It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (13 page)

I could swear I see him wipe a tear from his eye before he drives away. I reluctantly let him go, afraid this new, unstable side of me might hurt him further. I feel weak. I am weak for letting what happened to me ruin my life. Knowing how much worse it could have been, I should be thankful I wasn’t raped, taken, or even killed, but here I am, being a selfish lunatic, thinking only of myself. After all that Marshall has been through, here I go blaming him for helping his sister and leaving me. It’s not his fault. He’s better off without me. I spend the remainder of my day in bed, and my tears don’t subside until my pounding headache forces me to sleep.

***

Saturday, June 12

I awaken with accelerated breath. My T-shirt clings to every inch it covers, damp with sweat. The matted strands of red hair that cling to my neck make me choke as the dream comes back to me in full force.

A set of hands are wound tightly around my neck. The crushing pressure on my windpipe makes my throat burn and my eyes sting. I’m willing to fight, but my hands won’t move. Those cold, beady eyes stare down at me, laughing over and over as they did during my dream at the hospital. This time, the real panic sets in when I realize I’m unable to move. I can’t feel my body. It’s almost like I’m nothing but a head. I can’t blink; my eyes are focused on the bright sky that’s getting increasingly brighter until, all at once, it becomes a blur. His words are muffled, but I can still hear them: “Hey there, Firecracker. Remember how I told you you’d pay?” I think I’m dying, or is it that I’m already dead?

The heat I had felt only moments ago turns to chill. I wrap myself up in my comforter and cover my head. My body convulses as though I’m crying, but tears do not come. I’m dried up, tapped out, and all alone. I need someone to hold me. I need Marshall to hold me. I feel safe in his arms. I’m pathetic for feeling like I need him so much, for feeling like nothing will ever be the same for me since the first time he held me, for thinking he is the puzzle piece that has been missing all of my life. I have always felt an emptiness within me, and never until Marshall have I ever felt like that emptiness could be filled, but here I am, alone, deservedly so. My pain and my burdens I must carry myself. I’m letting a little thing like some bumps and bruises take me down. I’m weak and pitiful. I’m not even worthy of love.

After a warm shower and a cup of coffee, I’m as prepared as I can be for Mom and Rose when they come over with lunch. I did my best to cover the dark circles under my eyes and iced my swollen eyelids until they hurt. I’m not sure at this point who I’m trying to convince more that I’m okay, me or my mom and Rose.

We have our lunch out on my deck. It’s another spectacular June day that until my sister points it out, I don’t even notice. Mom is all enthusiastic, talking details for next weekend’s birthday bash for my sister, my cousins Bo and Laura, and me. My mind wanders to Marshall. I wonder how the party would be with him there, playing in my family’s beanbag-toss tournament; Marshall and I fighting against Rose and Derek for the championship; Mom fussing over Marshall as she does Derek, making sure he has a good time, asking him if he needs another drink or more food; I’d even bet she’d ask him to stay the night. Rose and I always sleep in our childhood bedrooms on our birthday party night, a tradition I’ve always loved, although the past two years have been a sad reminder of how alone I am. Derek would agree to stay, while Gavin would leave, informing me that he found it silly to sleep in my full-size bed when we had a king-sized bed at home. Marshall had been willing to sleep on a small couch for me, but Gavin couldn’t even grant me this one wish.

On more than one occasion during our lunch, I catch my mom and Rose looking at me like they’re studying me and coming to a conclusion. I do my best to ignore it. Staying quiet is easy since I’m so tired.

“Are you feeling all right, Liz?” my mom asks before they go.

Rose adds her two cents. “Yeah, Lizzie, you don’t look so hot.”

“Wow, thanks, guys. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” I reach past them to open up the door, eager to be left alone again. The words leave my mouth before I think: “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

My mom and my sister both stare at me with wide eyes. I have never spoken this way to anyone, especially not anyone in my family.

“Sorry, guys. I’m a bit tired, I guess. I just need a little nap, and then I promise I will be good as new.”

Both of them are clearly reluctant to leave. I reassure them that I am doing well and tell them not to worry while I shoo them out the door.

