False Security (10 page)

Mark reached his
hand through the soap bubbles and pulled a plate out of the sink. Armed with a
sponge, he scrubbed the soap over the plate and handed it to Rachel. She rinsed
it off in warm water and laid it on a towel spread across the counter.

“I can’t believe you talked me
into letting you help with dishes,” he said, “especially after your dishwasher
incident.”

“Quit complaining and get busy.
I’m way ahead of you in the rinsing department.” With a mischievous grin,
Rachel flicked some water from her fingers onto the side of his face.

“Don’t start a water fight if
you can’t finish it,” Mark said with a laugh.

Rachel raised her hands up in
the air. “Then I surrender before you decide to retaliate,” she said. “By the
way, you were right. That was the most incredible lasagna I’ve ever had. How
did you learn to cook like that?”

“I started cooking out of
necessity. Greg and I were stuck having to fend for ourselves half the time,
with Dad being on the road and Mom being knee deep in vodka and prescription
narcotics.”

Rachel rinsed a glass, and
contemplated his words. Mark endured serious neglect and trauma as a child, and
survived much more than most people do in a lifetime. Yet he adapted to his
misfortune and never let it overcome him. Rachel craved that ability, and she
wondered if it was too late for her to be more like him.

“Greg’s culinary skills were
zero,” Mark continued. “He burnt anything and everything. I guess I got sick of
eating peanut butter and jelly, and I taught myself how to cook.”

“I wish I knew how to cook,”
Rachel said. “I burn things, too. I think I get that from my dad, because I
remember my mom’s cooking wasn’t that bad.”

She laughed at a memory, and
took a soapy dish from Mark’s hands. “One time my mom had to work late and Dad
was stuck cooking dinner. He got this brilliant idea he could make meatloaf. He
even put on one of Mom’s aprons. I laughed at him and he kicked me out of the
kitchen.”

The words rolled off Rachel’s
tongue without thought as to how much information about her life came out. In
that moment, she did not care about the secrets she held under lock and key.

“About an hour later,” she said,
“I went to check on him. I opened up the door between the kitchen and living
room and all this smoke rolled out. He had burned the meatloaf. All the windows
in the kitchen were open, and he had snuck out the other door so I wouldn’t
know what happened. I found Dad in his bedroom and he looked crushed. As soon
as he saw me, his expression changed. He ushered me back in the living room,
telling me not to worry, he would fix it.

“Another hour passed and I was
ready to eat the black meatloaf. Then the doorbell rang and it was the pizza
delivery guy. I don’t remember ever having pizza that tasted so good. As we
were eating, Dad said, ‘Now you can tell your mother what a wonderful cook I
am.’ We laughed until we cried.” Rachel paused, and sorrow flooded her heart.
“A few months later, he was dead.”

“You still miss them, don’t
you?”

Missing her parents was a weak
phrase for what she felt, but it was the best way to describe her emotions with
words. “Yes, all the time,” she said. Confused by the surprise in his voice
when he spoke the question, Rachel asked, “Don’t you miss your parents?”

Mark shrugged. “Your parents
really loved you when they were alive. I can tell by how much you still love
them. I never experienced that. They were my parents, flesh and blood. I should
miss them, but I don’t think about them much. Sometimes I feel guilty, but it’s
hard to miss parents that were never there in the first place.”

He yanked the plug out of the
sink’s drain, and water whooshed down the drain. He rinsed the soap off his hands
under the running water Rachel used to rinse silverware. As he dried his hands
on a dishtowel, he asked, “Why is it always like pulling teeth to get you to
talk to me?”

It was a question Rachel
expected at some point, but she still feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“I think the story about your
dad is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself at once, and I didn’t have to
ask.”

She took the dishtowel from him
and rubbed her damp hands against the material. She shrugged and answered the
best she could without saying too much. “I don’t like talking about myself.
There’s nothing interesting to say.”

“Everything about you is
interesting to me.”

He wasn’t going to let the topic
go, Rachel realized. “I guess I don’t ever have to talk about my life, so I’m
not used to it. Danielle’s the only person I’ve been close to for so long and
she already knows everything there is to know. I’ve never had anyone else
besides her to talk to.” Rachel reached over and took Mark’s hand in hers. “At
least, not until I met you.”

“So what’s the difference
between talking to her and talking to me?”

“I imagine there’s some sort of
comfort level I reached with her after knowing her for a long time. As I came
to know her and trust her, it became easier to talk to her.”

“So what will it take for you to
reach that comfort level with me?”

Unsure of how to reply, Rachel
took a deep breath and let go of his hand. The turn in the conversation once
again upset her plan for the night. Yet that was how it always went with Mark.
Every time she thought about leaving him, he reminded her of how much more she
needed him.

“Rachel, how can I convince you
it’s okay to talk to me about anything?”

“Those are some loaded
questions,” she said.

“Ones that I’d like the answers
to.”

She picked up the last plate in
the sink and focused on the circular motion of the towel over its damp surface.
“You’re making this sound long-term.”

