Anabel Unraveled (21 page)

This is what Anabel missed when she turned off her monitors.

The world was spinning, and Jonathan was glaring at me. I definitely should not have had that fifth glass of whiskey. “So I think we have a deal, Mr. Sorensen? You will tell Sam that Anabel needs to stay here, and to stop meddling in her life?”

“Why won’t you just leave her alone?” I asked, point blank. “She’s so unhappy, can you not see that?”

Jonathan contemplated me, his eyes cold. “You surprise me.”

“Yeah? Whyzzat?” I needed to stop slurring, but my mind and my mouth weren’t connected.

“You feel concern for her. Not exactly your style, but I understand. I’ve seen how my daughter is.” He sneered. “She’s even more beautiful than her mother was, and she inherited Cassidy’s open flirtatiousness.” This is bad, I thought. Anabel had warned me that her father never spoke about her mother. “Cassidy had a nasty habit of falling in with the wrong sort of men, and it appears her daughter is doing the same thing.”

“She’s your daughter, too.”

Jonathan ignored me. “I understand, Jared. Let’s face facts. I know that Anabel is beautiful, but it goes beyond that. She is engaging, and more than one man has felt more than a curious interest in her.” He took off his glasses. “So let’s get something straight. I love my daughter. That is not diminished by her recent poor choices. She means the world to me. However, she does not understand what she would be getting into if she were to leave Caereon. The world is not a happy place, Jared, you know that.”

I willed the world to hold still for a moment. “What are you saying now?”

“I did not take as much of an interest in her education as I should have, and so she spent sixteen years under the tutelage of a woman who I fear installed faulty morals in the girl.”

“Oh please—” I began to protest.

“My fears,” he continued, ignoring me, “were confirmed when I saw the two of you together. I was appalled by her behavior. She cannot leave this island. She does not know how to comport herself! Anabel would get herself into a world of trouble—”

“She’s not stupid. She can take care of herself. You just don’t want to be alone.” I gripped the arms of my chair.

He paused. “Well, in that aspect you are correct. I don’t want to lose my daughter, and I know that she would not be able to visit me once she left.”

I stared at him, the room reeling. “Why?”

“Once she left she couldn’t come back. The entire facility is Top Secret, and she does not possess a security clearance.”

“I won’t—I won’t abandon her,” I declared.

“No, you’ve decided she’s some sort of crusade, I understand.” Jonathan looked pensive. “But just consider what you’re doing to her, Jared. Getting her hopes up isn’t healthy for her. She needs to face facts. She is a problem—”

“She is NOT a problem!” I roared. “You don’t appreciate what you have.” I stood up, still gripping the back of the chair for balance. “Good-bye, Jonathan.”

“Stay away from her, Jared,” he warned. “Or you will live to regret it, this I do promise you.”

Then I slammed the door and stumbled down the hall, focused on one goal: to find Anabel. I remember thinking that I would save her, that I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me. And she did mean something to me, I knew it. I had to tell her, my drunken state told me. I had to tell her what I wanted her to be to me, but even more, I wanted to tell her I would not let her crazy father entrap her here any longer.

But, I don’t remember what happened after I got to her door. It’s a black hole in my mind, and I think my brain won’t let me remember it. What I do remember is waking up a few hours later, with a splitting headache and the taste of whiskey in my mouth, opening my eyes to see Anabel with her knees tucked under her chin, rocking on the floor. I remember realizing what I had done to her. I saw the look of betrayal on her face, which hardened the moment she realized I was looking at her. I heard her scream at me. I saw the bloodstain on the rug and on her nightgown and wondered how badly I had hurt her.

Then all I could see was her bedroom door. I skulked down the hall, for the first time in my life feeling like everyone had been right about me, after all. There was no recourse for what I had done. What would her brother say? He had trusted me with her, and I had traded our friendship for a night I didn’t even remember. Anabel’s screams as she had thrown me out of her bedroom still rang in my ears as I locked the door to my room behind me. I climbed into my bed and shut my eyes, praying for sleep that I knew would never come.

Chapter 22—Anabel

Jared did not protect me with what he said, which was good. The truth was the truth, and the one comfort I had was it couldn’t hurt me anymore.

