Indisputable (10 page)

I’m more agitated than I was yesterday, and after a
moment of contemplation, I stick my dripping hand out of the shower towards the
vanity.  Pulling open the left hand drawer, I find the implement I
seek.  Resting my back against the cool, wet tiles, I lower myself to sit
on the shower floor. 

The adrenaline from the anticipation is enough to
lighten my mood.  This week is all culminating into one giant clusterfuck
of emotion I can’t identify.  Mr. Ryan.  Mrs. Marsden. 
Wyatt.  One person can only take so much before seeking an out.  This
is my out.  My relief.  My escape.  Closing my eyes, I relish in
the cool metal blade gliding across my skin. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Done.

The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.  Gazing
down, I watch the red swirl intricately with the water as it sluices down my
body before disappearing down the drain.  Rinsing away my emotional
pain.  I’m filled with relief as cleansing as sucking in a lungful of
fresh air.  Staring unseeing into the depths of the drain, my mind once
again silenced.  Until the water starts to turn cold.  I turn it off,
dry my body, and clean up my arm before replacing one pair of sweats with
another.

After dropping my dirty clothes off in my laundry
basket, I pull my phone off the charger where I left it last night before I
fell asleep.  I have two missed calls and three missed text
messages. 

Ignoring the phone calls, I look at my messages
first.  Two are from Emerson and one is from Kelsey.  I tap Kelsey’s
name first.

Checkin in to see if you’re doin
okay.  I’m workin with you saturday so we can chat then.  Call me if
you need anything.
  She sent it around ten o’clock last
night.  Scanning the timestamps, I can see Emerson’s text are both from
this morning.

Where the hell are you?????

Are you okay? Why are you skipping two
days of school, are you mad at me? Text me back when you get this

I’m a horrible friend.  I didn’t think to let
Emerson know I wasn’t going to be at school; although, I don’t ever remember
really making that conscious decision for myself last night.  Feeling
guilty, I type out a quick reply to both my friends, grateful they both cared
enough to check in on me.

Since today is Friday and I’m already skipping school,
grocery shopping sounds like a perfect way to pass the time.  I can’t
remember the last time I had a decent meal and it’s not as if I have anything
better to do.   

I dig out my knitted brown scarf, wrapping it tightly
around my face, and place a matching brown beanie on my head.  Pulling on
a light sweater, I grab my keys off the counter and shut the door behind
me.  I jog out to the car amid a downpour of rain.

I’m shaking by the time I climb into my car, which is
saying something as I parked only 100 feet from the entrance to my
building.  Jamming the key in ignition, I turn to fire up the
engine.  Instead of the strained whining sound my car usually makes, I’m
met with silence.  Nothing.  Nada.  The engine isn’t even
turning over.  Flicking my hand to the dome light, it surprises me when it
clicks on.  What the hell?  I don’t know jack about cars but my gut
tells me that this is more of a Wyatt problem than it is a car problem, seeing
as I just had her in for the fuel injectors last week.  I’m fuming as I
dig my phone out of my purse, punching Wyatt’s name on the caller ID
roughly. 

“I knew you couldn’t stay away.  Need me to come
take care of you again, baby?” he coos into the phone, smugly.  I don’t
have time for his games.

“What did you do to my fucking car?” I spit, anger
boiling through my veins. 

“I didn’t do anything to your car, sweetie,” he says,
patronizingly.  I could fucking strangle him with my bare hands. 

“Well the damn thing won’t start, and I can’t think of
any other reason except that you fucked with it.”

“Need me to come tow it for you?  I’m at the shop
today and I wouldn’t mind taking a little afternoon break.”  The
implication in his voice is my breaking point.  He needs to take a
freakin’ hint. 

“No, I don’t need you to tow it so your shitty shop
can do more shitty work on my shitty car!” I yell into the phone.  “I just
had my car in your shop last week, so either you messed it up then, or you
messed it up last night.  Fix this shit!”  I’m fuming.  My teeth
are chattering not entirely from my damp clothes, but from the adrenaline
fueled rage in my body. 

