Dissent (23 page)

My
stomach made an awful twisting sensation and my pulse pounded hard in
my temples and throat.

I
will have you. I will bend you over and fuck you until you're
screaming for someone to save you.

I
felt bile rise up in my throat. I put it down like it burned me,
clawing through the pile of things on his bed, looking for something,
other proof, or something to exonerate him. I found another piece of
paper, folded over a red permanent marker. It was another note, but
only half finished, breaking off mid-sentence, mid-threat.

No.
Nonononononono. Not Isaiah. Not someone I trusted. Someone I thought
I was falling for. Not him.

But
at the same time, it made sense. Someone who was raised to despise
women, someone who didn't understand how to be in touch with his
healthy emotions, someone who had grown up in awful violence. Someone
who just joined the tour when the threats started. Of course he made
the most sense. If I hadn't been so busy fucking him, maybe I would
have seen it sooner.

Oh,
god. I fucked him. I fucked the man who was capable of being such a
monster.

I
grabbed the notes, flinging myself out of his bunk. “Pull the
fuck over,” I yelled, making everyone jump. “Burt, pull
over. Right now!”

“What
the fuck is wrong with...” Jay started, then looked at my face.
“What's the matter? Darce?”

But
I wasn't looking at him. I was glaring at Isaiah. Isaiah whose scent
was still all over me, who I could practically still feel between my
thighs.

The
bus pulled over and Burt flew up out of his seat, his eyes huge and
concerned. “What is going on?”

“Isaiah
is getting off.”

“Don't
be ridic....” Jay started, but my eyes flew to his.

I
flung the papers at him. “I found these in his bunk. He's the
one who has been writing about raping me and setting me on fire and
ripping me apart. He's the one!”

Everyone's
eyes went to Isaiah's, Joey and Mike standing up quickly, always
prepared for action. “Darcy,” Isaiah said, holding up his
hands, palms out. “I didn't write anything like that. I would
never...”

“Get
him the fuck off my bus,” I growled, blinking back the tears I
felt in my eyes and storming back to my bunk.

I
didn't need to stay to know they did what I told them. My crew, my
friends, my entire world... who were bound to feel betrayed and
disgusted. Because they trusted him too.

But
not like I had. Not to the point where they shared their bodies with
him. Where they opened up the wounds of their pasts around him. Who
had been used to satisfy his sick, twisted lust. No wonder he always
wanted me bent over, fucking me without really seeing me as a person.

The
disgust was a living thing inside me, making me feel like I was going
to come out of my skin. Like I was, in a way, to blame.

I
flew up into my bunk, curling in on myself, my hand pressed hard to
my mouth as if it could keep the nausea and self-loathing inside.

Because
pushing past the shock, the anger, the sadness was one pressing,
awful thing:

I
fucking loved him.

Nineteen

One
minute I was sharing something with Darcy I didn't think was
possible- intimacy, something deeper than bodies brushing into
bodies, needs satisfying needs. It had been more than that. It had
been sweet and full of some meaning I just didn't quite understand.
But I wanted to. For the first time in my life, there was a woman
around who I wanted more than a one night with. And I was just...
trying to take some space to think things over. I was trying to come
to terms with the idea of asking Darcy if she wanted to consider...
something more than what we were. A relationship. Something. Because
she was different. Because I couldn't stop thinking about her,
despite having her every which way. I fucked her mouth, her pussy,
her ass... just trying to get her out of my system. But all I felt
was more consumed by her.

And
then the next minute, Darcy was screaming like a lunatic, her eyes
livid and vulnerable all at once.

Because
she thought I was her stalker. She thought I wanted to beat and burn
and rape and kill her.

She
thought that lowly of me.

I
hadn't even needed to be thrown out. As soon as she walked away, I
stood up, facing their matching looks of anger, and pain, and
betrayal. “I know this looks like I did it,” I said, my
voice barely loud enough to be heard, “but this wasn't me.”
I looked at Jay, my eyes pleading for him to believe me. “I
sweae it's not me. But she wants me to leave. So I'll go. But.. I
would never,” I shook my head, looking at my feet, raking a
hand down my face. “I care about her just like the rest of
you,” I said, my eyes finding Burt's for a second before I
quickly let myself off of the bus and started walking.

They
sat there on the side of the road for a long time before I heard it
turn over and start pulling away. I didn't look back. I didn't turn
to watch them go. Watch her go. I ducked my head and walked. And
walked. And walked. Trying to not let it sink it. Trying to not let
the betrayal become a part of me. Trying to not let her distrust in
me sting.

But
it did. It fucking hurt.

And
I never wanted to feel like that again.

--

“So
you're back early,” Dr. Todd said, taking a deep breath, her
hands resting on the notes on her lap.

“Yup,”
I said, nodding at her.

“You
seem angry,” she observed, her brows furrowed.

“You
could say that.”

“So
what happened? Last time we talked, things were going relatively
well. You seemed a bit more at ease, less depressed. You seemed to be
taking a very healthy interest in this Darcy woman.”

“They
were. I was. And I did.”

Dr.
Todd closed her eyes, letting out a breath. Like she was asking a
higher power for strength. Like she needed some extra help if she was
going to try to save me. “Did you and Darcy have sex?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Did
that... go well?”

