Authors: Misty Provencher
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WHO I AM DEPENDS ON WHO YOU ARE
Three days after Christmas, Aidan gives me a gift. A pedometer, to keep track of how much I walk. That's what I do now. I bundle up and walk the streets like a sober, post-visit Scrooge.
Five days after Christmas, Shane texted to say that the hospital released Natalie. He asked if we would take her to the meeting with us in a couple of days.
Six days after Christmas, Aidan decides to run some food over to them.
"You don't want to come?" he asks, but I still feel partially responsible for what Natalie did and I don't know what I'd say to her.
"We're not friends and with everything that's happened..."
"I get it," he says, kissing my forehead. "I'm not going to stick around too long."
It occurs to me that I don't
have
to have him in the apartment. I don't need a constant babysitter to keep me from the booze anymore. I'm doing that for myself now. "I'm going to go walking anyway."
He chuckles. "I don't know if you want to do that. Have you looked out there? It's not just freezing--it's windy today too."
Once he leaves, it takes about ten minutes before I'm pacing. I need to keep busy. I suck at baking and making ornaments has lost all its appeal now that Christmas is over. My eye catches on a film of dust on one of the shelves. Aha! Spring cleaning. I've got all the supplies, but the last time I did it was...when I moved in? I've got all this energy and without being able to walk it off, I know by now that I've got to do something to keep my mind off of what it always floats back to: fucking up.
I tie back my hair with a bandana and it takes me only a half hour in the mirror to be sure that I am dressed correctly enough to clean. I laugh at that as I drag out my bucket and mop, turn on my music, and get to work. Within five minutes, the first unhappy neighbor is pounding on my door.
I swing it open, ready to apologize, but it's not a neighbor.
Des shoves his way inside, slamming the door behind him. He whips my music port off the shelf, shattering the thing in pieces on my newly cleaned floor.
"What the fuck, Lydia!" he shouts. He's got the divorce papers wadded in his hand. "Do you know what you just did? DO YOU?"
His anger is contagious. "It had to happen sometime..."
"It NEVER had to happen! We were fine, until you did this!"
"
You
were fine--I never wanted to live like this!"
"Well, you sure as shit don't have to worry about living like
this
anymore!" He waves a hand around my apartment. "Claudia's legal team is crawling up my ass with pliers!"
"Did she throw you out?"
"Listen to me, dumbass," he snarls, "people as rich as Claudia don't
throw you out.
They throw your ass in a dungeon and cover the whole thing over with cement!"
"Give me a break. She's not mafia--"
Suddenly, he shuts his mouth and clasps his hands in front of him. Ducking his chin, his words growl from between his bared teeth, as dangerous as a feral dog guarding his food.
"What the fuck are you not getting here,
Lyddle
?" he asks. He takes a step toward me and I quickly wish he was yelling again. His anger rolls from him. "They want to charge me with extortion and bigamy. They're going to charge me with so much shit, I'll never see the sun again. And I told you, I would never go down alone. So, I'm going to make sure they get you too. How do you like that? How do you like knowing you fucked us both, you little
cunt
!"
His eyes dig into me like drill bits, trying to drive into my core and ignite. He stalks me and I stagger backward, falling over the pail, sloshing small, dirty rivers across the floor. When he's standing over me, he is as ominous and solid as any impending prison.
He spots the Christmas tree Aidan insisted on, still sagging with my handmade ornaments. Des's smirk is savage as he reaches down and snatches the bandana off my head.
"Are you playing house, you little bitch? Is that why you did this to me?" he shouts, and then the blows rain down on me, his feet, his fists, one after another without hesitation.
Cunt, bitch, whore, slut...
he snarls the words as he beats me.
I get a glimpse of the door and imagine Aidan bursting through it, but as the hard toe of Des's designer shoe catches me in the face, the hope of rescue dims. His attack pauses at my moan and I pray to pass out as I hear Des's belt slither from his waist.
