Abuse (25 page)

From my earliest memories, I thought
I
was evil. I thought
I
was a monster.

Reaching out to Andre was the first step towards regaining control over my life. Sharing stories of my abuse empowered me further. Being with Renata and pushing my limits is leading me toward further self-awareness. Each life-affirming step shines light on the darkness that has been controlling me.

As a child, I learned what I was taught by my abuser—that love was selfish and twisted. Love was nothing but an act, a perverse pretense that couldn’t be trusted.

Those were the wrong lessons.

What my father had for me wasn’t love at all, it was a sick imitation. Real love is good. It feels right. It’s healing and it’s empowering. True love is when you know who you are. It allows you to find your own heart and soul. It’s that moment when you recognize and accept the
beautiful perfection
of your
own imperfections
and you want to weep from the joy of it.

I’m NOT a monster. I’m NOT a pervert.

Once I felt lost and lonely. I believed I was doomed to live a loveless life, alone and immersed in self-hatred. Now, I know better. I deserve happiness.

“I love you,” I tell Renata fearlessly.

It doesn’t even matter if she loves me back. Nothing matters right now, except this boundless joy—this love I’ve discovered buried within me. For once, I actually
like
who I am. I’m in harmony with myself.

Light
can
vanquish darkness.

Truth
can
set you free.

For how can evil possibly compete with love?

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

― C.G. Jung

~~~

Grant Wilkinson

The world
seems
the same, at least on the surface. Nothing
looks
as if it’s changed, yet everything’s different now.

I’ve
never
felt so carefree.

“I love you, too,” Renata says to me.

I hold perfectly quiet and still while I process her words. This is a love I’ve never known. When she says “I love you” she isn’t saying she wants to marry me. There are no conditions—no strings attached. This isn’t sex. It isn’t ownership. By saying she loves me, she doesn’t mean that from now on I need to act a certain way, or do certain things.

Renata’s saying she knows who I am. She’s saying she cares
for me.
The
real me.
The person I truly am.

Renata said she loves me.

Impulsively, I grab Renata by the waist and raise her up. She shrieks and laughs as she gazes down at me. I’m laughing too. I swing her around high in the air, around and around, before finally putting her back down.

I’m buzzed and lighthearted. Both grinning, both happy, we look at each other with wonder in our eyes. The sun is shining. It’s a
beautiful
day. All shadows have been banished. There’s not a cloud in our hearts, or in the sky.

This wonderful woman makes me feel so glad to be alive.

All people require food, water and sleep for their body—but for the mind, the heart and soul? Everyone
needs
to be loved.

When I bring Renata back to her apartment, she’ll probably offer to make love, this time on her bed with her cat, Mitten, watching us. As much as I ache to take her into my arms, I know it’s too soon for me. That’s sixth-floor level when I’m barely in the front door. Small steps forward… hopefully very few steps back.

Today, I’ve come so far.

I long to bury myself inside of her again, but I know I’d be uncomfortable afterwards. I always feel ashamed, guilty and awkward after sex and I don’t want to risk losing this rare, upbeat mood I’m in. I want to enjoy feeling
loved.
My cock is long, hard and ready, but you know what?
I don’t care.

This isn’t about sex.

Right now, I’m happy. Really, truly happy.

It’s so incredibly rare. I want to savor that feeling. I just want to stand here and soak it in.

“There is some self-interest behind every friendship. There is no friendship without self-interests. This is a bitter truth.”

— Chanakya

~~~

Stan Huber

The District Attorney was a big man, tall with short, dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows. He sat behind a big wooden desk with a computer on it. The DA’s Office had one big window that faced the staff parking area, a couple of filing cabinets and an oil painting of cowboys watching another cowboy ride a bucking bronco.

“Did any admission of homicidal intent occur previously?” the DA asked.

“No. Never. You have to understand,” Stan Huber said. “The guy was drunk. Really wasted. I didn’t think anything of it. He was just venting, you know?”

The District Attorney, the Assistant District Attorney, Stan Huber, his father and his attorney, were meeting in the DA’s office. Stan was speaking earnestly with an honest expression in his round face and appeasing helpfulness in his green eyes.

