Cory
AS ON most weeknights, Brett had deposited me “all nice ’n’ safe” (his words) in my usual spot on the library’s third floor. In the rear, near the stairs. And he’d be back to retrieve me at eleven o’clock on the dot. You could set your watch by my husband.
And I’d be lucky if I even got through half of my Basic Accounting homework by then; I was having serious difficulty concentrating. I’d become rather obsessed with last night’s little “misunderstanding” between Brett and me. My mind kept flipping back and forth between guilt because I knew that I was completely to blame for it, and relief because I now knew that Brett was completely mine, gay, straight, or somewhere in between.
The vibration of my Blackberry on the wooden table alerted me to a new e-mail. Without thinking, I opened it and started to read.
“I ALWAYS GET WHAT I WANT.”
I stared at the little screen, dumbfounded.
It can’t be him.
However, any scrap of doubt I had been allowing myself the luxury of enjoying slowly dried up and then blew away when those words fully sank in: the exact same words that had been spoken into my ear right before I’d been sexually assaulted last summer. I could never forget those words. I knew that because I’d tried.
And only one person had ever used those words in my presence in a way that sticks out in my mind.
No, this message doesn’t need to be signed. I know exactly who it’s from: the person who hasn’t yet gotten what he wants from me. Steven Percy.
With a sweaty palm I clutched my phone and deleted the message, my fingers trembling, and then I did the same on my laptop. Just as I’d deleted the other strange messages I’d received recently. As if that could truly make their impending meanings go away.
How does the man who attacked me last summer know my e-mail address?
I didn’t even have a computer at the time I’d been attacked. Had he been back to the pub and asked someone who worked there for information about me? Had he found my e-mail address through the university? But at any rate, you didn’t really need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out someone’s e-mail address.
More questions rushed into my head.
Does he remember where I told him I was going to college?
Does he know where I live?
Has he been watching me?
In no time at all I was sucking in shallow breaths, and my forehead was perspiring.
This is not happening. It can’t be happening.
But I don’t have to worry; Brett will protect me. He promised me he’d never let anything bad happen to me again.
And who’s to say this e-mail is even from Steven Percy, anyways?
I closed my textbook on the Basic Accounting work that was going nowhere fast. Biology would be a better distraction.
I am safe.
Maybe if I kept on telling myself this, it’d be true.
I am safe.
This was kind of like self-hypnosis.
I am safe.
This newest e-mail was nothing to worry about.
I am safe.
And even if it was from Steven Percy, he was probably just trying to scare me.
I am safe.
It had worked…. I was scared.
His band Dirty Laundry was still on tour, wasn’t it? And the man had far better things to do with his valuable time than to harass me, right? And he’d never make the long trek back to a random college town in northern New Hampshire just to teach some stupid kid a lesson, would he? And if it was sex he was after, he surely had more willing potential partners than he could count within a few feet of where he was right now, and they’d certainly be much more fun to be with than me. Yeah. Sure.
Nothing will come of this.
Whatever you say, Cory.
Hands on my shoulders, grasping and squeezing, nearly had me falling out of my chair. I spun around. “Jesus Christ, Brett, don’t sneak up on me like that!” My voice was shrill, accusatory.
“Hey… hey, baby… I’m sorry. I ain’t tryin’ to scare ya….” Shamed, he hung his head. Then he bent down behind my chair and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “You okay, kid?”
I need to pull myself together.
But I had absolutely no plans to inform Brett of my suspicions about Steven Percy. Hadn’t I promised him and myself just last night that I wasn’t going to cause him any more distress?
Brett was really happy here at L.U. He loved his job; he loved his home; he loved me. There wasn’t any way in heck that I would even consider robbing Brett of the joy that he was finally able to experience in his life by blabbing on and on about all of my groundless worries.
Without looking up to meet his eyes, I started to pack my things. “I’m fine…. I guess I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”
Lifting my heavy backpack from off of the table and slinging it easily over a shoulder, Brett asked, “Did you hear from yer dad ’bout Thanksgivin’? Get an e-mail from him or anythin’?”
I couldn’t help it; I turned toward him, and with a clipped voice replied, “I didn’t check my e-mails.” And I headed for the stairs.
Brett
“NO!” CORY cried out loud enough to wake up the both of us. And prob’ly them two dudes across the hall, as well.
I didn’t waste no time. I reached out and pulled my baby up against my chest. That there slight body felt all trembly and heated-up. I sure as fuck recognized them nasty-ass symptoms. “Bad dream?”
Pushin’ himself offa me so’s he could sit upright, he mumbled somethin’ that coulda maybe passed for “Uh-huh.”
“You ain’t had no bad dreams since last summer when… well, you know when.” I reached up to rub Cory’s shoulders. “You dreamin’ ’bout that asshole? Percy?”
Too quickly, Cory stuttered, “I, uh… I don’t… I don’t remember my dream, okay?” The “okay” part sounded kinda pissed off.
Nope. I wasn’t buyin’ what Cory was tryin’ to sell me right there. “Weren’t it you who said we gotta talk about the shit that’s eatin’ at us? Huh, baby?”
Droppin’ back on the bed on his side like he was collapsin’, Cory said, “I just want to go back to sleep.”
Sure as shit, somethin’ ain’t right with my boy tonight.
Then that tiny raspy voice I only heard when Cory was scared or hurtin’ sliced right into my troublin’ thoughts. “Hold me, Brett, please… will you hold me tight?”
“You know I will.” From behind him, I snuggled up real close and wrapped both of my arms around his narrow waist. And then I squeezed him good so as to comfort him. “I’m always gonna look after you. Got it, baby?”
I’d swear on a stack o’ Bibles that the little body in my arms shuddered in fear.
Then I heard a loud sigh. “I know you’ll try.”