“Calm down, babe.  Let me get it towed and we can
put it back together again.  I just wanted a reason to see you.” 
Wyatt has me.  He knows it and I know it. 

If he messed with my car, I know he won’t fix it until
I agree to come by there, and if he didn’t mess with it, and the piece of junk
is just broken, he knows he can give me the best deal around to find out what’s
wrong.  I’m screwed either way, and I can practically hear the victory in
his voice through the phone. 

“I can’t pay for a fix, let alone a tow, Wyatt. 
I need to get groceries,” I tell him, hoping he can find an ounce of sympathy
somewhere inside his callous black heart. 

“I can think of a couple different ways you can pay
me,” he taunts, goading me.

“Fuck you, Wyatt.  I don’t need you.” 

I’m about to disconnect the call when he says, “Wait,
I’ll help you.  When did you get so uptight about shit? Let me send the
tow, for free, and I’ll fix it for you.  I just can’t leave work right
now.”

I huff in frustration before I answer.  I’m cold
and tired, and he’s sitting here playing tricks on me.  If I hadn’t been
so positive about the end of our escapades last night, I sure am now.

“Send the truck.  I’ll be waiting inside.” 
I hang up before he can answer me, incredibly pissed at his games.

Thirty minutes later, his buddy Cole shows up in the
tow truck, sporting a shit eating grin I wish I could slap off his face. 
No doubt that Wyatt filled him in on his little joke, and they had a nice laugh
at my expense. 

When we arrive at the mechanic’s shop, I hop out and
give Wyatt a piece of my mind before finding a place to sit.  He told me I
have to wait for my car because he has another vehicle in front of mine that
needs an oil change, and his boss is hanging around today.  What a waste
of a day off.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to mess around on
some apps to kill time when I see I have a missed call and a voicemail. 
Plugging my free ear with my finger against the noise from the shop, I listen
carefully to the message.

“Hello, Miss Krause, this is Mr. Stephenson. 
It has been brought to my attention by Mr. Ryan that you have been absent from
school for two days, and the administrator doesn’t have a record of any notice
or valid reason.  Since you do not have a legal parent or guardian
responsible for you, I wanted to bring to your attention that regardless of
your home situation, you may still be found truant under the law.  I
expect to see you in class first thing Monday morning.  If you have
circumstances we need to discuss, please call me.  I am here to help, but
you need to be willing to ask for it.  We’ll talk soon.”  

Guilt overwhelms me at the disappointment in his
voice, and I delete the recording.  I’m one week into my last semester of
high school and I’m already sliding.  And I’ve disappointed the one person
who has stood up for me and has helped guide me through the horror I endured
last year.  The only adult who’s ever been there for me in any sort of
parental role.  This isn’t like me.  I don’t skip classes or
disrespect my teachers or hide out in my bedroom.  I’ve bottled up so many
emotions over the past year, that I’m about to burst. 

In order to right the situation, I need to make a trip
to the school to pick up some homework and talk to my teachers and Mr. Stephenson. 
The last thing I need is to be dragged off to court for a truancy charge.

“Wyatt, how much longer on my car?” I call out,
because even though I can’t see him, I know he’s in here.  He walks out
from behind a large black SUV, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. 

“A while yet.  Why what’s up?”

I try to take a deep cleansing breath to eliminate my
frustrations.  It’s not working.

“I need to run to the school and get some homework
before the weekend since I’ve missed the past two days.  Can you give me a
lift?  They’ll lock up the school pretty quick here seeing as it’s already
after four.”

“You bet.  Give me two minutes.”  Sure, now
he’s being pleasant and cooperative.  The prick.  I shoulder my purse
and step outside to wait for him.

