From Lies to Promises (11 page)

  “I can only imagine what.
..”

  I cut her off, “Yes, M
s. Bran. You can
only imagine.
You come here and try to uproot a life that I made, a good one might I add. Just so that you can write a story so that you can be immortalized, so people will remember your name.”

  Her face was impassive, showing no emotional reaction at all, “I will not deny that statement, but
...”

  I interrupted her again, “There is no
‘but’ to that. You should get out of town now, you are not getting my life to write down for everyone to read.” I turn and stride away, but she catches up and stands in from of me. 

  “Like I said, I won’t deny that I want to do your story. It is a story of great strength, one that shows the world that a woman can handle anything thrown
at her and still rise above.” Ms. Bran states while clenching her fist in front of her to punctuate her words.

  “Ha. That’s real funny seeing as I didn’t handle it, I ran away. And I won’t be able to handle it if you make me re
-live it all over again for your story. This time it might be successful in tearing me apart.” My voice shakes as the last words come out, because it’s true.

  “Who cares if you ran away? I mean I would have too if I lived in that poe-dunk town. The point is that you are living and go
ing on with your life. You don’t let it run you or your decisions.” She says.

  I look at her slacked
kind of jawed before rage bubbles to the surface, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? It does run my life. Sometimes I make decisions, only later to realize that subconsciously done it based on my past.” I plead to her to just drop it.

  “You really don’t see it do you?” She shakes her head.

  “See what, Ms. Bran?”

  “How strong you really are.”
She takes a step towards me and places her hand atop of mine on my bag handle, “I have talked to countless women in my career. Amazing women. But never have I talked to or met one that has been through things like you have and carries on as well as you do. They all end up on medication and see physiatrist. And please stop calling me Ms. Bran. That makes this too impersonal, it’s Victoria.”

  “I’ve done both. Funny thing I found out though, is that they didn’t help me. What helped
me the most, was the thought that one day I would get my chance to turn my back on them like they did me. If there is a Heaven, ruled by an All Mighty God, I pray for once he actually punishes someone that deserves it. That they will die on their death beds, alone. Then be tortured in Hell for eternity.” I bring my eyes down to hers from the sky. “That’s what has kept me going, until now,
Victoria
. The hope that some fairy tales really do come true. That the wicked get punished, and I get to live happily ever after.” I look back up at the sky, as if sending up a prayer.

  “Katrina, tell me your side of what happened. Let me write this story.
As I said before and meant it, the names will stay confidential. I will never breathe a word of anything but the truth.” She begs.

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Look, just think about it this week.” She hands me the manila folder again, but this time I take it and place it into my bag. “My card is in the folder, just in case.”

***

              The rest of my day is nothing short of a disaster. Maybe, it was simply because I am irritable. Or a combination of everything. In U.S History the professor is at the highlight of his lecture when my pencil decides to quit writing all together. I end up having to borrow a pen from the weird girl next to me with fire engine red hair that she keeps pulled tight in a bun and who whispers to herself all the time. When I finally start jotting notes down again, I have missed so much that I am playing catch up. Between that and having to scribble out things that I write because I am using a pen, I am getting more pissed by the minute. Finally, I take down only the main points the professor is throwing out, and give up.

  In my Lit class the teacher announces that we are dedicating the month of October to Edgar Allan Poe. Sh
e starts off by reading The Tell-Tale Heart. It’s odd considering anyone else would have used his most famous work, The Raven. But this is my favorite piece of Poe’s. I listen to her spill the words from the man that was driven mad by his over heightened senses, of the old man he loves but hates his sickening eye that is always aware, and watching. I find tranquility listening to the story I know by heart. The unknown narrator kills the old man, but guilt eats at him till eventually he comes clean of his crime.
If only guilt ate at all evil bastards till they confess their sins.

 
On the walk back to my car after I finish with my last class, the strap to my bag snaps and my books go tumbling to the ground.
Fuck.
I pick it all up and throw it to my passenger seat and head home. The music I have coming from my phone isn’t enough to calm my nerves from the day. It is just after six when I pull into the driveway. I grab my bag and carry it inside and slam the door.

  “Woah, who has your panties in a twist?” Skeigh ask
s coming from the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand.

  I take her wine
from her and head for my room. “No one has hold of my damn panties, damnit!”

  “Someone needs to get laid!
” She says walking back into the kitchen. I stop before I make it to the hallway. I throw my bag on the couch and turn to her.

  “Sex is not a cure all, Skeigh!” I yell at her retreating back.

  Skeigh turns around, “No, but it helps.”

  “Ahhh!” I run my hands through my hair screaming. “Whatever I’m
getting in the shower.” I down the wine and walk towards the hall. I slam the bathroom door for good measure. It helps me release a little steam, but not enough. I bend over the sink and beat my palms on the counter until they are numb. There is a knock on the door before it opens and Lexi is standing there with Skeigh behind her. Worry marring their faces.

  “Kat, what happened? Are you ok?” Lexi questions placing her hand on my shoulder.

  I knock it off and walk past them into the living room. I grab what started my mood this morning and hand it to her. “This is what happened. Ms. Bran came up to me this morning and gave me this.” Lexi takes the folder apprehensively.

  “What is it? And why did she give it to you?” Skeigh quizzes as they sit on the couch next to each other and open it up.

