Accept Me (5 page)

I sigh and decide silence is best. I’m not picking anymore fights with him tonight. He just needs to leave and sleep off the whiskey. We can talk later.

“So…” I raise my brows and motion towards the door, hoping he’ll just leave without further confrontation.

“You wanted me here tonight,” Ed mumbles. “You told me to be here tonight.” He finally takes a step towards me out of the doorframe of the bathroom. “You asked for it.” He draws closer to me, close enough for me to see something frightening in his eyes. Cold indifference.

A voice from within screams for me to run. Adrenaline bursts through my veins instantaneously and before I know it, animal instinct has consumed me and I’m off the bed and rushing for the door.

Ed’s outstretched arm catches me easily around my waist. I’m lifted and slammed onto the mattress with such force that my lungs empty. Before I can even react, his fist is drawn back, then collides with my side so hard that I think that he may have punched a hole right through my skin and bone. I’ve never been hit so hard in my life. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I don’t do anything but hurt. It’s all I’m capable of. With me limp, Ed easily straddles me, his knees pinning each of my arms beneath the full weight of his body. My bones ache and feel like they could snap with even one more ounce of pressure. I begin to struggle in spite of the pain radiating through my ribs and arms. The first full breath I take is in preparation to scream. It’s then that I see the balled up washrag being thrust into my open mouth.

“Please, God, help me!” I cry out from behind the cloth.

With me immobile and mostly quiet, Ed chuckles and leans back to snag my tennis shoe from my foot. I watch in horror as he pulls the laces from the eyelets where they belong. He lifts one knee from my elbow and forces my arm downward. The force of this maneuver flips me to my stomach. I have a microsecond to fight and I do. I pull and kick and flail and push, but it’s all in vain because Ed has the upper hand in more ways than one. Both of my arms are behind my back and I can feel the shoelace being wrapped around my wrists then pulled tight. I cry out. I cry out so hard that it steals what little breath I have. Ed is now straddling my backside and it’s clear what is about to happen. My chance to escape has come and gone. All that’s left to do is survive. With his body weight holding my waist in place beneath him and the shoelace tied tight around my wrists, Ed has freedom to use his hands and he does. His clammy palm comes crashing down against the side of my head and sends a lightning bolt of pain ricocheting through my skull. My brown hair is pulled tight and my head is yanked backward so hard that I think my neck may snap. I don’t feel it, though. Not with the life-saving adrenaline pumping fast through my captive body. I don’t feel anything but panic and fear.

“You wanted me here,” he growls into my ear. “You made me believe that you wanted it, so now you’re getting it, you little prick-teasing bitch.”

I can smell the pungent scent of cigarettes and whiskey on his rancid breath. I’m not sure if it’s fear or the smell of him or a combination of both, but my stomach shudders in response. I gag hard again and again. I fight back against my body’s reflex to puke. If I do throw up, I’ll choke. I’ll die. “Survive, Noni! Survive!” I chant to myself as tears pour freely down my face. I’m so scared. I want my mom and dad. I want to be home in Kansas. “Get back home, Noni,” a voice from somewhere deep inside of me pleas.

So I do. I go home. If only in my head, that’s what I’ll do.

I squeeze my brown eyes tight and think hard about Daddy’s farm as the hem of my dress is harshly shoved upward. The fields go as far as the eye can see. I miss being there. I’m dragged backward to the edge of the bed. I try harder to remember the way the fields smell when the crops of wheat and corn have just emerged from the tilled ground. Shoots of bright green wheat break through the soil and spring skyward. The scent is unlike anything else. It’s the smell of hard work, perseverance, and earth all wrapped into one. It’s the scent of home.

Fear grows within me still. I know what’s coming but it does nothing to prepare me. My heart races in my chest and I try hard to even my breathing. With one hard jerk, my panties are ripped from my body. A whimper escapes from behind the washrag in my mouth. I’m reminded of how scared I was the first time I drove the tractor alone. I was so nervous that I would mess something up but Dad just told me to relax and get through it. Once it’s done it’s done. He told me that I would never have to go through driving a tractor for the first time ever again. You only get one chance at the first time for everything. Some things you savor and some things you just have to get through. “That’s life, darlin’,” Dad said as he lifted me into the cab of the intimidating piece of machinery, a monster I’d seen him drive with ease a thousand times.

I scream loudly from behind the makeshift gag the moment I feel something hard prod against my backside. I try with all the willpower left in me to hold on to my mental retreat. I’m in Kansas. I’m not here. I’m not in this awful motel room being raped by this monster. I’m home. I’m safe. With one exacting blow to my backside, he’s taken something that isn’t his to take. My eyes pop open and bulge. The breath in my lungs freezes in place. I’m shocked and caught off guard by the pain. He wastes no time taking all that he wants. Another grueling stab. And another. And another until thankfully I accept the pain that has been handed to me. I stop fighting and accept it. My eyes remain unblinking. My head is turned to the side and I allow my limp, beaten, violated body to relax under his assault. With my cheek pressed to the scratchy bedspread, I cling tightly to the only lifeline I have left, my mind. My mind still fights even though my body has yielded. My mind is all I have. My mind remains untouched by him.

I stare numbly at the beige rotary phone on the nightstand. I should be on the phone with my mom right now, I think as it starts ringing. I hope she isn’t worried. I hope she never knows what has happened to me. What has become of me? Fresh tears spill from my swollen eyes at the thought of how this would kill my family. My older brothers would want to kill Ed and I wouldn’t stop them if I knew they would get away with it. My mom would be heartbroken and Dad—well, I’m not sure what he would say or do but I do know that I don’t want to find out. Ever.

