Twisted Proposal (30 page)

“You have my word.”

              “He’s knocked out on Polluck Road.” I hung up.

              I paced the floor for a few seconds and then opened the bathroom door. Kevin was gone, and in his place was Mr. Van Buren. He wore his usual designer suit and a scowl on his face. I slammed the door.

              “Shit,” I muttered and backed away from the door. He tried the door knob. Silence made the tension rise in the room like the steam in a sauna. The cheap plywood didn’t last long after he kicked it a few times. He strode into the bathroom and yanked me from the bathtub by my arm.

“You and I are going to have a little chat.” He pushed me to the bed and I scrambled to my feet, flattening against the wall.
Damn! Kevin was right. They traced the call.

              “He…he attacked me, broke my wrist.” For the first time, he seemed to see my injuries. He sat down heavily, a sigh sliding from his lips. I dropped to the floor crying.
Why couldn’t these people leave me alone?

              “He’s not taking his medicine, claims it makes him weak.”

              Not so weak that he couldn’t almost kill me. I lifted my head, sniffling. “What…kind of medicine is he on?”

              Mr. Van Buren looked over at me and back at the wall in front of him. “He’s bipolar, sociopath, probably schizophrenic. It depends on what doctor you talk to.”

He leaned forward and offered his hand. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come with me.”

I shook my head. “No, I can’t…you promised. He’ll kill me!”

              “Once he sees you…” His voice trailed off as he helped me to my feet.

“Don’t make me…please.”

He pulled me into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he kissed the top of my head. 

I pushed away. “I hate you!”  Nothing mattered to these people. How many others were there before me?
Did they pay them off to keep quiet?
I needed answers.

              “If I’m going to do this, we do this on my terms.”

Mr. Van Buren nodded. “Come on.”

              I didn’t move. “You haven’t heard my terms.”

              His face hardened and instead of sitting and listening, he left.

Chapter Thirty

I remained where I was until he came back. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Mr. Van Buren shut the door, sighed, and pulled a chair out from the table. “Ask away,” he said, leaning close and peering at me with an intense gaze.

I took a deep breath as I perched on the edge of the bed. “How many others have there been?”

“Four.”

“Four.” I grimaced. “Where are they?”

“Two are institutionalized, one is dead, and the other is…” He paused and frowned. “Let’s just say she’s at home with her family.”

I shook my head. Things like this didn’t happen.
These people couldn’t get away with this, could they?

“Are you finished?” He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t live like this.” I cried as Mr. Van Buren draped his arm around my shoulder and led me gently out to his car.

“For starters, you can ditch that boy you’re seeing at the park. The drugs too.” After settling into the soft leather front seat, I dug around my pocket and found a few more pills and swallowed them. They left a bitter taste on my tongue.

“If my son goes, then you stop seeing that Kevin kid,” he said as he started the car.

              “Fine,” I lied. No one was going to dictate whom I could and could not see.

              As he eased into traffic, his cell rang. He answered the call on speaker. The person on the other end advised him Jackson was fine. Ticked off, but fine. I rested my head against the window, watching the blur of headlights whizz past us. Part of me wanted to just open the door and jump into oncoming traffic, but the fear of not dying prevented me. Instead I said a silent prayer to my mom or whoever was looking out for me. 

We parked in the driveway of Mr. Van Buren’s house, and he turned off the ignition. He didn’t move. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this. I’ll take care of the school. Do we have an understanding?” I felt his cold eyes on me and shivered.

“So what now?”

              “He’s in his room waiting for you.”

              The windows of the house were dark, but I knew Jackson was up there staring down at me. Nothing mattered anymore. The pills had kicked in, and I staggered into the house up to his room. At least, the pain in my wrist and head had dulled to a steady ache that seemed far away.

I realized that Mr. Van Buren controlled Stuart, and Van Buren knew Stuart would never defy him. No one would stand up for me but me. More importantly, in Mr. Van Buren's eyes, I belonged to his son. As I stared at the wooden door, I couldn’t believe I was reaching out to knock, but I did. Jackson opened it and gestured for me to enter. I shrugged past him. He said something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. As soon as the door closed, I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before he exploded. Could I survive another violent outburst, I wondered. What would they do with my body?