He stepped closer to her. “I’d
like to think it is.”

She put the towel down and
raised her eyes to his face. Inches away from her, warmth radiated from his
body onto hers. She opened her mouth to say something, and then changed her
mind. She creased her forehead and bit her bottom lip hard to stop from saying
anything at all.

Mark lifted his hand and brushed
her hair out of her face. “Rachel, what is it?”

Rachel could no longer hold her
thoughts to herself. “I am so in love with you.” Before he could say a word,
she raised herself on her tiptoes and touched her lips against his in a
tentative kiss.

Mark placed a gentle hand high up
on her arm, and kept the kiss sweet and pure. Rachel wanted more. She pressed
into him, and intensified the movement of her lips over his. Mark’s hands
wrapped around her back and he pulled her closer to him.

Without looking, she set the
plate on the counter and ignored the shatter when it fell back into the sink.
She put her hands on his face and rested her thumb on the corner of his mouth.
His hands journeyed around to the front of her shirt. The buttons came undone
with ease, his mouth never straying from hers. Her shirt dropped off her arms
to the floor, and the heat of her body counteracted the chill that caressed her
skin.

Mark broke away from her and
moistened his lips. Desperate to get back to where they left off, she couldn’t
seem to catch her breath. She needed to be with him more than she needed
anything else. She didn’t want to stop now and risk never allowing herself to
get back to this point with him.

Mark brushed her cheek with the
backs of his fingers, and Rachel trembled under his touch. She watched his eyes
through a haze of desire. A large smile crossed his face. “I love you, too,
Rachel,” he whispered, “more than you could ever know.”

Rachel floated through the strange fog as if
walking on clouds. She smoothed down the silky material of the black dress she
wore, and stopped walking to admire its simple beauty. She lifted her eyes and
saw a shadowy figure at the other end of the room. Her eyes adjusted, and the
person moved toward her.

Mark came into view and held out his hand. “Come with me, Rachel. I
have something to show you.”

She smiled and took his hand. He led her down a shadowed hallway that
seemed to have no end. The dark curtains covering the windows allowed minimal
light to pass through. The thick fog clinging to her ankles covered the cold
tiles beneath her bare feet.

The piano started playing the same song she remembered from long ago.
The tune brought vague images to the front of her mind, but she couldn’t grasp
onto any of them to see what they were.

“Why does that song sound so familiar?” she asked Mark.

“All songs are the same in fairy tales.”

“Who’s playing the piano?”

“Prince Charming. Every fairy tale has a Prince Charming.”

“Where are we going, Mark?” she asked. She frowned when he didn’t
respond. “Mark?”

A slight breeze chilled her skin. She looked down the hallway, and when
she squinted she could distinguish the outline of a door. “Mark, where are we
going?”

Mark turned toward her. A sadistic grin crawled across his mouth and
into his eyes. “I’m taking you home.”

“No!” She willed her legs to stop, but an unseen power forced her to
continue down the hall. “Stop it! Don’t take me there!”

“Rachel, are you ready to go home?” Mark tugged her arm and pulled her
through the fog, closer to the door. “It’s time to go home. Time to go home.”

“I don’t want to go!”

He chanted faster. “Going home Rachel is going home you’re going home
going home—”

“No! Please, Mark, make it stop!”

“Going home going home going home home home home.”

The door materialized in front of them and they stopped walking. The
sound of her labored breathing filled her ears. Her head swam and when she
turned to look at Mark, her movements were in slow motion.

He smiled. “Don’t worry, Rachel. It will be over soon.”

The hallway disappeared and she was transported into another room, the
one behind the door. A dim light glowed in the background, outlining the
silhouette of a man in a chair. Her eyes fell on his hands and the red rag he
held. Fear gripped her as the man spoke. “Welcome home, Rachel.”

She screamed.

Fear spilled
over from the dream and paralyzed Rachel when she woke. She remained frozen
until reality washed away the last of the images from her mind. She repeated to
herself that it was only a dream, though she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Disoriented, she forced her head
to move so she could glance around the dark room. The silhouette of Mark’s
shoulder disturbed the shadows and she remembered she was at his house. In his
bed. The events of last night reentered her mind. What was she doing? When she
told Danielle she would get Mark out of her life, she meant it. Instead, she
allowed their relationship to escalate.

She didn’t sit back helpless
while they took their relationship to a new level. She instigated it. She
couldn’t explain her actions, couldn’t figure out why she let it happen. All
she knew was she needed him more than she needed the air in her lungs. She
needed to touch him, taste him, feel him. The passion, the fire, it all seemed
so right.

But it was so
wrong
.

The oversized, red numbers of
the alarm clock on his bedside table displayed 6:14 am. She turned her
attention back to Mark. He faced toward her, his patterned breathing controlled
by deep sleep. Her hand reached for him. Her trembling fingers hovered above
his bare shoulder for a moment before she retracted her hand to her mouth.

A range of emotions surged
through her, the most prominent of which was sadness. She didn’t belong here.
She didn’t deserve him or the innocent love he brought into her life. Though he
had never seen the hidden side of her, the tainted and broken side, the moment
he realized she was not the girl he loved, he would run away and never look
back.