After my mom and sister go, I feel an unfamiliar sense of relief. I feel like those two have me under a microscope. I can now understand what Marshall meant when he said he didn’t want to tell me about his wife because he was afraid I would treat him differently. Nobody, including Marshall, seems to be treating me the same. Why don’t they get that that is exactly what I need, to feel normal again?

Per my request, my mom had brought me my guitar. I’ve been longing for the pure, powerful energy I feel when my guitar and I find perfect harmony together. Although I know I should be working on my nightclub design presentation for next week, I can’t help but take a seat with my guitar. I tell myself that I will work diligently on it tomorrow.

I spend hours belting out songs I used to sing years ago when I played. I’ve missed the sound my fingers make as they glide along the strings in between notes. I love the way a soft chord can cry so gently while a harder one can hit you so fiercely you can feel it in your chest. It’s comforting, like talking to a great friend.
Well, I have missed you, dear friend.

Eventually, my sore fingers won’t allow me to play anymore. I fold up the paper filled with new lyrics I jotted down as they came to me today and stuff it into the front pocket of my guitar case so I can work on them another day. I’ve always loved coming up with my own songs. My favorite lyrics today remind me of how Marshall makes me feel.

Tuesday, June 15

Days of horrible dreams, loneliness, and boredom crawl by, and I’ve finally had enough. Eleven days have passed since I was attacked; it’s time to get on with my life. I call Krystal and ask for a night out, wishing to regain some sense of my life when I had less time on my hands and a simpler day, when I didn’t have moments I feared being alone, feelings that have left me raw and vulnerable. I need to get my mind off of Marshall for a while. The desire to be near him and feel protected like I had when he stayed with me is all I can think about.

“Lizzie, are you sure this is where you want to go tonight? The Brewhouse is across the hall. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I want to dance and have a few drinks tonight, and the nightclub’s the best place to do it.” I eagerly head to the bar. “Two shots of tequila and two Coronas.” I pull my cash and my ID out of my top and slap it down on the bar.

Krystal chuckles insincerely. “You weren’t kidding.”

I feel her study me while I tip back my shot and chug my first beer before the second song ends.

I motion to the bartender for another round before swinging my legs over to face Krystal. “Drink up,” I say.

She just shakes her head and changes the subject. “So, Liz, how’s the new business coming?”

“Good. I made myself a website, and I have an appointment next week to present some design ideas for a new nightclub that’s opening in Hermantown.”

“No way. That’s awesome. Here’s to you getting that job, Lizzie.” Krystal raises her glass in salute.

We clink our shot glasses.

“What are we toasting?” Greg pops his head in between us.

“Lizzie’s new design job. Girl is destined for fame and fortune.” She flings her hair back for drama.

“I don’t have the job yet, Greg. My girl here is overestimating me.”

“Well, I have faith in you too.” He pats my shoulder. “Another round for the ladies and two whiskeys on the rocks,” he calls to the bartender, who just shakes his head.

Greg slides onto the seat by Krystal. “Hey, great timing. This is my cousin Joe.”

Joe has a seat next to Greg, then looks over at me. “Wow, what happened to your face?”

“Joe, dude—what the hell?” Greg punches his arm.

I lean forward against the bar. “You think this is bad, you should see the other girl.”

Joe’s jaw drops while the Greg and I enjoy a hardy laugh. Krystal looks unamused, but I do my best to act like I don’t notice.

“Hi. I’m Lizzie.” I extend my hand out in front of Krystal and Greg as rudely as I can for show.

He takes my hand with a firm grip. “It’s great to meet you, Lizzie.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

I feel Krystal’s eyes on me as I lower back down onto my seat.

“What?” I ask as innocently as I can manage.

“I have never seen you so feisty.” She nudges me with her elbow.

“I’m determined to have some fun tonight, and I suggest no one stand in the way of that.”

The drinks keep flowing and so does the conversation. Joe is laying the flirting on pretty thick, but I do my best not to let it bother me and try my hardest to just enjoy the attention. We tip back another shot that leaves my lips feeling numb.

