My Kind Of Crazy (12 page)

I stuff the clothes into the duffle bag as fast as I can,
and jog up the steps back to the suite. When I open the door, I give Jonah a
quick glance and a smile when I see him watching me. The look on his face tells
me that he knows my smile is false, but I don’t stick around long enough for him
to ask. I close the door to my bedroom and dump out my clothes, folding them as
hurriedly as possible.

Then I begin to slow down the folding process when I realize
I cannot just up and leave town, and if I fold any quicker I won’t have an
excuse to stay in here and calm myself. So I take about five minutes to fold a
shirt right, and collapse onto the bed with my head in my hands afterwards. I
run my fingers down my face in an effort to get the chills to subside, but it’s
not working.

A quick rap on my door makes me jump and yelp at the same
time. Before I can answer him, Jonah opens up the door and slips in, closing it
behind him again. He’s confused and looks a little perturbed at my avoidance
for the past half an hour.

“What’s the matter?” I realize from the way he asks the
question, he believes that he has something to do with what is bothering me. I
suddenly feel a little guilty for not telling him about Mr. Taylor. Besides,
he’s in the same suite with me and deserves to know if some kind of crazy mobster
is going to knock down the door and pull off my fingernails one by one.

“I’m afraid for my fingernails.” I mumble as I look at the
floor. The bed depresses next to me, but I don’t look up at his face. Will this
conversation ruin the progress he’s made on the medication?

“Why, did you chip one?” I glance up to see the smile of
amusement on his face as he looks down at my fingers, and part of me feels a
little lighter.

“No, Mr. Taylor is going to send someone to pull them off
with pliers.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I should have
kept this to myself. His face darkens as his jaw clenches, and a tiny muscle
twitches at the back of his jaw.

“When did he say that?” Even though he looks anything but
calm, his voice comes out a little too sweet. My breath hitches as I clamp my
hands between my knees to keep them from shaking.

“When I was doing my laundry downstairs he came in.” I don’t
have any more time to explain to him before he’s reaching for the phone on my
nightstand, and I grab his wrist before he can call anyone. “What are you
doing?” I ask him, trying to pull the solid, muscled arm back. It doesn’t
budge.

“I’m going to call the police and tell them that Mr. Taylor
has made contact with you and threatened you. This needs to end, Anastasia.” I
plead silently with him to let go of the phone, and one by one, he makes his
fingers peel back. When it’s safely in the cradle, I pat the bed beside me and
wait patiently for him to sit back down.

“Nothing he said could be admissible in court, Jonah.
Besides, it’s my word against his. The police already checked him out, and they
must not have found a link. So maybe we should just let it go for now.” I just
don’t want to deal with the police today, and I don’t want to provoke Mr. Taylor
any more than I already have.

“Let it go?” I don’t hear the dangerous note in his voice
until I open my mouth to agree. “He might be the one who burnt down your barn!
If that isn’t enough, he could have hired that thug to have you
kidnapped
!
He could have done so many things to you if you hadn’t gotten away!” His voice
is growing louder by the second, and I just wish I could take my first words
after returning from the laundry room back. I should keep Jonah out of this as
much as I can.

“Jonah, calm down! Nothing too bad happened, and I got away.
Besides, for all I know it could have been Mrs. Hash who tried to burn down my
barn and maybe it was her son in law who is in from out of town this week who
kidnapped me!” I try to get my breathing under control. “My point is, neither
one of us have any idea who did either of those things.” Before I can go on, he
interrupts me.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t go to Mrs. Hash’s this
afternoon. Your kidnapper could be there, and what if no one is around to stop
him from taking you again?” His words drive more fear into my heart, but I’m
tired of being afraid today. I want a home cooked meal, and I want to feel
normal
for once!

“No! I’m going whether you are or not!” I can’t believe it,
but my foot actually hits the ground. A moment of silence envelopes the both of
us as I stare at my foot, and when I look up, I can see that Jonah is fighting
laughter back. His lips are twitching, and his eyes are squinted a little in a
way that makes him more handsome than he was a moment ago.