She needed to sneak out before
he woke up. Once she was alone at her house, she could figure out the best way
to end the relationship. As much as she wanted a life with him, as much as she
loved him, she had no choice but to leave him. If it came down to it, she would
leave him without a goodbye.

Rachel leaned over and touched
her lips against his. She inched herself sideways across the bed, but stopped
when she saw the movement was waking Mark. He opened his eyes and smiled at
her. “Have you been awake long?”

“A few minutes.”

He looked at the clock and
yawned, then turned his eyes back to her. “Are you always up this early?” he
asked, still grinning.

His innocent, almost playful
question reminded Rachel of his naivety. She bit down on her lower lip in an
attempt to hold back tears.

Mark studied her face, and his
expression changed to one of concern. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yes,” she said.

“What was it about?”

“I can’t remember now.” She
cringed inside with the lie. She remembered every image as if it were a real
memory and not a dream. The uneasiness trailing in the wake of the nightmare
still disturbed her.

At his coaxing, Rachel moved
closer to him and laid her head down on his chest. He wrapped his arms around
her and his lips brushed her forehead. His warm skin reassured her of his
presence, and the sound of his slow and steady heartbeat comforted her.

She closed her eyes and drifted
toward a dreamless sleep, wishing she could stay like this forever.

Mark woke two
hours later. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows and across the
blanket on the bed. Rachel rested on her side with her arm thrown over his
stomach. He ran his fingertips over her skin and traced the muscular contours
high up on her arm.

He cocked his head to better see
her sleeping face. In sleep, a peace surrounded her, and her face appeared far
more serene than during waking hours. A hint of a smile teased her mouth. Out
of the corner of his eye, her chest rose and fell, allowing for the soft
breaths she emitted from her parted lips.

For Mark, sex had always been
for the sole purpose of pleasure, the temporary satisfaction of a superficial
desire, leaving him empty and alone. With Rachel, it had been an unparalleled
experience, fulfilling a very real emotional need. In the end, both lost the
intense battle for control. She awakened a part of him he never knew existed.
No matter how close he held her, how deeply he kissed her, or how much he
touched her, it hadn’t been enough.

Even now, the desire to touch her
overwhelmed him and he stroked his fingers through her hair. The small gesture
caused her eyes to flutter open. She rolled onto her back and glanced around
the room to orient herself to her surroundings. Her eyes landed on his and she
smiled.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t
mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, it was probably time
I did. Besides, I woke you up first.”

He leaned over and kissed her.
He propped himself up on his elbow. Looking down at her, he asked, “How about
some breakfast?”

“Sounds good. I’m famished. Do
you mind if I shower first?”

“Go ahead. I’ll find some
clothes for you and set them outside the bathroom door. I can get yours washed
while we eat.” He chuckled. “There’s a broken plate in my kitchen sink, isn’t
there?”

She bit her bottom lip and guilt
washed over her face. “I think so. I’m sorry. I’m sure I made quite the mess.”

“For the first time in my life,
I don’t care about a mess.” He twirled the ends of her hair between his
fingers. “Rachel, about what I said last night. I’ve never said that to anyone
else before you. I’ve never even come close to feeling it until I met you.”

Rachel lifted her head off the
pillow high enough to touch her lips to his.

Mark put his hand behind her
head and lowered her head back down to the pillow, as his mouth moved over
hers. Their bodies were separated by a blanket, and Mark thought it was for the
best or they might not make it to the kitchen for breakfast anytime soon.

Their lips parted and Rachel
smiled. “I love you, Mark. I’m not saying it just to say it, or because it’s
expected of me. I couldn’t stop myself from feeling this way even if I tried. I
want you to believe me when I say that.”

Her words seemed a little odd,
and he wondered why she thought he wouldn’t believe her. “Of course I believe
you,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you say all that because I feel the same way.”
He moved away from her. “Go ahead and shower, and I’ll get your clothes in the
wash.”

Rachel gave him another quick
kiss and sat up. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and gathered a
blanket around herself to use as a cover.

Mark’s smile disappeared at the
sight of her back. Unsure if the light played tricks on him, he leaned over and
squinted. Dozens of thin scars ran diagonal and horizontal across her back, too
many for him to count. He reached out his hand and his fingertips connected
with her back. She jumped off the bed as if lightning hit her, and brought the
blanket around her body.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Rachel put her hand to her chest
and exhaled. “I’m fine. You startled me.”

He sat up at her statement. Her
trembling voice told him that she was a long way from being fine. The image of
the scars lingered in both his mind and the pit of his stomach. His voice
quieted. “What happened to your back? How did you get those scars?”

Her eyes darted around the room
and the blanket twisted between her fingers. “It...it was an accident. I was
hiking and I fell down a small hill and I skidded across some rocks and
branches.”

His voice reflected his
skepticism. “Hiking.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m
going to shower now.” She retreated to the bathroom before Mark had a chance to
respond.