Krystal heads out for a smoke, and Greg has wandered off over to the Brewhouse, leaving Joe and me at the bar.

“So you and Greg are cousins, huh?” I ask.

“Sure are.”

“I would never have guessed.” They look like polar opposites. Greg is a stocky blond with light gray eyes and pale skin, and Joe is tall and lean with dark eyes and a dark complexion. He looks to be mostly Native American.

Joe laughs, then suggests we go dance.

Very reluctantly, I agree. We both finish our beers, and Joe leads the way to the dance floor. The crowd is lighter than last time I was here. The strobes flash in rhythm to the techno tune that’s playing, making me feel a little dizzy—maybe it’s just the tequila. A group of guys near the front stage are working hard to start a mosh pit, making ridiculous chest-bumping fools of themselves.

I do what I can to try and let loose, rocking my hips, hands over my head, even swinging my hair. Joe makes a few full circles around me, dancing to the beat, before cozying up behind me. I keep up my rhythm, and he follows my lead.

“You’re quite a firecracker, Lizzie,” he yells close to my ear.

Most redheads would tell you that
firecracker
is the worst nickname given to our sparse population. And those words had come from him, my attacker. I hear them vividly in my mind, and the room begins to close in around me. I strain to swallow back the sudden bile creeping up into my throat. I close my eyes, praying I heard him wrong.

“What was that?” I turn to face him.

“I said you’re quite the firecracker,” he yells, even louder this time.

I cringe. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Firecracker?”

“Say it again. I dare you.” My pulse climbs rapidly to what feels like its max.

Joe’s hands go up in defense, and he takes a step back. “Whoa, Lizzie, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well, it’s too late for that.” I push my way off the dance floor and out of the club.

When I reach Krystal, still outdoors, I’m out of breath. “I want to go home.”

“What happened, Lizzie?” Krystal asks.

“Nothing. I just need to go home. I thought a night out would be good for me, but I was wrong.” I wring my hands. “I just need to go home now.”

Krystal isn’t much of a hugger, but she grabs ahold of me and squeezes tight. “I will text Greg to pay the tab, and we’ll get you out of here.”

I’m relieved when Krystal insists on staying at my place tonight. I plop down on my bed, and Krystal takes a seat on the edge.

“What’s going on with you, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know.” Tears sting my eyes. “I just keep feeling lost. Like I don’t know how I should feel.”

Krystal turns to lie on her stomach next to me, resting on her elbows. “I don’t think there are any rules on how you should feel after what you’ve been through. I shouldn’t have let you come out tonight.”

“
Let
me?” I snap. The room begins to spin. I quickly sit up, hoping the spinning will stop, but it only gets worse.

“A quiet night at home would have been the better option,” Krystal says, sitting up.

I want to tell her that the last thing I need is more time alone, more time to think about how guilty I feel for feeling sorry for myself. I want to tell her that the desire and need that fills me when I think of Marshall leaves me feeling like I’m a twisted freak; having been through what I have should make my desire for sex go dormant—at least for a while anyway. And I’m afraid of every noise. And my nightmares feel so real.

My head is heavy, and I can’t even see straight.

The remainder of my night is spent on my bathroom floor with Krystal holding my hair back while the stench of beer and tequila stings my nose. I wish so much that I could just feel safe, protected, and cared for like I do when I’m with Marshall.

Saturday, June 19

My parents’ backyard is all set for the birthday bash. My father has the beanbag-toss and ladder-ball tournaments set up and ready to go in his usual organized fashion. My family takes yard games very seriously. The smell of my dad’s barbeque brisket encompasses the backyard. Not a bad thing in the least. He is often begged by family and friends to make it. My father takes almost as much pride in his grilling skills as he does his yard.

I place my cousins’ birthday cards and my sister’s present down on the designated gift table. I wrapped Rose’s gift in lovely blue-and-gray damask paper with a bow I made out of large silky silver ribbon. I have always loved wrapping gifts. I guess it’s the designer in me.

In the kitchen, multiple family members are buzzing around, tucking serving spoons into salads, laying appetizers out on trays, or mixing up cocktails.