“You knocked me out, stole my car and phone,” he began. A small bandaid covered the cut on his forehead.

I pushed my hair out of my face so he could see the full damage. “And you broke my wrist.”

              “You’re embarrassing my family. After all we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?” He seemed completely oblivious to my wounds.

“The only thing you’ve done is ruin my life, Jackson. Please. You have to convince your father to find someone else. What about Carli? She loves you. I mean, really loves you.”

              “What, and you don’t?”

              I closed my eyes. “No, Jackson, I don’t.”

              He clenched his fists, and I flinched. “You’re lying. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Besides, it’s not like you have a choice. I love you and want you, and that’s all that matters. Now, I’m sorry about today. I lost my head. But you shouldn't have made me mad. It’s been a really taxing week. Dad’s breathing down my neck to apply to college.”

He reached out to embrace me, but I jerked away, whimpering. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my broken wrist and then my lips. I wanted to vomit in his face but couldn’t.

Pulling away, I backed into his desk. “I'm sorry. I can't. I just can't. I’m really tired, and everything hurts, Jackson.”

“And you think my head doesn’t?” He stepped toward me and stroked my face.

“I want to sleep. Just let me sleep, and we can do whatever you want in the morning. I promise.”

He thought this over for a minute, then moved to the side. I walked past him to the bed where I crawled under the covers. He lay down beside me. I just wanted to sleep the pain away, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Jackson wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “You're mine.”

He was wrong. I wasn’t anyone’s. I was myself, and I would find a way out of this.

***

“My father tells me I’m not going to see you for a while,” Jackson said the next morning, as he stood over the bed staring down at me.

              I nodded. At least, it seemed like something good came of this. My freedom.

“It’s probably for the best. I mean, I’m taking all this way too seriously.” He leaned over to kiss me on the lips, but I turned my face away. He then grabbed my chin and kissed me anyway. “Treat me with respect.” He paused, then added, "Get up. We need to go."

My head felt thick, and I was desperately thirsty. As I stumbled into the bathroom, Jackson called out, "You look like a mess. Fix your hair." But it was impossible to do with one hand. Jackson made a clumsy attempt to comb out some of the tangles, but I cried out in pain, and he stopped. “Just forget it.”

I followed him out the door.

He drove me home and left me on my doorstep. When I opened the door, Stuart was waiting in the entryway. Unlike Mr. Van Buren, Stuart didn’t say a word. He calmly took a sip of his juice and disappeared down the hall.

              Crying, I fled to my room and slammed the door.
This wasn’t who I was. I was strong, brave, and independent.
But what was the point of fighting them? I couldn’t win. I stormed into the bathroom and ripped a razor blade from my shaver. Lexus walked in.

              “Don’t.” She knocked the blade from my hand into the sink. “That’s what they want you to do.” She pulled me after her into her room.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

              “You have too. You have to for me and Zach. And I swear when I’m out of this house, I’ll help you get back at them." Her voice was sincere, concerned. "But you can’t mess it up for us. Okay?”

I sobbed and she held me close, stroking my head.
She knew this whole time?
She was right; there was no way she would last three minutes in a fight with Jackson. I was the only one capable of doing this.

Releasing me, she pulled her bedspread back. "Lie down. Rest," she said, patting the exposed sheet. "You don't need to think about anything right now."

My tears stopped, and I collapsed on her bed. She cuddled next to me. “You know I always wanted a sister.”

“Why?” I asked struggling to look at her. She reminded me of a softer version of her mother.

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted someone to talk to about stuff. You know.” She sat up. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

I nodded and told her everything about the past couple of days.

“Why can’t they leave you alone? It’s not like they can’t get some hooker from the city and use her. Why does it have to be you?”

Ignoring the fact she just compared me to a hooker, I shrugged. “I don’t have any family left, and Stuart will do whatever Mr. Van Buren wants.”

She sat next to me with her arms crossed. “It’s not fair.”

This wasn’t what I wanted to hear, so I returned to the bathroom, staring at the stranger in the mirror.

Lexus followed. “It’ll heal,” she said softly. She pulled my hair forward over my forehead. “We can change your hairstyle and use make-up to cover some of it.”

Zach knocked on the door. “What happened?” His eyes widened when I turned toward him. I retreated back into Lexus’s room. He was a kid and didn’t need to see this.