Ed’s heavy breathing is louder now that his body has slowed. I hope he stops. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. I can’t stop praying to myself. I just need to get through this and shower. I need to wash it all away. I need to wash him away. I need to wash the memory of this night away. He lifts himself off of me and with one excruciating jolt of pain, he’s out of me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not sure why. Whether out of fear or relief, it doesn’t really matter.

“See what happens to stupid little sluts who mess with a man like me?” he snaps at me, only an inch or two from my face.

A faint mist laced with tobacco and liquor lingers over my skin, sending my stomach into an uproar. I gag so hard that my battered side cracks in response. A broken rib, no doubt. My eyes open wide as alarm bells resound in my head. I can’t hold it down this time. I’m going to be sick with this rag shoved in my mouth. A new fear comes over me just as my stomach heaves violently. As I focus on not choking to death, I see Ed grimace in a drunken haze. He does nothing as he escapes the way he came. He left me bound, beaten, and ready for death. But I don’t care. He’s gone.”

I don’t even know what to say. I stare blankly at her for what feels like minutes.

“I found out that I was pregnant with Damon three weeks later,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear. I left my doctor’s appointment and stopped at The Diner to spend my last few bucks on lunch. Joanne Bynum was my waitress. I remember looking at her and feeling sorry for her. She was middle-aged and working in this restaurant, on her feet all day. I remember thinking to myself that I never wanted to end up that way, working my tail off for a few bucks in some mediocre diner.” She pauses and shakes her head with a bemused smirk. “When I was a dollar and twenty-seven cents short to buy lunch, Joanne gave me a knowing look and said I could eat lunch for free if I was an employee. I had nothing else, no other options, so I took the job. I never left. I became that middle-aged woman running herself ragged for next to nothing. They hired me even though I was bruised and homeless. And I was grateful for it.”

Noni’s story leaves me speechless, my face sodden with tears I didn’t even know I shed. She spoke as if she was going through it all over again. As if she’s still there. As if she’s never left that night in a cheap motel room. Her eyes focused on that point and time in her history and she was gone from the present. I know exactly how she feels.

I’m not sure what to do at this point. I feel like sobbing. I feel like I should hug her. I feel like fighting. I feel like finding Edward and scratching his fucking eyes out for Noni and Damon.

I inhale the silence between us and scoot my chair so that we’re thigh to thigh. She’s sitting quietly beside me with her hands in her lap. Her eyes are still fixed to the focal point that she found at the beginning of this story. I place my hand on top of hers and just sit. It’s a small gesture, but I pray it speaks volumes to her. I want her to know that I’m here. I hope she understands that this is me sharing this burden with her. This is me accepting part of the weight that she has carried for so long. This is me accepting her as she is. My sweet friend deserves so much better than what she’s been given.

Noni’s eyes finally drift, breaking her daze. Her tortured brown eyes lock with mine and it’s evident that she’s at her breaking point. Her lip quivers. Her eyes fill to the brim with more than thirty years of tears. In a flash, she sweeps her arms outward and falls, crumbles, disintegrates, her head landing on my shoulder with a thud. Tears wrack her body violently. Shoulders, arms, legs, all of her is trembling against me. My arms automatically enfold her and I do my best to gather her up against me. I’ll be her leaning post if it’s what she needs.

I like to think that I’m pretty tough, that I’m pretty thick-skinned, but right now, I’m not. Being in love with Damon has softened my heart more than I’d like to admit and with Noni falling apart against me, all efforts at keeping my shit together are futile.

“Oh, Noni,” I croak out, pulling her tight against me like a mother holds a child, and crying with her. “I’m so sorry.” The apology that I’ve always detested so much slips over my lips before I can stop myself. I’ve always hated how apologies feel. I’ve heard them so much throughout my life and always felt like they were never sincere—no one could ever really, truly feel regret or sadness on another’s behalf. Or so I thought. Until Noni. Until right now.

I ache for her. I feel such disgust for what was done to her. I can’t think of anything but how sorry I am for her, her situation, her life… everything.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I repeat over and over, rubbing my hand across her shoulder blade.

After what feels like hours, but I’m sure has been mere moments, her trembling eases and her tears slow. I release my grip on her. She sniffles a few times and rights herself in her seat beside me. The dish rag that she’s been carrying all day is still in her lap. She brings the soft cotton material to her tired eyes and blots away the last of her tears.

It’s right then, in this very moment, that I realize that Damon is bound to find out about this at some point, and it occurs to me that my Big Man will be utterly blindsided by this information. I know he’ll be surprised about Noni and frustrated with me for going behind his back (and I’ve been preparing myself for that backlash), but the reality of the matter, that he’s here because that asshole raped a teenager… that’s going to kill him. It’s an alarming realization that sets my mind spinning with various scenarios on how to break the news to him, none of which are ideal.

“What about Damon?”

Noni eyes me warily as if I’ve just pointed a gun at her. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready, Jo. I—he…” she trails off.

“We need to talk to Grams. Grams will know what to do. Grams knows everything,” I ramble on.

“Jo, I’m not sure I can.”

I grasp Noni by her shoulders and square myself with her. “Listen to me. Grams’ is a safe place to start. We need her in our corner in case Damon finds out.
When
Damon finds out,” I correct myself because there’s no hiding anything from Damon. Not for long anyway. He’s going to find out at some point and having Grams there for support is going to be crucial.

Noni slouches forward, cupping her head in her hands. “Beatrice is a good woman, but I’m afraid,” she admits feebly.

“I am too,” I confess, knowing that any attempt I make to sound tough right now would be completely transparent. Anyone in this position would be scared. I’m no different.