  “My past coming back to haunt me is what it is! I wanted to forget it, and that bitch won’t leave well enough alone.” I say as I pace behind the couch. “Y’all wanted to know, well there it all is in a nutshell.” I go into the kitchen and pull out a bottle of Patron from the freezer. I am going to need it. With shot glass and bottle in hand I sit in the chair opposite them and start pouring. It burns as it goes down, but I welcome it knowing I will be too numb to care soon.

  I have down about
seven shots between pacing the living room while they read. I am sure I have worn a hole in the carpet with my steps. When I sit to pour another shot Skeigh speaks up. “We need two more shot glasses.” She stands without looking at me. When she returns she pours them and hands Lexi and me one each. When we finish them they both look at me. I am not sure what I expect to see in their eyes, anger, shock; maybe disbelief? I don’t receive any of those, instead tears spill down their faces.

  “God, I knew you had been through something terrible.” Lexi sniffles before continuing, “They didn’t believe you. Not one person?” I shake my head as my own tears,
that are now betraying me, break out.

  Skeigh has her arms wrapped around my neck before I even see her mov
e. “You will never have to go another day having to deal with anything like this alone,
ever
again.”

  After a good sob fest, we put everything back into the folder and sit around watching TV. They don’t ask any questions, but since they read the statement
s in the folder I guess they know everything they need to. Or perhaps they know I don’t have it in me to talk about it.

  I wake up the next morning on the couch between my two best friends. Three years ago I didn’t have any knowledge of what a real friend
was made of, but after last night I don’t have to guess anymore because I know.

  The rest of the week seems as if it drags by.
I find myself thinking about Ms. Bran and her offer to keep the names out of the story. Half of me really wants to tell her about my past, just to tell someone and get all the thoughts and feelings off my chest. The other half realizes that I would have to re-live it again and I could fall apart. So I have been in constant pro and con mode for the last couple of weeks. I’ve have spent my days texting Ryder, and my nights on the phone with him. We talk about anything and everything. Three weeks, is all that it took for me to start developing some pretty strong feelings towards him.

 
The only day during the week I didn’t hear a word from Ryder was Monday. While I was having my slow meltdown, Ryder was having a bad time of his own. Bethany was admitted into the hospital for surgery. Turns out while Ryder had been away setting up their restoration shop, Ol’ Beth was diagnosed with breast cancer. She told him the day we were there on our date, which explains his morbid expression when talking to her. When the doctors came out after the surgery, they delivered more bad news to them. The cancer had spread, and wasn’t able to get it all. Bethany would have to continue radiation and chemo therapy for longer than originally planned.

  Ryder seems to be handling ever
ything ok, but I am worried he is trying to be strong for everyone else. We make plans for a ‘stay in’ date for Friday night. I make the girls find something else to do, because I plan on cooking him dinner here and then watching a movie afterwards.

  “This sucks, I never get the entire house to myself.” Skeigh complains.

  Lexi snorts out a laugh, “I’m sure we can trust Kat not to have sex on every surface in the house. You we, on the other hand…”

  “Why should I be punished for having such an awesome sex life?”
She retorts.

  “You’re not being punished. Next time you want to have a date come over so you can cook supper for him, let us know and we will leave.” I say as I throw on my shirt.

  “Let us know about a week in advance so that we can be thinking of what to cook for you as well.” Lexi jumps back in.

  Skeigh scoffs like she
’s really offended, “I
can
cook. I just prefer to leave it to y’all.”

 
They leave some time later and I head to my room to finish getting ready. I chose to wear a pair of black jean shorts and a white tank top. Comfortable with a hint of sexy. I see the folder sticking out of my bag and place it in one of my dresser drawers, not to be seen.

I am almost done
cooking when he knocks on the door. I wipe my hands off on my apron and open the door. No sooner than the door is open Ryder sweeps in for a kiss. Until his lips land on mine I don’t even realize how much I miss being with him. Talking on the phone is nice, but not nearly enough.

  “Damn Kat, whatever you are making in there smells fucking
amazing.” He says still holding me to him by my lower back.

  I pull his hands away and run back into the kitchen before something burns. If I ever burn something it ruins my cooking for the night and I end up making a bowl of cereal. “It’s fried chicken and I promise it taste better than it smells.” I take the chicken breast out of the pan and stir the green beans when I
him press against my back.

  “I really didn’t think you could be any more stunning.” He whispers next to my ear and takes my
ear lobe into his mouth just long enough to make my insides clench. “You, that apron, and the flour you have on your chin is downright seductive.” Ryder’s hand sneaks up my side, brushing against my breast, and grabs my chin. He pulls my head back on his shoulder, then licks from my ear to the corner of my mouth. “And delicious.”

  I would’ve come undone right then if it wasn’t for the timer on the oven going off, signaling
that the mac and cheese was ready. I raise my head off Ryder and take a few calming breaths. As I open the oven, I look over my shoulder at Ryder, “It’s just an apron.”

  “Not on you it’s not.” He leans back against the counter and after I set the mac and cheese down I take a minute to look over him. His body is like a work of art. He isn’t too built, more like a runners figure, but every single muscle is defined. When he moves his arms behind him to the sides of the counter and jumps to sit down, all the mus
cles in his arms strain against flannel shirt.

  “Do you want something to drink?  We have tea, coke, wine, and beer.” I ask, my gaze still locked on his arms.

  “A beer sounds good.” He gets off the counter and walks by me to the fridge. “I’ll get it, you’re cooking.”

 
He twist the cap off and takes a long drink from the bottle and I watch as he pulls it slowly from his lips. I am halfway in thought of what all I want him to do with those lips when he ask if there is anything he can do.