything.
What was more devastating were the wounds they couldn't see. Heather's screams were playing over and over in his head like those of a tormented ghost. Kevin turned back towards the window in an uncharacteristically brooding manner. She had tried to stop her father's psychotic rampage. She reached for him while he could do nothing but allow her father to drag her way.
He wondered what Mark had done to her. Did he hurt her? The thought of Mark putting his hands on her caused his blood to boil with a rage that had nowhere to be dispersed, only fester inside him.
Here he was, in this damn hospital bed. Useless. He couldn't help his Little One. In fact, he had failed her in every possible way. Kevin felt his anger and self-loathing growing by the second.
Kevin wasn't sure how much he believed in fate and all that, but perhaps he was a self-fulfilling prophecy. This was all his fault. He wasn't used to admitting that, but there was no denying it. He had fucked up royally and now his Little One would be paying the price. He should have waited. He should have controlled himself. He should have known better.
Not should have. He did know better. He knew better than to fall for her senselessly, to love her recklessly. But he did it anyway. Now he lost her. He had fucking lost her.
Thinking about her, not by his side was like a stake to the heart. How was he going to get along without her shy smile, her sweet disposition, and her odd but overall endearing quirks which he had grown to love so much? There was no other way around it. No more denying it. He loved his Little One. He should have told her so, instead of being a smug asshole. But he made the arrogant mistake of thinking they had more time than they did.
"You still never told us why Mark kicked your ass," Kid chimed in.
Kevin, face still swollen and bruised from the beating, (which he was doing his best to ignore on all accounts) turned towards his friend with an impatient glower. "Why do you think, Kid? Why do you think he charged in there and dragged Li – Heather, away like he did? Even you aren't that fucking stupid!" Kevin roared as a deluge of rage spilled forth. He couldn't hold his emotions in anymore and why the hell should he anyway?
Utterly stunned, a look of confusion and betrayal clouded Kid's face. Kevin had been such a prick towards him for the past couple of months. He had never been like this in all the years he had known Kev. Yeah, he was a dick to some of the other guys. But never his Kliq boys. They were all closer than friends. They were brothers. Family. Kid wasn't afraid to admit, having Kev treat him this way, hurt and made him feel like straight-up shit. Why was he being like this? And why did he mention Heather?
Then the answer fell on him like a ton of bricks. Boy, he had been that stupid. Or at least blind. There was something going on between those two. That's why Kev flew off the handle any time Kid would talk about her. That's why Mark went berserk and beat the holy hell out of him. Kid's heart wrenched with jealousy and anger towards the larger man. "Go fuck yourself then, Kevin!" Kid shouted back before storming from the room.
"What the..." Paul stammered as he watched Kid go. He then turned back to Kevin, his face a mixture of bewilderment and disgust. Paul was still partially in the dark about everything that had happened. Regardless, he was in disbelief that the man who was almost like the father figure of their group could treat his buddy so poorly. Turning towards the door, Paul left and went after Kid.
That left Scott and Shawn there with Kevin. "Not good, Chico," Scott told him, as he shook his head and gave him a pointed look.
Kevin released another frustrated growl. "I didn't mean to be that much of a prick," Kevin claimed although he knew it was a sorry excuse.
"JR called. He got sacked this morning," Shawn informed him.
"What?" Kevin asked, only half surprised.
"Creative just said they don't have anything for him now that this whole nWo angle is in the dumpster," Shawn shrugged. "He didn't want to say anything because he didn't want you to worry while you were going through all of this."
"Fuck!" Kevin muttered. He felt like he needed another punch to the face. He wasn't just acting like a ripe asshole. He was one! His buddy had lost his job and he was still here to support him without complaint and what did Kevin do? He ripped his head off and shit down his neck.
Everything had turned to shit and it seemed to Kevin that he was the center of it all. Of course, shit just happens sometimes. Injuries happen and no matter how safe or prepared you think you are, sometimes shit just goes south. He knew there was no point in ruminating over what would happen if he hadn't gotten hurt. He knew it wouldn't change anything, but he couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't gotten injured, Kid wouldn't be out of a job. But honestly more concerning to him was that things could have gone differently with Mark. He doubted Mark wouldn't have burst into the room in any other manner, but he certainly wouldn't have laid down like a bitch if he hadn't been incapacitated in the first place.
"Vince released them too. The girls," Shawn added as if predicting that their status was Kevin's next question.