“Did you stomp your foot, Anastasia?” I hear his voice rise
with the barely concealed laughter, and I feel my face flushing with my
embarrassment.

“No, I had a spasm.” What else am I supposed to say?
Yes,
I stomped my foot because you made me so enraged in that moment I really wanted
to stomp your face instead.
Yeah, that would go over well.

“Right, well, we can go on one condition.” I give him a
surely look, but he’s all business again. “You won’t leave my sight. Your
father was my friend, and I won’t let his only daughter get killed over a piece
of property.” I feel a twinge of disappointment that he doesn’t say he wants to
keep me safe because I’m important to
him
.

If I don’t get myself under control over that kiss, I’m
going to make a fool of myself soon.

“Fine, I won’t leave your sight. That shouldn’t be too hard.
It’s just Mrs. Hash’s house. There’ll probably be ten or fifteen people there.”
I look at the clothes folded on the bed and realize that my underthings are
lying out for him to study. Just as I look at them, he glances down at the
clothes and a hint of something I’m not sure of crosses his face. It might be
interest. “I have to put my clothes away, finish my blog post, and get
dressed.”

“I guess that’s my hint to get lost.” His hand makes contact
with my cheek briefly and lightly, but before I can register what just
happened, he’s left the room. I sit on the bed with my hand on my cheek for a
few moments before I come to and put my clothes away. I hear the shower in his
bathroom start, and wonder what that touch was for.

At exactly four fifteen, I’m sitting back on my bed with a
dress in one hand and a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt in the other. I
adore this summer dress, but it has short sleeves. The thin lines running up my
arms are a testament to the fact that, at one point in my life, I was not
wrapped as tight as everyone now thinks I am. Although, I suppose some of them
remember those days.

I lie back on the bed with my hair strewn out behind me and
close my eyes. Before I know it, I’m drifting off into memory lane where I
don’t want to go.

“No one’s going to call you a slut, they won’t even
know!” His hand rests on my upper arm, and I shuffle a foot as I look at the
ground. Being fifteen and without a mother can be difficult sometimes. If she
were around, maybe I’d ask her if giving myself to a boy I’ve only known four
months is considered being a slut.

“But I’ll know. What if someone finds out and it gets
around school? Most of the girls already hate me, and how do I know that you’re
not one of those bragging guys? What if I’m not ready?” I look up at his dark
brown eyes and search them for understanding, but instead I find a cold glare.

“If you’re not ready for sex, then I guess you’re just
not ready for a relationship with me.” I feel the cold air like a slap on my
arm as his hand moves away, and my young heart thinks it might be breaking in
two. He’s a handsome boy two years my senior with wildly curling, dirty blonde
hair and hunky brown eyes. If I don’t give him this, he’ll leave me for another
girl and have her by tomorrow. Besides, it’s just sex, it’s not like I’m going
to get pregnant. He’ll use a condom, right?

“Ben, wait!” I reach out a hand to grasp his hand and
bring it up to my neck. The smile the curls his lips is handsome and kissable
when he looks down at me. If I’m going to give myself to someone, it might as
well be someone like Ben. He’s always been kind to me, understanding. I seem to
have forgotten the times where he was aloof and didn’t want to hear about my
problems in this moment. Love is jaded and blinds a person.

“Meet me at my father’s barn at eleven tonight.” With
that said, he leans down and gives me the most heated kiss I’ve ever
experienced. It makes me warm between my legs and gives me sensations I’ve never
felt before. The gigantic, crushing weight of fear has turned into just a
little angel on my shoulder telling me not to go through with this.

Eleven that night, I pull on a short skirt and a tank
top. My father’s snoring in his room loudly, and I know that he will not wake
to find me missing. In the hallway mirror, I apply the rouge lipstick that I
bought late that afternoon and put on some of my eyeliner. I plump my budding
breasts in the push-up bra and marvel at how someone like Ben Cooper could want
someone like me.

I’ve barely made it past an A cup this year, and my hips
have just flourished. I still have a girly look in my face, but it’s starting
to change into a woman’s structure. I attempt to pep talk myself the entire
trek through the woods to the Cooper’s property. I wait until I’m safely away
from the house to turn on the flashlight, and scrape my leg on a picker bush.