“Liz.” My cousin Laura is the first one to notice me, and she wraps me in a hug. Others follow suit. Concern is written on their faces, and I can’t help but wish they didn’t know about my attack so I could just feel normal and enjoy myself for one day.

Laura is also the first of many to ask, “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m doing just fine. No one needs to worry,” I say loudly so it reaches as many ears as possible.

Thankfully, Laura changes the subject. “Your friend Krystal is coming, right?”

“She works until five, so she’ll be here later.” I smile at the relieved look on her face.

Rose and I get smoked in ladder ball by my dad and Derek. We had won three games before our match with them and claimed we were unbeatable. Dad and Derek heckled us the whole game. I’ve decided that is why we lost. Yep, that’s it.

I head inside to grab a margarita. While salting my glass rim, I freeze, hearing my phone ringing in my purse on the counter next to me. I start digging, trying not to miss it. My heart skips a beat when I see Marshall’s name on the screen. I hesitate and just miss the call. Disappointed, I move upstairs to my room for some privacy to call him back.

My bedroom is still the way it was when I moved out four years ago. I love how it looks even now. I can’t help but wonder what Marshall’s house looks like, what his style is, and if he has a style. My room is the one room in the house I could do what I wanted with. I’d gone with basic creams and taupes for all the main pieces and added some soft, dusty pink and blue roses on the pillows for a clean and simple shabby-chic design. It is by far the tamest style ever to dress these bedroom walls. I figured it would be my last bedroom design since I was nearly twenty at the time, and I wanted to go easy on my mom.

My phone alerts me to a new voicemail. It’s Marshall telling me he hopes that I’m having a great birthday party, that he will be back in Duluth on Monday, and that, if I wanted to talk, he would be free. I listen to his message one more time before I delete it, then contemplate calling him back. But I can’t decide what I want to say.

I stand by my window, looking out at the cars parked in the street, going over the last words I’d said to him on my back deck, how I’d asked him to leave. Well, those were the last words he had heard anyway. How I wish I had the courage to call him now and tell him that he’s what I need, but instead I stand here feeling broken, scared and unworthy of love.

A light tap sounds on my door—Rose asking to come in—bringing me back from my heartache. I wipe the single tear from my eye before telling her to come in. The genuine look of concern on her face hits me, and I feel guilty for not sharing my life with her since my attack. I told myself I didn’t want her to worry, but the truth of it is, I don’t want to admit how I feel to anyone. I’d come close to telling Krystal the other night, but I was forced to silence while I knelt to the porcelain god. Who knew that something as good as saving yourself from spilling your deepest thoughts could come from spilling the contents of your stomach? People already pity me; I don’t need any more of it.

Rose comes over to me. “Are you okay, Liz?”

I drop my shoulders. “I wish everyone would quit asking me that. When will people realize that I’m doing just fine?”

Rose opens her mouth to speak but quickly snaps it shut.

We stand in silence for several seconds before I say to her, “I’m doing just fine.”

I’m stunned when she doesn’t respond, doesn’t tell me she knows I’m doing better than to be expected and that she can see I’m doing just fine. A knot forms in my stomach, and I can’t help but move over to my bed and sit down.

“You don’t think I’m doing fine, Rose?” I ask, looking down at the floor, unwilling to read the face that matches mine.

“Can I be honest with you, Liz?” Rose sits next to me and takes my hand.

I reluctantly tell her yes, knowing that nothing positive can possibly come from the words “can I be honest with you.”

“I thought you were doing great that day after you got home and you were in the kitchen cooking breakfast and Marshall was there. You actually seemed happy, and it appeared you were settling back into life really well. But at lunch the other day, you hardly said a word and you looked so tired and sad. And today, you just seem so out of it and, well, I have to say, a bit on edge. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but if I stay quiet about my concerns, what kind of sister am I?”

I take in what she’s said, most importantly the part about me seeming happy when Marshall was there. Now after days of being home, I’ve begun to crumble. It would be silly to think that Marshall is the key to my stability and happiness.