Kevin nodded and his eyes met Scott's for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of understanding and loss. In truth, Kevin would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved that Heather was no longer in the company. It wasn't the place for her. She was too pure, too wholesome for this sordid, fucked up industry. Already he had been formulating a plan for when he could take her away from all of this bullshit that she had to endure. He had wanted to find her a good school where she could be among people who shared her intellectual interests and further her education. That way she could find her dream job because he knew wrestling certainly wasn't it. He thought about coming home to her and waking up to her. And admittedly, burying himself inside her every chance he could get.
That would have been a dream. And of course, that's what it was now. Just a dream and nothing more. But sometimes dreams were for fools and he had been the biggest one of all. Yes, he had been a damn fool to think he could run on for so long without paying the piper. They should have bided their time. In retrospect, six months was not that long at all. Probably less time than it would take for him to recover and get back into ring shape. But in truth, he was not a very patient man and he had grown tired of exercising caution. He needed her then. He wanted her then. It was obvious to him that she needed and wanted him too and who was he to deny her?
Even after all the guilt and the strife, Kevin didn't regret that he had fallen so haplessly for his Little One. Nor did he regret making love to her, being her first, and showing her what it was like to be loved the way she deserved.
What he did regret was the reckless abandon with which he permitted everything to unravel. He still didn't know all of what happened other than his imprudence had caused his Little One to be torn away from him. Every precaution he took, every bit of covering his tracks in order to sustain them, was all for nothing. His fatal error, whatever it was exactly, was rendering him into a state of despair. He had no idea how he was going to get her back or if he even could. Perhaps she hated him now. He wouldn't blame her if she did. His Little One deserved so much better than the deadbeat prick that he was.
All of this turmoil and the only thing he could do now was focus on the immediate things he could control and the obstacle he could overcome. That was his injury. The rest would have to come in time as he recovered day by day and would be able to wrap his head around all of this bullshit. He knew he could crush this recovery. He had done it countless times with determination and perseverance. Only this time, he wouldn't be striving just to get back in the ring, he'd be striving to bring her back to him…if he even could.
Kevin looked at Shawn with a rare sense of humility. "Can you tell Paul to bring Kid back here?" Kevin asked in a self-effacing manner. Among every other storm that flurried inside him, Kevin had been a total dickhead to his friend over situations that were beyond anyone's control. He couldn't blame Kid for his feelings towards Heather. Kevin imagined Kid must be feeling low over the loss of both Heather and his job. He knew he was going to have to swallow his pride and apologize for the umpteenth time.
"Mr. Calaway, Clarence will see you now," said the middle-aged paralegal with thick glasses and puffy hair.
"Thanks, Belinda," Mark said as he put the motorcycle magazine he was pretending to peruse back on the coffee table. "And by the way, you can call me Mark. Told ya that the last few times I've been here," he reminded her as he entered through the door she was holding ajar for him.
"Oh! Yes, I keep forgetting. Sorry," Belinda blushed with embarrassment before she left, quickly allowing the door to fall shut behind Mark.
"Mark! How's it been?" Mark's long-time attorney greeted him as he stood up from his desk to shake his hand. Clarence Whithouse was a robust black man with a clean-shaven head who always looked more like Mark should be wrestling him than discussing legal matters. Mark had met him in 1996 and he had a wealth of knowledge in family law and financial matters as well as practicing some criminal law (just in case). "To what do I owe the pleasure? Actually, you sounded kind of worked up on the phone. Don't tell me Sara's finally divorcing your ass," he chuckled.
Mark tried not to cringe at Clarence's seemingly harmless quip. At this point, he couldn't say for certain whether or not he would be back here in the very near future to discuss the matter. For now, he had come for another issue entirely.
"Not exactly," Mark replied solemnly as he sat in a chair on the other side of the desk.
Mark let out a tiresome sigh as his shoulders sagged. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject, but he needed advice on the best possible avenue going forward before he actually made his move.
The smile on Clarence's face faded as he witnessed Mark's distress. "Hey, what's wrong man? Is it one of the kids?" he asked with concern.
"Yeah," Mark admitted reluctantly, "My youngest."
"Well, what's up? She get herself in some sort of trouble?" Clarence couldn't imagine what type of a jam that little mouse of a girl could possibly get herself into, so he waited for Mark to continue.