The whole five minute drive, Wyatt keeps trying to
place his hand on my upper thigh, and I keep having to remove it.  When we
pull up to the school doors, I see him unbuckling his seat belt, and I freeze
with my hand on the door handle. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, confusion
coloring my tone.  “I’ll be just a minute.”

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m coming with
you.” 

Before I can get out another word, he exits the car
and stands, waiting for me on the sidewalk.  Rolling my eyes, I climb out
of the car, powering up the walkway without stopping to wait for him.  He
better not lag behind because I want to get this over with, get my car put back
together, and not have to deal with Wyatt again.

We climb the steps to the third floor to start at the
top and work our way down.  I walk down the hall, leading the way as Wyatt
trails behind me, pointing out insignificant things he did when he went to
school here. 

“Oh dude, I remember setting off fire crackers in this
bathroom!  The fire alarms went off, and everybody had to wait outside for
the fire department,” he tells me, as if I should be impressed. 

I tune him out as I walk, losing hope with each room I
pass.  After finding my third classroom vacant and locked, I’m beginning
to see this trip was a waste of time. 

“Nobody is here.  Let’s check out the second
floor and then we can leave.  Sorry for dragging you out.” 

Walking down the staircase to the second floor, I can
hear Wyatt trailing behind me.  As I step out onto the landing, he grabs
me around the waist, pulling me towards him and pushes me up against the
stairway wall.  “What are you…”

His hands come down, pinning my arms to my sides as
his mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my question.  He doesn’t waste
any time as his frantic tongue begins searching, demanding entrance into my
mouth.  I keep my lips clamped shut against the assault. 

What the hell is he doing?  His hips press into
mine, anchoring me to the wall, and I can feel the length of his erection
pressing sickeningly against my lower stomach.  He brings both hands above
my head, securing mine in one of his large palms, and his other arms snakes
around to hold my thrashing head still.

“Stop, Wyatt, stop it!” I call out, fear rising within
my body.  My heart begins to race when he doesn’t release me, and the
adrenaline kicks in, sending a dizzy rush to my head. 

“Shh, baby.  We’re alone, no one will catch
us.  Relax,” he says before bringing his mouth down to my exposed
neck.  He licks and sucks the sensitive skin there making me shudder in
disgust, before biting down roughly when I won’t stop moving.

“I don’t want to.  Get off!”  I try to kick
out my legs, to hurt him, to get away, but his hips continue to hold me
still.  His left foot tangles with my right, and his right knee digging
into my left thigh painfully, holding my legs apart.  Immobile.  I’m
trapped between the brick wall and his stone grasp.

“I like it when you’re feisty,” he whispers in my ear
before biting me again.  "You're mine, baby.  All mine.
 I'm going to remind you of that."

A terrified scream erupts before he clamps his mouth
over mine once more, his hand leaving my head to grip my chin painfully. 
He slides his fingers towards my throat, closing off my supply of precious
air.  In a moment of vicious, desperate lust, he releases my arms to
thrust his hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. 

I wrestle desperately with the hand choking me, but
it’s futile.  The digging and scratching of my fingers is nothing compared
to the gripping hold he has on my neck.  He’s too strong and he has me
exactly where he wants me. 

I close my eyes against the onslaught of his fingers
between my legs, trying to close down, to feel nothing as he thrusts them
inside of me.  I whimper, knowing I’m helpless to defend myself.  My
vision blurs, inky blackness creeping in around the edges.  My lungs
expand painfully, drawing in nothing but a horrible sucking sound as they
desperately seek oxygen.  I’m lost, detaching and retreating inside
myself.  I become numb, and I welcome it.

Mr. Ryan

I waited until the end of sixth period before I called
Mr. Stephenson about Tatum’s absences.  After her breakdown on Wednesday,
I can’t help but feel like something might be wrong in her personal life, and
she needs somebody to reach out to her.  I’m trying to respect her, since
she clearly isn’t fond of me, and I know he mentioned being a confidant for her
in the past. 

