I Know What Love Is (17 page)

I hated him, but I craved him. I wanted him dead, but I also wanted him to fill me up and fuck me and hold me tight against his unyielding body. Even now, years later, I can't stop myself from wanting him. We're stuck in a fucked-up web of our own making and there's no way out.

For either of us.

Chapter Twelve

I
lay beneath him, my breasts smashed against the mattress and his chest against my back. His breath skimmed the sensitive skin of my back and I could feel his heartbeat through my skin. The curve of my ass fit in the curve of his pelvis, and we didn't bother moving. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but we still didn't move. Our bodies were too exhausted. Time passed and we slept and slept, the warmth of the room lulling us into deep unconsciousness.

An explosive crash jolted me out of sleep and I opened my eyes to a blindingly bright light, almost otherworldly in the dark room. I could hear a lot of screaming and I furrowed my brow because I couldn't make out the words. Everything sounded muffled. Elliot stirred on top of me, and then his weight was pulled off of me, roughly. The handcuffs that connected us yanked my arm upward.

“Wait! Wait!” I screamed, not even knowing what was happening. Reality seemed hyperactive, moving too fast to comprehend. A face came into my field of vision, a woman with dark skin and compassionate eyes.

“
Joan Vasquez? Is that your name?” she asked, her voice authoritative but gentle. I nodded, and she leaned over and I felt her drape the cool sheet over me. I saw blood on my arm and I lifted it to get a better look. I realized I was laying in a pool of blood, still damp beneath me.

I heard a loud 'click' and my hand dropped, the metal cuff still attached to my wrist. They'd cut the chain that bound me and Elliot. I stared down at my hand, not believing what I was seeing, my blood-stained fingers brushing the dingy brown carpet.

“Joan, we're going to get you to a hospital, okay? Your parents will be there. They'll be so happy to see you,” the woman said in her calm tone. She was a police officer, I'd realized as my dazed mind slowly began to focus. “You're going to be just fine.”

“
Where is he?” I mumbled, glancing around. More police officers stood silhouetted in the door, but the woman and I were alone in the room. He was gone.

There was slick wet blood on the floor, as well as a long-handled set of bolt cutters.

I couldn't help it. I burst into tears, the grief like an unstoppable wave.

I had lost Elliot.

I had lost myself.

I had lost everything.

Chapter Thirteen

L
ater, when I read the police report, I found out that the officers had been hunting us for a day and a half. My neighbor Mr. Evans had given them the license plate number, having written it down when he saw the suspicious car in the cul-de-sac that fateful night. They finally tracked us down at noon at the motel in the middle of nowhere, specifically Hudson, Texas. Elliot and I were rushed to a nearby hospital, where they did a rape kit on me and cast my ankle.

Elliot ended up in the ICU.

The irony was that if the police hadn't busted in on us, he would have bled to death. He'd ripped his stitches out in the midst of our frenzied lovemaking. Without medical attention, he would have been dead before the day was out and I would have been free of him for good.

As it was, he ended up living, for better or for worse.

I truly didn't know how I felt about any of it. For the most part, I was numb. I went in and out of consciousness for a full day in the hospital and when I wasn't asleep, I pretended to be.  A revolving door of my parents and my brothers stayed by my bedside, sometimes holding my blood-stained hand. I could always hear my mother's sniffles and light sobs, whether she was by my side or not. She was mourning her perfect daughter's future and the her perfect grandchildren that would never be born. She was mourning me, even though I'd lived. My worst nightmare had come true. My whole family knew what had happened to me.

They knew about Elliot, and everything he'd done. All the physical damage was in the police report for anyone to read. The tears, the cuts, the bruises, the broken bones. Now, I was just another rape victim, a broken, abused woman who deserved pity and concern. Elliot would be put on trial and I would be the star witness. Our story would be public knowledge, as much as it pained me.

The handcuff still encircled my wrist, like an afterthought. No one had noticed it, or collected it for evidence. My body had been scraped down for DNA samples, but the cuff still remained. It was tangible proof of my ordeal. There was no more denying, or pretending. I had been stripped bare.

I had nothing left.

Elliot had ruined my life, and yet... it felt like a piece of me was missing, knowing that he was gone. The moment I'd been dreading for years had happened. He'd hunted me down and found me. Strangely enough, now I was no longer scared of him. I was no longer scared of what he would do to me because I knew. I knew he loved me and wanted me and would do anything to have me. I also knew what I was capable of and the power I held. I was his blind spot. He'd made mistake after mistake when he came for me. He was literally crazy over me, and I could use it to my advantage.

He wasn't done with me, but I wasn't done with him, either. Not by a long shot.

I knew that he was in the same hospital, after I heard my father arguing with my brother Robert about where he was. Robert wanted to go upstairs to ICU and my father told him not to. Then they exchanged a few more heated whispers, but that's all I could make out. The need to see him snaked through me and took root in my brain. It made me antsy and it was hard to keep still. Finally, when I couldn't pretend anymore, I opened my eyes.

“
Oh my goodness,” my mother whispered, grabbing my father's arm. “Joan?” She stood, leaning over me, her cool hand caressing my forehead. “Jo-baby, momma and daddy are here.”

“
Hi,” I murmured, tears blurring my vision. I hated to see my parents crying, especially over me. Especially since I didn't deserve it.

“
How do you feel, baby?” she asked, her perfume wrapping around me like a cloak. I swiped at my eyes, my throat threatening to close up.

“
I don't know,” I forced out, avoiding their eyes.

“
Do you... do you know what happened?” my mother said, her voice hesitant.