"Damn. There's no easy way to explain this," Mark muttered more to himself than to the other man in the room. "My kid, she uh…See, I was havin' this big party at my place last week for the fourth. Lots of colleagues and stuff there. I didn't wanna have the stupid damn party but Sara was insistin'." Mark knew he was getting completely off track. "Anyway, let this one asshole – name's Nash – I let him stay the night. He…" Mark had a pained expression on his face. The words he dreaded saying tasted bitter as they slowly rose up from his throat. "This mother fucker, he…" Mark couldn't even bring himself to say the words without becoming choked up, "with my daughter. In my own fucking house!" Mark was now beginning to seethe with rage as he was being reminded of how much he loathed Nash.
A poorly hidden look of horror etched itself onto Clarence's face. "This dude, he committed sexual assault against your daughter? Is that what you're saying? How old is he?"
"Does it matter? My daughter is only seventeen and that prick took advantage of her! She was even defending that scumbag for some ungodly reason! Got pissed at me and told me she hated me," Mark growled.
Clarence's expression clouded over with distress as he slumped back in his high-backed chair. "Mark, I'm sorry," he uttered quietly.
"That fucking dick Nash is the one who's gonna be really sorry. I already kicked his ass for putting his hands on my girl. Now I want the cops to lock his ass in jail where the hell he belongs and throw away the damn key!" Mark countered, his air getting progressively more violent as he spoke.
Clarence shook his head in a disparaging manner. He repeated, "Mark, I'm so sorry," in an empathetic tone. "In Texas law, the Age of Consent is seventeen. If your daughter gave informed consent, there is nothing I, or any other authority for that matter, can do."
At that statement, Mark flew into a rage. "Are you telling me that fucking scumbag violated my daughter under my own roof and you're not going to do shit about it?" Mark roared incredulously as his fists slammed the desk.
If the attorney was perturbed by this behavior he didn't let on. He dropped his gaze from the other man and returned with an expression of remorse. "Mark, I can imagine how you must be feeling. Got one myself, ya know," he spoke calmly as he glanced at a framed photo of a vibrant and bubbly-looking teen on his desk and picked it up. "The good Lord knows if some bastard did that to my Vanessa, I'd be spending life in prison." He chuckled tersely before placing the photo back on the desk and continuing in a somber fashion, "But my hands are tied here, brother. They truly are. And it won't do you much good to go to the police. I mean, that is…unless she testifies that she was coerced or brutely forced into it," Clarence offered in a cunning manner.
Mark paused, considering this for a moment. Heather would never go for it. Never in a million years would she testify against Nash. He didn't know how he knew that but he did. He thought about what this would look like if it got out. Another headline of wrestling scandal not only for the dirt sheets but for national news as well. That was the least of it really. He couldn't fathom the mental strain and the emotional anguish the exposure would cause his family. He couldn't do that when they were stretched to their limits as it were. As much as he wanted to nail that fuckers ass, he couldn't do it at the risk of his already jeopardized marriage and the sanity of his kids. Mark shook his head in defeat, "She'll never do it, man. I dunno why in the fuck she would be protecting him, but she won't say anything bad against him, I can tell ya that right now."
"Are you certain he hasn't threatened her? Physical harm, or blackmail even?" Clarence pressed.
"No, things wouldn't go like that," Mark grudgingly admitted. It was true, like the rest of his Kliq buddies, Nash could be heavy-handed when it came to things that aligned with his own interests, but he wouldn't use threats, not with someone like Heather. If anything, he would use his gifts of charm and manipulation on an unsuspecting and naïve girl such as his daughter.
How was all this shit not illegal? A maelstrom raged inside Mark when he thought of that fucker practically getting away with murder. Maybe he couldn't throw that fucker in jail, but Mark was going to make damn certain that he was going to stay lightyears away from his daughter and, like his buddy Hall, he was never going to work for Vince's promotion again. That was Mark's only other consolation beyond the hope that that reprobate would someday burn in Hell.
Later in the afternoon, Sara took Heather along with her to pick up the prescription for Reves's pain medication. Reves had been wanting to go see Erik, her boyfriend, and since she knew seeing his 1967 Thunderbird would give her mother a heart attack, in the same way, as seeing one of Mark's motorcycles did back in the day, Sara opted to drop her off.
Heather couldn't help but feel even more dejected and abandoned as she watched her sister exit the truck and run into Erik's arms. Bitter envy coiled itself around her heart at the seeming unfairness of the scene. However, she remained silent as they pulled away and she continued to stare out the window.