He and I chatted for a while after I brought him up to
speed, mostly about sports and how my first week went, and I decided to stay
late to grade some papers after we ended the call.  I feel more comfortable
working here than I would back at my lonely townhouse.  There’s also a
slight chance Melissa might show up to try to talk to me about our
relationship-that-never-was, so maybe I’m also staying late to hide out. 
Cowardly, yes, but I don’t care so long as it saves me a headache. 

At quarter past four, I decide it’s time to pack up
and blow off some steam at the gym.  Trey and I made plans to lift at five
and afterwards get some beers in the next town over.  

Grabbing my briefcase, I step out into the dark
hallway, locking my classroom door.  As I turn to the right towards the
doors leading to the teacher’s parking lot, I hear a blood curdling scream from
behind me.

My heart lurches into my throat and I drop my
briefcase, sprinting down the hall towards the sound.  Rounding the corner
to the stairwell, I’m stunned momentarily as I stumble upon Tatum, pinned
against the wall as someone assaults her.

Tatum!  No.  Fuck no. 

My assessment takes but a second.

My eyes zoom in on the hand around her neck, the way
her eyes are round as half dollars as she struggles to take a breath, her face
red and mottled with tears streaming down her cheeks, the pricks hand shoved
beneath her pants, and my blood fucking boils.  White hot rage entwines
itself within my veins and before I can think I find myself hurtling towards
her attacker. Grasping him by the back of his shirt, I thrust him against the
opposite wall. 

“What the fuck?” he yells. 

Before I can check if she’s okay, I rush over to where
the prick lays, nursing his bruised skull and kick him in the gut twice in
quick succession, feeling intense pleasure at the grunts he’s emitting. 
My black Oxford’s send him tipping over the concrete steps, tumbling and
rolling to the bottom where he lies motionless, cupping the back of his
head.  I’m about to descend on him once again, all thought and consequence
lost to the flood of emotions rushing through me, when a small whimper from
behind me pulls me back from the brink of absolute rage.

“My God, Tatum,” I rush over to where she’s slumped
down against the wall, her arms crossed around her middle as if she’s trying to
physically hold herself together.  Tears stream unchecked down her cheeks,
but she avoids meeting my eyes. 

“Look at me,” I request, carefully crouching down in
front of her.  Trying to survey her for damage.   

She shakes her head no, burying herself further into
her arms. 

“Let’s get you to my classroom.  I’ll call the
police,” I tell her, approaching her slowly, not wanting to touch her without
her permission.  My heart continues to drum a rapid rhythm in my chest,
and I try to take a deep breath to calm myself down.  The sound of my
panting probably isn’t comforting her. 

“No!  You can’t do that, please don’t,” she cries
out as I draw my cell phone from my pocket. 

“Shh, Tatum, it’s alright.  They’ll help
you.  You might need a doctor.”  I have 9-1-1 dialed, when she
suddenly stretches forward, batting the phone from my hand with an astonishing
amount of power for how feeble she looks right now.

“Please, no!” She shrieks before fresh sobs wrack her
body.  I’m at a loss.  The school is empty, and I can’t get her to
listen to me.  She needs help, but I can tell she’s terrified. 

“Listen to me.  You need to report this. 
You need to talk to the police. 
I
need to report this.”

“I won’t talk!  Just let me go, please Mr. Ryan,
I’m begging you.  Don’t make me do this!” God, her voice is hoarse and
terrified, and it crawls inside me to the nucleus of my being.

My moral obligation is warring with my sudden need to
protect her.  Some unfamiliar urge has taken over, but seeing what I just
witnessed has me wanting to do whatever this girl asks of me.  And I
relent.  I could lose my job over this, but keeping her safe is suddenly
much more important.  I’ll analyze that thought later.  