My sneakers are covered in dirt and dust by the time I
reach the barn owned by the Coopers. There isn’t a single light on inside, and
the only horse they own is sleeping soundly in his stall. I almost turn around
when I get to the door because I’m sure that Ben is not here, but a hand
reaches out and grabs my arm.

It’s not Ben’s hand, and I don’t recognize it. My heart
climbs into my throat as I feel a scream building up, but before I can a hand
comes down over my lips. I attempt to bite my attacker, but it’s no use. He’s
much larger than me and stronger, and I can’t seem to get my fingers into his
eyes no matter how hard I try.

“Hold her down, Benny!” I freeze at the deep timbre of
the voice. My flashlight rolls across the floor and I get a glimpse of his
face. I recognize him as Ben’s older brother in college, and it’s not until he
has his pants down around his ankles that I realize what is truly happening.

I claw at his face, but Ben Cooper grabs my wrists and
holds them down to the dirt floor of the barn as his brother rips off the lacy,
bikini underwear I wore. It’s the only pair I could find that I thought was
suitable enough for a boy to take off. I had no idea a man would be doing it
instead.

Throughout the entire moments leading up to that final
event where my virginity is taken by a man in college who smells like cheap
cologne, I fight. But when he’s just about to take me, my entire body goes limp,
and it’s as if I floated off to somewhere else. The last words I remember from
that event are “I’ll show you how to fuck a slut, Benny Boy.”

I wake up with a painful gasp and feel sweat on my forehead.
My fingers come up to confirm my suspicions, and I wipe the tears away that are
trailing down my face into my hair. It must be the stress from these past few
events that have dredged up those old memories. May hap it’s the recent
kidnapping and my fear of being raped again that has brought them to the
surface, either way I need to stuff them down again before I start up old
habits.

I spent two years after that event cutting up my pretty,
useless arms that were held down so easily. There were other places I cut, too,
but I cannot remember those places without vomiting. After I was admitted to
the mental hospital the summer before my senior year and released, I took up
drinking. Vodka was the best because it looked like water in the bottle, and
none of my teachers suspected. Or they just didn’t want to have to deal with
the crazy girl again.

Neither one of the Cooper boys told a soul about what
happened, nor have I. Not once did I utter the words ‘I was raped’ in that
facility I had to spend three months in. No, I played it safe and went with the
usual ‘I just feel depressed’. The pills reacted with the alcohol quite nicely
and put me in a stupor for a long time.

When I was eighteen and free to move away from home, I ran
as far as I could from this place. For an entire year,  I screwed every man I
could come across and earned the right to the title slut. Then I grew up,
mentally and emotionally, over a period of a few months. Eight months later my
father passed away, and now I’m back in this godforsaken town.

I just hope that the few years I was gone has yielded a
better crowd of people. Perhaps the Coopers are gone, I never bothered to
check. I might not run into either one of those men again. Now all I have to
worry about is the man who kidnapped me. Maybe I shouldn’t go to this gathering
that Mrs. Hash is hosting. Jonah might be right; it would be safer to stay
here.

“Anastasia?” I sit upright quickly and wipe away the
remainder of the tears, wipe my nose on a tissue just before he opens the door,
and wonder why he even thinks it appropriate to open the door when I haven’t
invited him in! I’m feeling a bit raw from the memory that popped up during my
dream, and having him in the room feels too oppressive.

“I’m almost ready, just give me a minute, and I’ll change!”
The bite in my voice must snap down pretty hard on him because he just stands
in the doorway with a strange look on his face. It takes me a few seconds, but
I finally realize I’m wearing a tank top and the scars running up and down my
arms are very visible.

“You’ll tell me about that someday.” Jonah whispers to me,
and I feel a chill go down my spine as he closes the door.
What’s that
supposed to mean?
I think to myself as I grab the long sleeved shirt off
the bed. It’s a peasant top with billowing sleeves that will keep me cool while
it covers my arms, and I pull on the jeans because, as Jonah pointed out a few
days ago, wearing a long sleeved shirt with a skirt or shorts is just strange.