“Best
sex of my life,” I said, not looking at her. Looking past her.
At her books. At her desk. At the huge potted plant by the door.

“Well
you certainly aren't behaving like a man who has found the best sex
of his life.”

“And
how should I be behaving, Dr. Todd?”

If
I wasn't mistaken, there was a flash of fire in her eyes for the
briefest of seconds before it pushed away and she spoke again, “More
relaxed, perhaps. Happy even.”

“Sorry
to be such a disappointment.”

I
had been back in the city for three days after walking six miles on
the side of that rode before I found a rest stop and called a cab to
take me to the closest airport. I had nothing to check or carry on. I
had... nothing left.

I
went back to my apartment and I drank into oblivion at night, tore
through Central Park in relentless, punishing laps, stayed at work
late. Drink. Drink. Drink. Repeat.

I
wasn't even sure what the fuck I was doing back at Dr. Todd's. Maybe
it was a last ditch attempt for my subconscious to try to save me.
But he was getting weaker by the minute.

“Isaiah,”
she said, putting her notes away and sitting forward in her chair,
“what happened with you and Darcy?”

I
sighed, shaking my head. I was there. I might as well talk. “She
was being stalked. Someone kept getting onto the bus somehow and
leaving these sick notes. And three days ago... we had just had sex.
And she for some reason went into my bunk. And there were notes
there. And she accused me and kicked me off the bus.”

“Did
you try to...”

“She
didn't want to fucking hear it,” I said, shaking my head.

“Isaiah,
you have to understand the immense amount of pressure she was under.
Being stalked is a terrifying thing. It makes you feel powerless. And
to, even for a moment, believe that a person you are being intimate
with is the one who has been threatening you...”

“I
would fucking never...”

“You
have to see how helpless and used and betrayed she must have...”

“You
know what?” I yelled, getting to my feet. “I don't
fucking care. I don't care. I'm done.”

“Done
with what?” she asked, sounding concerned. Like she knew where
I was heading.

“This
life. Her. You,” I raged, walking toward the door. “Every
fucking woman I meet telling me how fucked I am. I'm fucking done
with it,” I said, grabbing the door. “Maybe my father was
right after all,” I said, slamming the door hard and walking
out of her office. Down the street toward the train station, getting
on the next one heading out, and leaving all the shit behind.

I
had been nothing but miserable growing up. And I had been nothing but
miserable free of that life. So what the fuck did it even matter
anymore? What was I really getting out of living in society? Alcohol?
As much pussy as I wanted?

Where
had that gotten me? Half drunk half of the time. Trying to push
sexual boundaries just to feel a rush again. How many lives had I
screwed with because of my depravity? How many women went home and
scrubbed me off of their skin, but couldn't get my filth off of their
souls? How many people were actually fucking better for having me in
their lives?

I
knew that answer came back to a whopping zero.

So
why was I trying so hard to try to fit into a world that would never
accept me? A world that could never see my fucked up past and embrace
it? Tell me it didn't have to define me? All it did was define me. It
made me angry and guarded. It made me confused and conflicted. It
made me completely unable to trust a woman.

And
the first one I had felt was different, was someone I could put my
faith to rest in, took that and threw it back in my face.

There
would be no second chances. There would be no opportunities for
someone to make me feel like I was feeling again. Like there was a
hole inside, turning and widening. Like it was going to spread wide
enough one day to swallow me whole into it's nothingness. In it's
aching darkness. Like there would just be nothing left.

So
what difference did it make if I went back?

I
got out of the cab out front of my grandmother's house, bypassing
stopping in and collecting some of my old things, turning off the
side of the driveway and slinking into the woods.

It
had been so long. Six years felt like it passed in a blur of work,
and learning, and pussy. Six years. I had been twenty-five the last
time I saw the damn place. I felt so much older than I had when I
left. So much more weary. World weary. Because I finally knew what
the world was, and what tole it could take on you if you weren't
careful.

My
steps felt heavier. I used to be able to tear through the woods eyes
closed, making it from the house to my grandmother's in a matter of
minutes. But each step felt taxing, like the years were settling into
my bones, like my muscles had forgotten how to scale the terrain.

It
took me the better half of a half an hour to get to the spot where
the trees cleared slightly around the rough wooden structure that had
been the only thing I had known for so many years. It looked the
same. There wasn't much damage that could be done to it. We had put
endless hours of work into making sure the windows were secure, each
groove where the walls connected sealed tight enough to keep the
outside air out, along with the bugs and the moisture.

It
was smaller. Smaller as a whole structure than my apartment back at
the city. I walked up to the door, sliding the logs out from in front
of it that I had placed there in case some raccoon or opossums got
any ideas about using it as a breeding ground when I left. I don't
know what had possessed me to want to preserve it. Maybe a part of me
knew even back then that I wasn't meant to be out in the world with
people. Maybe I had always been born to live and die in a shack in
the woods.

The
inside was familiar yet foreign at the same time. The dirt floor, the
windows, the fireplace that served as the only source of heat and
means to cook food. There were no electronics or lights because there
had never been any kind of electricity. There was a thick layer of
dirt on all the surfaces, the windows were filthy with years of
build-up making the light inside dim, cobwebs took over the corners.