“Okay, I won’t,” I try to soothe her in a calm, gentle
voice.  Finally she looks at me, and while staring into her deep watery
hazel eyes, something breaks inside of me.  I’ve never seen a
vulnerability at this level before.   

“You won’t?”

“No.  At least not right now.  What can I do
for you?  Do you need to go to the hospital?” I ask, because I don’t know
what to do. 

“Take me home.  I just want to go home,” she
sobs. 

“Here, let me help you,” I offer, extending my arms
toward her. 

She nods her head and I wrap them around her, encasing
her as if I can keep her safe in my grip.  And I can.  Nothing will
touch her while she’s in my arms, at least not in the physical sense. 
Emotionally, she must be in a world of pain and the thought constricts my
heart.  She burrows her head into my chest, slinging her arms around me to
cling to me while her tears soak my shirt.  I’m shocked only a moment
before I bring my hand to the back of her head, stroking and smoothing her hair
soothingly.  Anger detonates like a firework when I feel a large knot
hiding beneath the heavy fall of her hair.  

A few minutes pass before her sobs begin to quiet to
soft gulps of air and small hiccups.  As the storm passes, I remember her
attacker lying at the bottom of the stairs.  I need to take care of
him.  I loosen my arms around her, which has the desired effect.  She
lifts her head from my chest to stare into my eyes, and if it isn’t the most
heartbreaking sight I’ve ever seen.  Of their own accord, my hands slip to
cup her cheeks, my thumbs stroking the tears from beneath her swollen hazel
eyes. 

“I need to do something about him.  I’m going to
stand you right here, and I’m going to check on him.  Don’t move.  I
promise I’ll be right down there and then I’ll come back for you,
Sweetheart.”  I can see the fear in her eyes, but I can also see her
resolve.  Brave girl. 

She nods her head once at me, wrapping her arms around
herself once more.  I slowly back away from her, and peer down the
stairs.  He’s gone.  The bastard must have gotten up and ran off
while I was busy comforting her.  I swear, if I ever see him again, he’s
fucking dead.

“Let’s go, Tatum.  I’ll take you home,” I say
when I walk back up to where I left her waiting.  I wrap my arm around her
back, turning her towards my classroom where I had dropped my briefcase. 

“Where is he?” she questions, her voice hoarse from
screaming and crying, her head whipping back and forth as she continues to
check behind us.  I need to talk her into going to a hospital.  He
may have damaged her voice box when he choked her.

“He’s gone.” 

I see and feel her shudder against me, so I quickly
add, “Don’t worry about him right now.  I’m here with you.  Let’s
just get you home.  I’ll take care of him later.”  She still looks
panicked so I pick up our pace, keeping myself on alert in case he’s planning
on jumping us.  He’d be stupid to even think about it.  I’m barely
controlling my anger as it is.  Only the thought of not scaring Tatum any
more than she already is keeps my fury locked up tight. 

I retrieve my bag and we make it to my car without any
sign of trouble.  After tucking her in the passenger side, I climb in and
start the car but pause before shifting it into drive.  I don’t know which
way to go.

“Where do you live?” I ask gently, trying not to
startle her as she stares out the window.  She drops her head to stare at
her lap instead of looking me in the eyes.

“I—I don’t want to go home,” she confesses.  “I’m
scared he’ll find me there.”

“Aren’t your parents’ home?  We can tell them
what happened.  I’ll help you,” I offer, but she shakes her head at
me. 

“I don’t have parents, I mean I have parents, a mom,
but I don’t live with them, with my mom,” she stutters, her voice breaking when
she says, “I’m all alone.”  Fresh tears burst from her eyes, tracking down
her cheeks. 

“Okay, okay,” I soothe, “anyone else you can stay
with?” 

She shakes her head no once again. 

This is a bad idea.  It’s a terrible fuckin’
idea, but I offer it anyway because I don’t know how else to help.  “Do
you want to stay with me until we sort this out?”