Chester Wilkinson’s exhumed body had tested positive for an over-the-counter drug called scopolamine.

Scopolamine, used for motion sickness, had an unfortunate side effect of making an individual highly suggestible. Conceivably, Mr. Wilkinson’s murderer may have simply suggested he walk onto the balcony and lean over, where he could’ve easily been pushed off.

“What did this man say?” the DA asked.

“He told me everyone loved the guy, but his dad was a real bastard,” Stan said. “He said he hated him and often dreamed of killing him. He knew exactly how he’d do it and get away with it. Then, he went into detail about scopolamine. He said he got the idea from a TV show. It may have been on CSI or something.”

“This was at your home?” the DA asked.

“No. It was at the Country Club.”

“Any witnesses?”

“No.”

“Who told you this?”

Stan glanced up at his Attorney, who pushed his steel-rimmed glasses back on his nose and nodded. “I get full immunity?” he asked.

“Yes.” His lawyer said. “All you have to do is testify at the trial.”

“Counseling, Narcotics Anonymous and probation for three years, right?” Stan said, confirming the pre-negotiated agreement.

“That’s right.”

Stan took a deep breath. “OK, then.” He looked at all three men, who looked back at him expectantly. “The man who killed Chester Wilkinson was his son, Grant Wilkinson.”

“No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have their own associations.”