He told the council that my father had noticed him taking an interest in me—and played a mind game. They all nodded; there was no doubt that he was a manipulative man. When he got to the part about Jonathan drinking with him, several surreptitious glances were shot my way.

Somehow, though, an inner peace entered me, and I was calm and relaxed. What had happened wasn’t pretty, but it had happened, and I just wanted to move on. I rested my hand on my belly and felt Emma squirming around in there. She was certainly an active child. Her presence comforted me and gave me the courage to listen to Jared’s story about how my father just wanted to control me, about how he had thought he would rescue me, and about how wanting to save me had turned into something far more sinister. Jared did not once look my way, but I studied the back of his blonde head intently.

I could never look at him the same way again. Still, Jared off of the island was becoming a case study. There was a vulnerability to him that I had never noticed before. Of course that was probably because he had been putting on a front for me while we were together on Caereon. Jared did not like to let people in, and that was his primary problem with me on the island. I had such a powerful desire to be loved, to be liked, to be a part of someone else’s life.

In retrospect, I had come on very strong.

I knew what Jared had done to me was not my fault. However, it had become more than just an act of violence. It had been an outright betrayal. He said he did not know how it happened, and that really was not a good enough excuse for me. I had other things to consider. Emma was going to be here in less than four months. While there was this big part of me that wanted to take our little girl and run far away from him, I knew that would be unfair to her. Having grown up with only one parent, I did not want the cycle to repeat itself.

Really, then, what I needed to ask myself was, could I trust Jared? After that night I had looked him up on the internet, I had read plenty more about him—especially when I came to the United States. Shortly after our arrival in DC he had informed my brother that he would be taking an extended vacation, which Sam understood. After all, he had witnessed a murder. Then he had called in his resignation, which puzzled Sam—until he started to guess that something had happened between the two of us—and the media had started to speculate. So there had been one morning where Sam, Alexis, and I were having our usual awkward breakfast at Blair House, before I knew I was pregnant. Alexis was reading the paper and she scoffed at Sam.

“Look,” she noted, “it’s your former golden boy, stirring up problems again.”

Shooting a reproving glance at me, he took it from her.

“What does it say?” I implored.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Sam, I want to read the paper.”

He glared at Alexis, but handed it over to me. The story contained images of Jared, but also one of me from when I first arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, looking rather wan and pale. Never having been on a plane before, I had gotten violently sick during the tortuous trip. The article went on to detail how Jared, known for his popularity with women, had been carrying on with me at Caereon. I shoved my waffles away. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.” Taking the paper, I made for my room.

In the comfort of my bed I reread the article, which implied that Jared would go after anything that had two legs and a vagina—and it seemed to make its case by publishing the rather unflattering picture of me. “How President Sallinger ever trusted this man is a total mystery,” I read. If they only knew, I thought. I had fallen under his spell; I had no desire to ever see him again.

Then a week later, I realized it had been awhile since I had my period. That was when I realized that not seeing Jared would be an absolute impossibility.

Looking at him now, however, caused some mixed emotions. I loved our baby, but could I ever get past my anger toward Jared? Could I ever feel for him again what I felt before? Honestly, I wasn’t really sure what exactly I had felt. I guess it was a girlish infatuation; it could not have been love. I knew that now.

What was really getting at me, I reflected, was this newfound sense of nobility in him. I mean, to go from partying with actresses and models to wanting to do the right thing by me—it just didn’t make sense. It did not fit in with my picture of him, and it was throwing me off. He had offered to marry me. My sense of principle rejected this idea; I could not possibly marry someone I did not love and did not respect. I especially could not marry someone who did not love me.

Unless he did.

I sighed, and bit my lower lip. Maybe Jared just felt pity for me, and that was why he was acting the way he was. Still, I considered, he had made an effort to talk to me before he even knew I was pregnant. He had wanted to take me out to dinner, have a conversation with me. If he had wanted to cast me aside entirely, he would not have done that, right?

But now I was justifying him. He had hurt me, and I needed to remember that. If I did not do that, I might descend into some dangerous territory.