“Nothing, brat," Lexus said quickly. "She was in a car crash.”

Zach followed me into Lexus's room. “I’m sorry.”

I tried to smile. "It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I promise."

He hugged me, careful not to squeeze my bruises, which made me cry even harder. These kids had no idea what I was saving them from.

Later, I knew Zach didn’t believe me because when I was watching him play playing video games, he threatened to kill Jackson when he was old enough. Of course, I told him it wasn’t Jackson's fault and blamed my injuries on some deranged driver on the road.

"So, show me your car then," Zach insisted. "Those bruises look more like they came from a fist than an airbag."

I shook my head. "They towed it away."

Zach finished his game. "I've got stuff to do," he said, as he rose from the couch. He glanced at me one more time, then left me alone. I pulled out my calculus book and struggled to study. If I could just get through another year...But the pain kept dragging me down. I couldn't think, couldn't focus. Slamming my book shut, I opened the cabinet and grabbed the bottle I had stashed in the back. I filled a glass with bourbon and swallowed it quickly. My throat burned for a moment. Then a comfortable warmth soothed my aching body. I poured another. Just one more year. That's all I needed. Then I would be off to college, and I would be free.

“What are you doing?” Petra said.

“Drinking. What does it look like?” I held the bottle up for her to see. "Want some?"

“Oh, honey.” She eased the bottle from my grip, tipped it to her lips, and took a sip herself. “You don’t want to become like me.”

I burst into laughter. No way in heck I wanted to be like her! She pulled me into a hug, and for the first time in my life, I felt loved.

***

A week later, I was back in school. My wrist was better, but my ribs were still tender, so I was excused from PE and given an extra study hall. School was kicking my butt. I had managed to keep up with my homework while I was home, but finals were coming, and they were cumulative. Everyone seemed to believe the car crash story, everyone except Carli. She kept making comments about Jackson’s temper.

I finally confronted her one day when she gave me a ride home. “You keep saying I shouldn’t make Jackson angry. Why?”

“Trust me. Jackson’s not someone you want to make mad,” she said as she turned down the music.

“I guess I wouldn’t know. He’s never lost his cool around me.” I watched her out of the corner of my eye, curious about her response.
Had Jackson hit her too?

“I’m pretty sure he’s bipolar or something. This one time he flipped out because I was wearing a blue dress instead of a black one. He made a big deal out of it and everything.”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t know what I was going through.

“How’d you break your wrist again?”

I knew what she was thinking.

“You already know, Carli.”

There was a long silence. Finally, she said, “You’re lying." She shrugged. "But if that's how you want to play it." She changed the subject and began chattering about how much fun it was going to be next year when I was on the cheerleading team.

Two weeks passed, and Jackson stayed true to his word. I didn’t see him or hear from him. I spent most of that time hanging out with Carli and Kristen shopping, attending soccer and cheerleading competitions, or out by the pool. My wounds healed, but I refused to speak to Stuart or Mr. Van Buren, who frequented the house on the weekends.

Then Jackson missed Carli’s birthday party because I was there. I wanted to tell her that he wasn’t going to show, but still hoped that he would. I almost felt bad for her. She waited for him all night and even called him about a hundred times. The next Monday after school, instead of taking me home, we wound up at his house.

“What are we doing here?” I wanted to hop out of the car and run home.
Was she crazy?

She opened the car door. “I need to speak to Jackson.” She glared at me. “Come on Addison.” Sighing, I followed her up the walk to the front door.

              A maid greeted us and told us Jackson was in the back by the pool. Nothing had changed since the last time I had been there. Just past the back door, half-naked people lounged everywhere.
I tried to wait near the house, but Carli dragged me after her. She let me go when she spotted Jackson.

She plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter who was heading over to the Jacuzzi, where Jackson had his back to us. I could hear him laughing. There was a new tattoo of a ship’s wheel on his upper shoulder with something written in the middle.

Most of the guys stared at us as we approached, making obnoxious noises. Jackson turned around and smiled. When he recognized us, he sank down into the water.

              “Ladies, what brings you to the party?” he asked.

Carli sipped her champagne. Jackson’s tight smile seemed frozen. His eyes glittered in the afternoon light. I was sure he was drunk and high.