He doubles the leather in his fist and strikes me across the stomach. I curl up, flipping over to protect myself. He whips my back, the buckle digging into the flesh at the base of my neck. I feel the welts rising up beneath my shirt as I try to scurry away.
Someone has to come.
Someone has to save me.
He's going to kill me.
Des lands a kick to my thigh with so much force that I tumble across the floor.
Someone has to come.
Someone has to save me.
But the door is locked. Mrs. Lowt would be pounding on it, if she heard, or calling the cops. I don't hear any sirens.
No one is coming.
Des slips as he tries to cross the wet floor and crashes down a few feet from me.
I see the fury of his veins popping up on his face.
My God, no one is coming.
If I'm getting out of this, I'm going to have to do it on my own.
Des crawls across the floor toward me, the belt still trapped in his fist, spitting words at me that my brain won't translate. It doesn't matter what he's saying--I know what he means.
He means to kill me, if he can.
And I'm not going to last until a hero gets here.
I plant my hands on the floor. Something hot and stinging runs into one of my eyes, but I still make out the words on my bloody ring finger.
Stronger Than That.
As I watch Des inching toward me, his broad shoulders tight against his tailored shirt, I realize I might not be stronger than
that.
But as I get to my feet, I know I'm stronger than
this.
My body takes over. My foot fires out, landing a kick to Des's jaw. The sound out of him fuels me as I kick him again. He lands on his back and I tower over him, my hip raising my whole leg, ready to send it down like a dull guillotine on his neck.
He grabs my sole.
He shoves me backward. I land with a grunt, but my body plunges adrenaline through my veins.
"You little bitch!"
I skitter out of the way as he grabs for me. I make it to my feet before he does. I make it to the door.
"You ruined my
life
!"
I twist the knob.
His footsteps are behind mine as I whip open the door and burst into the hall.
He grabs a handful of my hair, ripping locks from my scalp.
But my body doesn't run away. It doesn't cry. It turns and fires me straight at him like a cannonball.
His eyes are wide as I bear my teeth. The blows rain down on him, one after another, until I've pressed him against the wall.
"Do you know what you've done to me?" I feel the words shriek out of my chest. "You ruined
my
life!"
I drive my knee up between his legs, sinking it hard and giving an extra jerk at the peak.
His groan rushes into my ears and the blood rushes out.
My hearing returns.
Des collapses onto the hallway floor. I stand above him, waiting for him to attack again. My breathing fills my ears. I glance up. Mrs. Lowt's door gapes open, Mrs. Lowt is behind me, a frying pan clutched in her hand.
"Lydia!" she shrieks. It is the last thing I hear before I hit the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I was sure that after what happened with Des, the valley would be calling out to me. Clawing at me, even. I thought that what just happened would need taming and suffocation, but it doesn't.
Maybe it's because Des broke my nose. Maybe it's because my face is so bruised. But I think it's because I've filled in the valley myself, topped it off the minute I kicked Desmond's nuts into his throat.
"How are you feeling?" Aidan asks. He hasn't left my side since the moment he tore into the emergency room, shouting at the nurses until he insisted that he was my husband and they let him in to see me. He broke down, sobbing at the side of the gurney I was laying on, until I rested my hand, with its chipped fingernails and bloody tattoo, on his head.
"Don't drink," I whispered. He pulled up his head and took my hand. He turned it over in his and kissed my palm, the last of his tears dropping into the center.
"We are stronger than that," he said.
He brought me home from the hospital and didn't tease me for looking like a walrus with all the gauze packing. After he put me to bed, Mrs. Lowt filled him in on how the cops came, but had to take Desmond away by ambulance before they could arrest him. I still don't know when the cops will come for me.
Aidan called Edith and Leonard too, so the last couple of days, people from the meeting have stopped by to drop off
lasagnas and casseroles, plates of cookies and cake. Aidan gave a heap of it to Mrs. Lowt, since he said there is more than we will be able to eat in a month. Mrs. Lowt comes by three times a day at least, with soup and other soft things that are easiest for me to eat with my bruised jaw and broken nose.