I wanted Jared. I wanted him so badly. It was sick, really. It was disgusting to me, but at the same time I was drawn to him. I wanted him to be the good guy in this piece. I mean, my life was based on books, right? Sometimes the hero screwed up, but he always came out alright in the end.

Right?

Tugging at my hair, I had to face facts. Our whole affair was an awful mess, but the new elements to it made me pause. It was clear from the gift of the BlackBerry that he was at least paying attention to what I was saying. Maybe he just wasn’t as soulless as everyone said. I was growing discomposed. I could not rationalize the situation. I felt sweaty, and I put my hand on Sam’s arm. “I need some water,” I whispered.

He grabbed the pitcher, filled a glass, and passed it my way. I drank deeply from it, realizing I was close to hyperventilating. So much for inner peace.

“You okay?” Sam whispered back.

I shook my head. “I hope we get a break soon.”

His eyes filled with concern. “Are you in pain?”

“No, just a bit cranky.”

“I wish you would come home, you know.”

“I wish Alexis didn’t hate me so much.”

“Maybe if you came home with us, we could sort this whole mess out, Annie.”

“I don’t want to talk about this now, Sam,” I whispered. “Besides, I don’t have a home.”

“I’ve done my best, you know, Anabel.” He sounded sad.

I sighed. “I know you have. I’m sorry; I’m a hormonal mess today. We’ll talk after this, okay?”

He nodded, and we refocused on Jared, who was now detailing how the next day he tried to find me, but I was nowhere to be found.

And that was when they called on me to speak.

I was sobbing into my pillow. I could not think, I could not feel, I could barely breathe. Finally, I stopped crying and the numbness set in. I felt cold, empty, and very, very alone. I slowly slid out of bed, feeling sore, feeling broken. Then claustrophobia set in. The room felt too small. I needed to go somewhere—but where? Now more than ever, the truth hit me: there was absolutely nowhere to go. Unsteadily, I stepped over the bloodstain on my rug and stood in front of the mirror.

Two very dull, very bloodshot blue eyes stared back at me. My beautiful nightgown was ruined. I yanked it off and stared at myself, naked in front of the mirror. I took a moment to appraise my bruised arms, the bloodstains on my thighs, and the swollen state of my face. I felt a deep sense of shame consume me. I could barely look at myself in the mirror, and I raced to my bathroom and turned on the shower.

The water was extremely hot, and I turned it up to the point where I could hardly stand it. I wanted to scald the feeling of Jared off of me. Time slipped away as I sat in the bottom of my shower, letting the hot water run through my hair, down my back. At points I remembered to scrub myself. My muscles started to relax a bit, and I watched the blood swirl down the drain, removing the evidence. I shuddered at that thought.

Why would he do this? As the tears began to flow again, I struggled to make sense of everything. Sure, I had not bothered to hide my interest in Jared. But he had gone out of his way to let me know that he wanted nothing to do with me. I reached my hand into my hair and began to yank on it. He hadn’t wanted me. That had been evident.

“So,” I murmured through the water, “he drank himself to the point where he did?”

And that was the very ugly truth. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t been drunk.

“And whose fault was that?” I wondered aloud, the unforgiving, unrelenting reality setting in. Ah, but life was ironic. I shut off the faucet and sat there for a moment, feeling the water cool upon my skin. I wondered how Jonathan would feel knowing he had launched the chain of events that lead to my deflowering. I shut my eyes and pulled my knees to myself, and buried my head in my arms. Then, from the pit of my stomach, a cry erupted and I began to shake again. My body was racked with sobs. I cried for myself, for my father, and for everything I had lost.

I was shivering when I got out of the shower, and everything just felt so numb as I went through the motions of combing my hair, brushing my teeth, applying lotion. I slowly walked to my wardrobe and stared at everything in it. I started yanking at my hair again. Then, without thinking, I reached in and started pulling everything off of its hangers. I threw my clothes all over my room, onto my bed, and on the floor, covering my rug. Dresses, skirts, sweaters—all lay in a pile all over the floor. Gasping, I surveyed what I had done. Still pulling my hair, I opened the bottom drawer and gingerly slid into a pair of sweatpants. I yanked a tank top on, and pulling on my sneakers, I set out to find Jonathan.