“I don’t want to intrude…” she trails off, and I can
tell this is hard for her.  Two days ago, we couldn’t stand to be in the
same room as each other.  Now I’ve witnessed probably the darkest moment
of her life.  She needs me, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. 
And honestly, I need to see that she’s okay.

“Don’t even worry,” I tell her and I turn the car
towards home.  

She’s quiet when I lead her into my townhome and show
her to the living room.

“Have a seat.  Can I get you something to drink
or eat?” I ask, not knowing what else to do.  She simply nods her head
before taking a seat on the couch. 

I cross the hall into my galley kitchen, grabbing
myself a beer from the fridge.  I down half the contents before I begin
rummaging for food.  What would she like to eat?  I don’t want to
leave her there for long while I cook, so for now I grab a box of granola bars,
a bottle of water for her, and my beer before heading back to the living room. 

When I enter, Tatum is curled into a ball on my couch,
sobbing quietly into her sleeves.  My chest constricts tighter with each
gasping breath she takes.  I set my findings down on the coffee table and
take a seat next to her. 

“Come here,” I offer, needing to hold her, to comfort
her.  I’m still shaken so I can only imagine how she’s must feel. 

To my surprise, she turns over, crawling into my lap
and tucking her face into my shoulder.  I hold her tightly, circling my
arms around her as if my arms can keep her from falling apart.  I wish
they could; I want nothing more than to take away the hurt she’s feeling in
this moment.

Time passes, and eventually, she grows quiet. 
The sun begins to set into a pale aquamarine sky outside my window and I know
it must be getting late.  As carefully as I can, I tilt her head to the
side and glance down at her only to discover she fell asleep sometime after her
crying stopped.  Or maybe she cried herself to sleep.  A hole opens
in my chest above my heart as I replay the images of finding her this
afternoon.  The terror on her face haunts me, and seeing that asshole’s
hand inside her pants?  I’m suddenly filled with rage all over again, and
I need to move.  I gently lift her off my lap and lie her down on her
side, grabbing the afghan I keep draped over the back of the sofa and cover her
gently. 

I stalk upstairs into my bedroom and close the door,
leaving it open just a crack so I can hear her if she wakes.  My hands are
shaking, and I sink down onto my mattress, covering my face with them, trying
to stifle the rising emotions inside of me. 

I haven’t had a week this fucked up since I lost
Harper, and I don’t know how to fucking handle it.  I want to leave, drive
down to Old Willow and drown my emotions in a couple of whiskeys.  But I
could never leave her alone after the day she’s had; to wake up in some strange
house, and not have me here to comfort her. 

Fuck! For all I know, today may also be the cherry on
top of her crappy week too.  She did miss the past two days of
school.  What was she doing there tonight?  Steps away from my
classroom, almost getting raped by some dirtbag.  What if I hadn’t decided
to leave just then?  What if I was still correcting papers with my door
shut and I didn’t hear her?  What if he kept going and raped her or hurt
her?  Releasing a grunt of frustration, I allow myself to fall back onto
the bed and close my eyes. 

One thought leads to another.  Tatum. 
Assaulted.  Attempted rape.  Death.  Harper. 

Images of the accident begin flashing through my mind
in rapid succession.  That red car coming out of nowhere, slamming into us
and forcing my truck off the road.  Harper screaming when we veer off the
road.  Harper’s body flying through the cab of my truck as we start to
roll down the embankment.  Harper’s screams suddenly stopping. 
Blood.  Ugly, deep crimson trails of blood on the window, on the seat, on
Harper’s face, on her legs.  Her legs, lying in an awkward position. 
The sirens, ambulances, fire truck. 

And the images stop, except for one. 

The final one. 

Harper. 

Cold, white, still.  Her delicate features motionless. 
Eyes closed and mouth unsmiling.  Bruised and scraped.  I can’t help
the whimper that escapes my own lips as I let sleep pull me under, leaving the
tears to silently roll down my cheeks in the dark.