But even with Mrs. Lowt's visits and the people from the meeting oscillating in and out, Aidan is the most attentive by far. He waits patiently to hear my answer to the same question he asks each time he passes by me.
"I'm good," I say. He still re-fluffs the pillow beneath my twisted ankle. I don't want him to move anything else because it kills my bruised ribs and I can't stand to ask him to stop, so I'm relieved when his fussing is interrupted by a knock at the door. He goes to it, but answers now with the door chain in place, the opening only as wide as a fist. We only know Desmond is being detained, but don't know if or when he might be released.
I hear the soft lilt of a woman's voice, but Aidan doesn't open the door right away. I'd push myself up to see who it is, if doing that didn't make me feel like I was suffocating.
"Alright," Aidan says. "You can come in, so long as it's just talking."
He closes the door, unfastens the chain and opens up. I hear the click of heels across the floor and a woman comes into view.
I know her instantly.
Claudia.
She stares down at me, gaping a moment before her rich manners kick in. She looks behind her, sees the chair and settles herself on the edge of it, her beaded handbag placed genteelly on her knees.
"I'm sorry," I say, as needles of pain shoot through my cheeks. Embarrassment floods my face, the rush of blood stinging the bruises. Aidan stands at the foot of the couch, between Claudia and I, his arms crossed over his chest like a watchful body guard.
"
He
did this to her," Aidan says, the accusation and pleading both twisting in his tone. Claudia puts up a soft hand, halting any further speech from either of us.
"If you don't mind," she says, her lips twitching uncomfortably. She focuses solely on me. "I'm not sure what to believe anymore, so I wanted to see you for myself. Now that I have, I would like to ask you some questions."
"You're not going to grill her," Aidan begins, but I shush him through my swollen lips.
"It's okay. Ask me whatever you want, Claudia. I'll tell you the truth. We both deserve for things to finally be out in the open."
She shifts on the edge of the chair. "Do you love him?"
"No," I say. "I thought I did, but somebody who loves you," I have to pause to pull in a painful breath, "wouldn't do this."
She nods once. "Did you take my money?"
"Yes." I figure there is no point in lying, no point in trying to explain, but she fidgets with the beading on her handbag.
"Do you want to tell me why?"
"I married Des before I finished high school. When he left me, to marry you, I didn't have any way to survive. He came up with the designer job for me and I didn't see any other way around it."
"That's an excuse. I'm sure you could have done something else besides steal from me."
"You're right. Stripping. I could have done that." My tone is not feisty or argumentative or seeking pity. It's as flat and unadorned as the bare truth of my words. She tips her head to one side slightly, considering it. I add more humiliating truth. "You're right that it's an excuse too. I could have done something, but I really thought I was stuck. I didn't see that I wasn't. I still loved him, back then."
"Desmond is very convincing," she concedes, scratching something from the corner of her eye.
"He's convincing and I was weak."
"Was?"
"I am. But I'm working on it. That's why I filed for divorce. I don't want to be weak anymore."
"I can see that." She chuckles, pushing her rear end back a little on the seat cushion. "Why didn't you ever say anything? How could you see me and never tell me what was going on?"
"Des told me that if I said anything, he would be sure we would both go to jail."
Claudia's lips flatten out, an empty line beneath her nose. She clears her throat with a tiny, delicate grumble before flipping up her chin. "As you still may. Just because I'm here doesn't mean that I won't be pressing charges."
"I know," I say.
"But I do give you credit for stepping forward first and filing for the divorce. That, at least, alerted me to the problem."
"Filing for divorce wasn't for you, it was for me. I couldn't live like that anymore."
Claudia's eyes shift around my apartment. "Well, it's not a penthouse, but it doesn't look like you've done so badly with my money."
"I drank it all away."
Her bottom lip drags open. "You're an alcoholic?"
"Yes."