“
Yes, momma,” I said, getting it over with. The time for pretending was over. “I remember.” I hear her breath catch in her throat, and I sigh. “But I'm okay,” I say, robotically.

“
Yes, you're going to be fine,
mija
,” my father piped up, his deep voice rumbling in my ears.

“
I know, daddy,” I sighed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. The thought of my staunch and traditional father knowing that Elliot had fucked me six ways to Sunday was almost too much. Old-fashioned justice was probably on his mind, despite him telling Robert to let the cops handle it.

“
The police want to talk to you,” my mother said. “When you're able.”

“
How's Trace?” I asked, finally forcing myself to look her in the face. My eyes flicked back and forth between them, waiting for the hard truth. I knew he was dead, but I just wanted to hear it. I
needed
to hear it.

“
He's alive, baby,” my mother whispered, her eyes glassy with tears. “He's been in and out of surgery, but he's alive.” I felt my eyes drop closed and I just let the words sink in for a minute. Good, kind, loving Trace was alive. Neither Elliot, nor I, was a murderer. I felt my shoulders sag with relief and some of my crushing guilt ebbed away. “Were you there? When he was stabbed?” My mother's voice was low and horrified. I nodded and I heard her muffle a sob behind her hand.

“
I'm sorry, momma,” I said, opening my eyes and staring down at my hands, at the cuff around my wrist, glinting in the fluorescent light.

“
There is nothing to be sorry about,” my father murmured.

“
You two are alive, that's all that matters,” my mother continued. “Martin, the police. Get the police, please,” she said to my father. He patted my knee through the sheet and then left, closing the door behind him. My mother leaned in and I knew what was coming.

“
The doctor says that... that man...”

“
He raped me, momma,” I said, turning the full force of my gaze on her. I didn't want to beat around the bush when everybody already knew what happened. The sooner it was out in the open, the sooner my mother could get used to it. “He raped me in front of Trace, and then he raped me later in the motel room.” My mother's eyes widened and I felt almost bad for speaking the harsh truth. “He made me do things. I'm not proud of it, but I did what I had to do to survive.”

“
No, baby, no one thinks...” she trailed off again, then shook her head, her perfect blond hair moving with her. “You're so strong, Joanie. So strong.”

“
I don't feel strong, momma,” I admitted. “I feel broken and tired and used up. But I'm going to be okay. Believe me,” I lied through my teeth, hoping that I sounded convincing. The dark-skinned policewoman from the motel gave a light knock on the door then and stepped into the room.

“
Hello, Joan. How do you feel?” she asked, cocking her head. I was already getting annoyed with that question, but I shrugged in response. She stood at the end of the bed, a pad and pen in her hand. “Are you ready to talk?”

My mother made a strangled noise in the back of her throat and I knew she didn't want to hear me tell the story. She didn't want to hear about how Elliot had plunged the knife over and over into Trace after he'd overpowered and seduced me on the lawn. She didn't want to hear about how he'd fucked me in the ass as he declared his love for me. Not that I was going to go into all the nitty-gritty details, but whatever words were going to come out of my mouth, she wouldn't want to hear them.

“Can you give us a minute?” I asked her. She looked like she was going to say she wanted to stay, but then she stood and slipped from the room, closing the door lightly behind her. The detective looked at me, her eyes suddenly as worn-out looking as I felt.

“
You ready?” she asked softly.

I sighed and nodded.

No time like the present.

*****

It was almost 1:00 a.m. when I finally got my chance. I convinced my parents to go to the hotel room they'd been staying in and sleep that night. They would be back in the morning to check me out. I was alone for the first time in two days. I slipped out of the bed, using the chair to steady myself. Then I pulled myself to standing, dragging my cast along the floor. My mother had brought my old pink terrycloth robe from home and I pulled it off the hook on the door and slipped it on. I poked my head out of the room, glancing down the empty hallway. The nurses's station was a few doors down, and I knew I would have to pass by it to get to the elevators. The only thing I knew was that Elliot was in the ICU. I didn't know which room he was in or how to get there.

I decided to try my luck with my sob story. I was a victim after all and I could milk it for all it was worth. I shuffled down to the nurses's station, my plaster cast scraping across the floor. A short plump nurse in pink scrubs caught my eye and stood, opening her mouth. I cut her off before she could tell me to get back in bed.

“I'm Joan Vasquez—” I began.

“
I know who you are,” she said, and I checked out her name tag. Her name was Cynthia. She had bleached blond hair, acrylic nails and soft blue eyes. I thought I might have a good chance with her. She didn't look like a hard-ass in the least.

“
I know he's in this hospital,” I continued. Cynthia's eyes widened. “My attacker.”

“
I'm not at liberty to say,” Cynthia said softly.

“
I know he is. I want to see him,” I say, keeping my voice light but strong. I was willing to squeeze out a few tears if necessary.

“
Ms. Vasquez,” she began, her brow furrowed.

“
Please.” I blinked, letting myself tear up. I saw the indecision cross her face. “I need to see him.”

“
He's in the ICU. He won't be able to talk to you,” she whispered.

“
I don't want to talk. I just need... I just need...” I let myself trail off, and took a deep jagged breath.

“
Closure?” Cynthia supplied, her eyes concerned. I nodded, swiping at a tear on my cheek. Cynthia leaned closer to me, her eyes glancing down the hallways on either side of me. “There are police at his door. They won't let you in.”

“
I just want to see,” I whispered back. “I want to see what I did to him.”

“
You
stabbed him?” she said, eyebrows raising to her hairline. “Bless your heart.”

“
I had to,” I said.