— Louis L'Amour

~~~

Grant Wilkinson

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I frown. I’ve had it on silent because I’m on vacation and want a break.

No one
ever
calls me unless there’s trouble at the shooting range. But I have good staff, so I doubt they’d call anyway.

I put Renata down, put my hand in my front pocket and pull out my cell. There are a ridiculous number of missed calls and messages from my mother and my sister. They only phone when they want something—but they know I’m away. So why call?

My brother's name shows up on caller ID. Some kids are playing softball nearby, clapping and calling out loudly.

“Let’s get away from this racket,” I say to Renata. Together, we start walking down the path to escape the background noise as I answer my phone.

“Grant?”

“Hey, Alex, what’s up?”

“I’m in trouble, man. You’re the first person I thought of. You’re the only one I can trust to go the distance, you know?” he says in an unusually rapid-fire voice.

I stop, stand up straight and pay attention. “What do you need?”

My little brother’s always so laid back; he never takes life seriously. Except right now, he sounds breathless and anxious.

“Sky and I have been arrested for child endangerment. It’s a long story involving a car accident and cocaine, but I’m using my one phone call to call you and I can’t talk long.”

“Tell me you’re not being busted for trafficking.”

Alex laughs without humor. “No, it’s not like that. This afternoon, I had a fender bender—it wasn’t even my fault. Sky and I were driving along and some asshole pulled out right in front of us. We had the right of way. The cops were right there. We were coming back from a lunchtime party where we did a few lines of coke; you know how it is. Our stash was in plain sight, only an ounce or so—for personal use, I swear—I don’t sell it. Anyway, the cops figured it out and I was sent to the hospital with a concussion. I’m OK, but we were both under the influence…” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “Briley was in the car.”

Blitzed on coke, with a baby in the car.

“Briley’s OK?”

“He’s fine.”

Alex and his wife are ‘coke heads’—and they have a baby. How screwed up is that? They’ll probably receive a court order to attend Narcotics Anonymous. Maybe this disaster will help them realize they need to change their lifestyle.

“Grant, you gotta talk to our attorney,” Alex says. “Tell him to get down here to Northwest Dallas Police department. Also, I need you to get Briley out of social services. Don’t let mother get involved, not that she’d want to be. They’ll only let a relative “of good character” have him. You have a Purple Heart, for Christ’s sake. No one will doubt you. Hire some nice woman who’s good with babies. I need you to look after him until we can get him back.”

Alex pauses and I hear a shaky intake of breath. Waiting, I say nothing. I just wish I’d been a better brother to him.

“You gotta get Briley, man. He’s gonna be so scared.”

“Of course,” I assure him. “He can stay with me as long as it takes.”

“I owe ya, bro.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll call our lawyer right now.” With nothing more to say, I hang up. Our family attorney’s one of the few numbers I have on speed dial.

“Morrow, Finch and Easley, Attorneys at Law,” a cheerful feminine voice answers.

“Grant Wilkinson for Dwight Marrow, please.”

“I’m sorry, he’s on another line. Will you hold?”

“Yes.”

Tedious elevator music plays while I wait. My brother’s in trouble, and all I can think about is that my time with Renata will be cut short. It’s a selfish thought, but I can’t help it. We were getting somewhere. Hell, we were getting
everywhere.

I sigh deeply. As I listen for my attorney’s voice, I quietly update Renata on the family crisis. As I explain the details, I’m startled by her sudden input.

“Sounds like they’ll both be formally charged and released,” she says. “Their child will be in protective custody with Social Services. They’ll need to place him with a family, so you’ll have plenty of time to recover him before then.”

“How long until my brother and his wife get Briley back?”

Renata shrugs. “They’ve lost custody. They’ll have visitation rights under the care of a qualified court appointee, which—if they have money—they’ll have to pay for. It’s hard to say. Could be as much as six months.”

“No way!”

“Oh, yes. Best case scenario? Two to three months minimum, I’d guess.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I was a ward of the state, remember?”

I cock my head and study her for a moment. Who’d have guessed? So pretty. So confident. So
normal.
André trusts her. I trust her too. André saved her. He saved me, too.

It’s something else we have in common.

“Do you know anything about the care of six month old baby boys?” I ask.

To my great surprise, Renata suddenly pales as the blood leaves her face.
What the fuck?
There’s panic or perhaps horror in her eyes as I take her arm. I’m concerned she may pass out or something.

“Renata, what’s wrong? I say anxiously.

Unsteady and trembling, she says nothing. Just then, my attorney comes on the line “Mr. Wilkinson, what can I do for you?” Mr. Marrow asks.

“Hello, Mr. Marrow,” I say. I can’t find out what’s going on now. Breathing deeply, Renata shakes me off, making “I’m OK” motions with one white hand.

With my eyes fixed on her, I quickly fill my attorney in on the details. I instruct him to immediately go spring my brother and his wife from Northwest Police lock up. I explain I’m out of state, but I’ll fly back to Dallas immediately. I tell him to put my name down as the relative who will take custody of Briley. We arrange to meet when I arrive home.

As soon as I end the conversation, I slip my phone back into my pocket and take Renata’s hands. They’re ice cold. What just happened? What’s wrong with her? First, a crying jag at the memory of Jamie, and now she’s in shock.

With my hand on her lower back, I escort her to a nearby bench in the shade and sit down with her.

“What is it, darlin’?” I ask her.

“I won’t go into it right now,” she says, sounding calm, but not quite herself.

I shake my head in instinctive disagreement. I'm worried about her; she doesn’t look well. I hate seeing her so out of sorts, especially when I have no clue why.

“Seriously, Grant,” she says in a determined tone. “I promise I’ll tell you all about it another time. You’ve had a good day. You’ve made great inroads. I'm not going to bring you down with my shit.”

I frown heavily, feeling powerless. I want her to talk to me, but I can’t make her. I see that shadow of darkness creeping over her again and can only sympathize. What terrible moment in her past have I accidentally touched upon?

She smiles and I watch as she forces her mood away. “It can wait. You have stuff to do for your brother—this isn’t me just speaking as a counselor, either. I honestly want to focus on you. You’re so happy right now. That makes me happy. Something important happened to you today. When you’re ready, I want to hear all about it.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

The playfulness is back in her eyes. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s an old memory, a
very
old memory I’ll tell you sometime. I just… I… well, it just surprised me. No big deal. Besides, we made a pact to tell each other our stories, remember? We sealed that agreement with a kiss.”

“So we did,” I say, smiling.

“Grant, I’m really good with babies,” she says. “I’ve had lots of experience and I love them to bits. If you want, Mitten and I can come stay with you. I’ll help you look after the baby until your brother and his wife are awarded custody.”

The joy that slams into me takes my breath away. Renata—staying with me
in my house?
Renata, around
all the time?
It’s too good to be true. It’s better than I could ever ask or even wish for.