"She's getting help," Aidan interjects. "She started attending meetings almost three weeks ago and hasn't had a drop in that time. There is a whole room of people who will tell you the same."
Claudia eyes him skeptically and then returns her attention to me. "You've been sober for three weeks? Is that true?"
"Not quite three weeks," I say. "And I don't know if it counts anymore, since I got pain killers at the hospital after this happened."
Claudia leans back in the chair, studying me.
"Did you two ever..." she begins, but the question fades off. I already know what she wants to ask. I don't want to tell her, it's humiliating, but she needs to know.
"Yes. In his office upstairs."
"You did that, in my house." Her words are slow, as if they're still processing.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Whenever he called."
"You were his...his call girl?" Her lips squeeze out the sour words. She ends with a puckered, hard swallow.
"That's when he gave me money. It's how I lived."
"It doesn't sound much like living."
"No, it wasn't anything like living."
Claudia clears her throat, clasps the opening of her purse. "I'm sorry that you made the choices you did, Lydia, but I appreciate you speaking with me about them. I think you could have done much better by both of us, but I can understand how difficult it must have been."
"I appreciate that."
"It doesn't mean I can let you off the hook."
"I don't expect you to."
"No?"
"No."
That seems to surprise her. Maybe it's my busted-up face or the pride in my words, maybe she can see and hear that I mean what I say. Claudia lifts her chin.
"I think you owe a huge debt to me, considering you syphoned money from me for the last couple of years. I would expect to be paid back, but I don't know how you would go about doing that."
"I could go to jail."
"That's punishment. Not repayment." Claudia stands, tucking her purse under her arm. Aidan opens his mouth, but she speaks before he can. "My accountant is drawing up an estimate of how much you received from me. I would think that if you would agree to repay me, I might consider dropping charges."
"That is a great offer," I say, "but I don't think I'll ever be able to repay it. My friend offered me a job at his hair salon, but I won't make enough to live as it is."
Claudia rolls her tongue in thought. I figure she's going to bolt for the door, but instead, she stays put.
"I believe Desmond delivered a twenty thousand dollar bonus to you for Christmas?"
"Yes."
"Then I have a proposition. I would be willing to gift you that money, if, in return, you take the job at the salon and attend night classes to achieve your high school diploma."
"Are you serious?"
"Quite."
"Why would you do that?"
"Look at you," she says, motioning from my damaged face, down to my ribs, all the way to my messed-up ankle. "This isn't only the aftermath of a woman who loved a thief. This is the body of a woman who wanted to break away. You made the first steps. I don't know how my professional team didn't find this first, but I may never have known about any of this deceit, if it wasn't for you. Therefore, despite what I believe my team would advise me to do, I'm going to follow my intuition here.
"If you complete high school, earning a diploma, I will not require you to return the bonus. I'm assuming you still have most of it?" she asks.
"Almost all of it." I rub my tattooed ring finger.
"Good. You can live on that until you graduate. When you graduate, if you are willing to go on to college and complete a four year degree, then I would be willing to release you from your debt; the money Desmond gave you throughout our shared marriage."
"Why would you do that?" I whisper.
"I would like to see you succeed, Lydia. I truly would. None of us are without addictions and I know firsthand how they can lead a person in the wrong directions. But I think you are worth my investment, Lydia, and seeing what Desmond's done to you, on some levels, I even feel as if I owe it to you. I had no idea that he was capable of such violence or deceit. And I may never have known that the man I fell in love with was married to another woman."
"Thank you," I say and Aidan echoes it softly.
"You are welcome." She smoothes down her jacket as she stands, but I stop her with a question.
"Do you still?" I ask. She turns back to me slowly.
"Love him?" She shakes her head slightly, sending a soft, elegant wave through her carefully-styled hair. "I did, even a few weeks ago, I did. It's going to take me some time to digest all of this still, but love? No. I can't. Not after all this."
"You're a strong woman," I tell her. Claudia smirks.
"We both are, aren't we?" she says.