Sara picked up the prescription from the pharmacy and then stopped at the drive-thru. "Here," Sara said, plopping the paper bag in her daughter's lap, "You need to eat and I know your grandma's stuff isn't the best."
Heather glanced furtively at the bag with the red-headed pigtailed girl on it. "I'm not hungry," Heather murmured, dropping the bag on the center console between the seats. That may well have been the third sentence either of them had spoken to one another since Heather's return.
Sara let out an agitated huff. She was sure she had probably wasted her money. She couldn't imagine eating either. Not when her stomach was churning and twisted in knots over the very thought of what happened to her daughter. She shook her head as she fought back the surge of tears forming in her eyes and pulled into a local park. She didn't bother to turn off the engine seeing that it was a balmy day in mid-July but placed the truck in park.
It was another few minutes before she asked, "How could this happen?" It wasn't apparent whether she was actually posing the question to Heather or simply thinking out loud. "What did he do?" Sara asked her daughter the question that had been trapped in her throat for the past day. "Did he threaten you? Did he just force himself on you?" The vision of a man of Nash's stature using brute force to overpower someone as tiny and meek as her daughter in order to have his way with her both terrified and angered Sara. "Heather, why didn't you tell us?"
"It's not like that..." Heather uttered in a whisper; her head ducked as she stared at her hands in her lap. Blinking, a tear ran down her cheek as she recalled the manner in which she had crept into his room that night.
"What's it like then?" Sara challenged with an edge to her voice. "That disgusting pedophile stayed in our home and took advantage of you! How else could it possibly be?" It seemed Sara was slowly becoming irate at the very idea.
"He is not, Mother," Heather replied in a low voice as she turned to glare at the older woman. "Besides, you are not even using that term correctly."
"Who cares!" Sara threw her hands up, dismissing her daughter's statement, "He's still a pervert who raped an innocent girl, for his own sick pleasure!"
"That's not true," Heather retorted. "I engaged of my own free will. He did not coerce me into anything whatsoever," Heather informed her, taken back by her own words.
"What? You can't be serious. Heather, why?" her mother demanded in shock.
"Because," Heather started before drawing in a deep breath, "...I love him." The girl's confession obviously left her mother aghast with horror. Contrarily, she felt a warmth spread throughout her chest as she repeated her assertion for a second time: "I love him." Having the ability to vocalize her affections for the first time gave Heather a bizarre yet fleeting moment of bliss amid the chaos that her life had plunged into.
"Oh, my God!" Sara bemoaned as though that was the single worst thing that her daughter could ever think to utter and for a mother, perhaps it was. "Heather, you're a teenager. He's a grown-ass man! He doesn't love you any more than you think you love him. He wanted one thing from you and he got it," the woman reprimanded her daughter.
"That's not what occurred," Heather practically sneered at her mother.
"Oh, I'm sure you twisted his arm, right?"
Heather paused at her mother's words; the guilt slithering into her gut. Perhaps she had been the one to coerce him? After all, he had rejected her initially. It was only after she had delivered a threat of her own that he had complied.
Heart thumping in her chest, the dame broke again ushering in a fresh wave of tears as a tiny yet miserable keening sound tore from the girl's throat. She buried her face in her hands to hide the shame of her misdeeds. "Yes!" Heather croaked wretchedly.
"Heather, it's not your fault, what he did. He's selfish and sick. He deserves to go to jail for a very long time and after all that, hopefully, he'll rot in Hell," Sara growled bitterly as she reached out to stroke her daughter's hair.
Heather recoiled from her touch and pulled her hands from her face to glower at the older woman. "He is not those things. He is kind and understanding, which is more than I can say for you people. He saved me that night at the rest stop." Heather told her.
"Rest stop?" Sara asked bewildered.
"Yes, the night I had incurred the bruise underneath my eye," Heather murmured.
Sara was even more confused which led to her becoming even angrier with the whole situation. "What happened?" she inquired. No one had told her about any rest stop. She was told it had happened during a botched training session. It had sounded suspicious, but it was not entirely out of the realm of possibility, especially considering her daughter wasn't the most...graceful, for lack of a better word.
"That was the night Dad suffered his concussion," Heather began without a shred of sympathy for her words. She glossed over exactly how they had crossed paths, and continued, "We were stopped at a rest area. This odd man was just loitering near the vicinity. Unbeknownst to me, when I had entered the ladies' room, the man followed me there...all the way to the stall I was about to use..." Heather's voice cracked and it had lost any edge it once had.