“I’ve had a little trouble sleeping, but I’m fine, Rose,” I say, getting up from the bed. “My club design meeting has my mind swirling with ideas.” It’s true—I’ve had some ideas at night—but I have hardly even been able to focus on anything that has to do with the club, between the nightmares and the nighttime noises that keep me awake.

“Oh, that reminds me. Derek’s cousin Max said he is so pumped to work with you, and he thinks your designs and ideas are amazing. He called to thank us for recommending him.”

I’m relieved we have gotten off topic.

Rose gets up from the bed. “Derek and I have decided to hire him to do our wedding. Kid’s got a bright career in his future.”

“That’s great. From what I’ve seen so far, I’m impressed. He is mighty talented. I should be the one thanking you guys,” I offer as I turn to the door. “We should probably get back to the party.”

Rose takes my arm. “Liz, please don’t shut me out. Promise me we’ll talk more later?”

I promise her. I know I should open up about how I feel. I just don’t feel ready yet.

When we get back downstairs, Krystal has joined the party. Laura has already convinced her to join her in the beanbag-toss tournament. Seeing the two of them laughing and having a great time makes me wish so badly to join in, wanting to feel like me again. My time is mostly spent watching everyone play, but I often find myself lost in a tornado of thoughts. I have never felt so many conflicting feelings in my life—well, at least, not all at once. In a way, I feel sort of numb.

The party dies down around eleven. I’ve spent the past hour cleaning up in the kitchen, trying to hide my obvious glumness. Moreover, my dirty hands help keep me from having to hug every single family member as they leave, something I typically welcome.

Rose and I send Mom and Dad off to bed, offering to finish up. They both look exhausted. We decide to sit outside and enjoy the new birthday lawn chairs we got from Mom and Dad for a while before heading up to bed. Derek has also gone to bed, leaving just Rose and me to chat, which I’m sure was per my sister’s request.

We each sprawl out on our lawn chairs on the patio. The night air is still warm and comfortable. The yard games are packed up neatly, leaving no evidence of the no-holds-barred tournament that wrapped up only an hour ago.

“Let me guess,” I ask Rose, “Dad and Derek won the tournament again this year?”

“Of course.” Rose rolls her eyes. “But we all agreed that those two will have to be split up next year.”

I laugh. “I can’t believe anyone let them be a team again.”

“I know.” Rose shifts to lie on her side, facing me. “So what happened?”

I turn my head from looking up at the stars to her. “What do you mean?”

“With you and Marshall. You seemed so happy with him that day when he was at your house, and you haven’t even mentioned him once since then.”

I fill her in on Marshall’s letter and how he’d lost his wife, how he had just held me all night on my first night home, how I’d had the greatest sex of my life the next day, and how he’d left me right after to be with his sister.

“I keep feeling angry for what happened to me, and every time I do, I feel guilty for it. I was lucky that I got to keep my life after my incident, but Marshall’s wife was not.”

Rose sits up. “You can’t compare what happened to you and what happened to his wife. The two incidents are very different. I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe you haven’t completely dealt with everything that has happened to you yet. Maybe you need more time to process it all.”

“Jesus, you too? Why does everyone think they know what I need? I’m stronger than all of you give me credit for.”

Rose continues, “You seem to be having a hard time, and I’m worried about you. We all are.”

“Who are
we
?” My sadness begins to boil into anger.

“Mom, Dad, and, well, I talked with Krystal today, and she—”

“Oh, my God. So everyone is talking about how they think I’m doing? Nobody has any idea how I feel.”

“You’re right, Lizzie. We don’t. But it’s clear that you’re having a hard time. I just wish you’d talk to someone.”

“What, like a shrink? Don’t even tell me that’s where this is headed.” My anger continues to intensify.

“No, I don’t think you need a shrink, but you do need to stop trying so hard to be strong and just let yourself feel what it is you’re feeling.”

“I feel just fine. If everyone would go back to treating me like the same old me, which I am, I could move on from this.”

“All right.” Rose puts her hands up. “I think maybe it’s best we get some rest, and if you want, we can talk tomorrow after Mom’s delicious eggs benedict. I’ve been practically starving myself to be able to eat it in the morning and still fit into my wedding dress.”