Sara stared in horrified disbelief at what she was about to reveal next.
"The only thing I knew to do was call Kevin's name. He was the only one there. The only one I felt would give a damn," the girl's voice was meek.
"That's not true," Sara refuted weakly. She hadn't been there, none of them had been there.
"The man, h-he..." Heather paused swallowing the lump in her throat, "he forced me against the wall. He grabbed my face," Heather squeaked. "So, I raked my nails over his eye," Heather appeared stoic as she said this, glancing down at her fingernails. The evidence had disappeared a while ago, but recalling it to memory she could still feel his filthy skin underneath her nails. The tears were flowing freely down Heather's face now as she shuttered. "In retaliation, he struck me across the face," Heather imparted and she heard her mother suck in a sharp breath, as her hand came absently to her damp cheek where the bruise had since faded.
You know, in much the same way that Dad struck Reves. Heather didn't voice that statement, but the unspoken words loomed inside the cab of the truck like a dark cloud.
"Oh my God, Heather," Sara muttered in disbelief.
"Regardless, Kevin appeared just like that," Heather stated, mimicking the motion of snapping her fingers because it was a skill she did not possess. "He pummeled that man to a bloody pulp."
Something flashed in Heather's eyes and for a brief moment, they were as dark as her words.
"Another irony, the man who had rescued and protected me receiving the same treatment as that vile, excuse for a human being," Heather hissed unable to retain her thoughts this time.
"I'm so, so sorry, Heather. That must have been horrific. Still, even though Nash did the right thing by helping you at the time, it doesn't excuse what he did to you. It was still sick and wrong."
"It is sick and wrong to love someone and have that individual care for you in return?" Heather challenged.
"When that person is twice your age, yes! Heather, what would you do if you ended up pregnant? Do you think he would be there for you and that child? Hardly. He'd probably be rotting in a jail cell – with any luck he will be." the older woman groused.
Heather's heart clenched at the harsh statement and turned toward her mother with a hard glint in her eye. "What plagues you more, Mother? His age or is it the issue that someone may truly have the heart to give a damn for once? Would that be such a grand travesty?"
Dropping her gaze Heather regretted the comments as soon as they left her lips. Still, she wasn't in the disposition to retract them. She did not want to experience contempt for her mother, but she had been the one to inadvertently facilitate her father's rage upon the discovery of her attachment with Kevin. Everything had been taken from her. Everyone had taken advantage of her for far too long. And her mother, although not a direct perpetrator, was an enabler of her father's mistreatment.
Sara was shocked by her daughter's comments. Just what had Nash done to warp her mind like this? This wasn't Heather. This wasn't her sweet little girl. How could this happen to her baby, her youngest child? "How could you say that? How could you sit there and say I don't give a damn?" Sara demanded in an injured tone. "Do you think I want to see you end up like me? Do you think I want to see your life ruined before its even started? Do you think being a teen mother would be an easy or glamorous thing? It's not! It's the hardest damn thing I've ever done. I've given up so much and I've put up with so much shit to make sure you and your brothers and Reves have a better time growing up than I did. I don't want to see you struggling and broken because some asshole decided he wanted to use you to get himself off and leaves you with a broken heart or worse an unwanted child," Sara lectured through raging tears.
Of all the words that spilled out of her mother, the word unwanted somehow shook Heather to her core. "W-was I a m-mistake?" Heather questioned through choking sobs.
"What?" Sara returned as if she didn't know she could be any more shocked by the words that came from her daughter's mouth. "No! No, sweetie. You're not a mistake," Sara assured her. "You're…you're just hurt and confused. We all are." Sara was also livid beyond words, but that went without saying.
Heather felt an impact in her chest like a punch to the heart. As much as she would have fancied her mother's words to be true, she knew they were little more than fabrication. She was wounded and emotionally devastated; she had cultivated contempt for nearly every individual in her life at this point. However, when she looked at her mother she experienced raw contrition. Her mother had sacrificed so much to ensure her health and safety. Albeit misguided at times, she had endeavored to create the best life imaginable for her children. She had done all of this while Heather had been a horrible wretch of a girl. Heather was selfish and impudent. Her foolish actions had set off a chain of events that had resulted in tragedy for everyone around her. It was time to atone for her transgressions and Heather was aware of only one solution to doing so.
Thanks again, everyone. I have started chapter 60 already so hopefully it won't be as long.