I Know What Love Is (20 page)

“
Friends?” she asked, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, I hadn't hung out with any of my friends in months, but still. She didn't have to sound so shocked.

“
Yes, some of my old work friends. In Austin.” I threw that last bit out there and I imagined her having a mini-heart attack.

“
Austin?!”

“
I'll be home soon,” I said.

“
I don't like you driving on the highway so late at night,”  she said, like I was a teenager again. “You're not going to be drinking and driving, are you?” Being a 24-year-old woman who lived under her parents' roof had its definite disadvantages. Unfortunately, I didn't have other options, yet. I'd been unemployed for over two years, but that was all going to change. Soon.

“
No, momma,” I said benignly. “I'm driving, so I have to get off the phone now.”

“
You know I love you, right?” she said, and a teeny part of me squeezed inside. I wasn't worthy of her love, not anymore, but I took it anyway, because it felt good. I loved my parents, although I resented them. Maybe I resented them because of how much they loved me. I had become a closed-off, angry, vengeful person in the years since I met Elliot. I hated it, but I also wasn't willing to get help, so there you go. I was messed up and I was going to continue to be messed up.

I was going to wallow in it, because otherwise, Elliot would get off too easy, and I couldn't let that happen.

“I love you, too,” I said and then hung up.

If I would have been smart, I would have headed home. Instead, I headed toward The Blue Mermaid.

*****

“
Oh my God!” Chelsea exclaimed when I walked in the door. It was a Wednesday night, and The Blue Mermaid was almost dead. A few regulars hung around, at the pool tables and at the bar. I recognized a few of them, surprisingly. “Girl, look at you!” She stepped around the bar, arms outstretched. I stepped into her hug, my spine feeling stiff. “It's been too long.”

“
Two years or so,” I murmured, pulling back and giving her a bright smile. “I moved back to Dallas. It was really sudden.”

“
The last time I saw you, you looked like hell!” she said, tugging on one of my shoulder-length curls. “I like this haircut on you. It accentuates your cute chin.”

“
I have a cute chin?” I asked with a laugh, raising my fingers to my chin.

“
Totally,” Chelsea said, nodding vigorously, her spiky blond hair moving with her. “So what's up? How's life?” I shrugged, following her back to the bar and taking a seat on a stool. “IPA, right?” she asked, remembering my beer of choice.

“
Whatever's on tap,” I answered, turning my eyes to the door, like I expected Elliot to walk in at any minute. “I'm in Dallas. Not much else to say.”

“
Crazy, right?” she asked, plopping the cold beer down in front of me. “Your friend Janie still comes in sometimes.”

“
I haven't talked to her in forever,” I mumbled, thinking back to how fun and easy my life used to be. Janie and I worked together at the law office, two secretaries with no idea where their lives were heading. Back then, I wasn't worried about it either. I had a job, money in my bank account, a decent sex life, and lived in a cool city. Life was grand.

“
She got married,” Chelsea shrugged. “But it seems like everybody is, these days.”

“
Yeah,” I said, glancing down at my left hand, where Trace's ring used to encircle my finger. My hand was bare and weighed a lot less.

“
Well, you look good, girl. Real good.” She leaned up on the bar, letting her eyes roam down my front. “You're still straight?”

“
Yup, last time I checked,” I said, with a genuine laugh.

“
Aw, shucks. Can't blame a girl for trying,” she said with a smile as she sidled down the bar to another customer. I took a big gulp from my glass, allowing my eyes to flit around the room. It felt strange to be out again, having a drink like I didn't have a care in the world. My eyes stopped on the dark hallway that lead to the bathrooms, where Elliot and I first met. What a romantic story to tell the grandkids, I thought sarcastically. However, I couldn't stop myself from staring into the abyss, until a dark haired girl stumbled out of the ladies', pulling down on her jean skirt. Then I turned away and downed the rest of my beer.

I didn't have much of a plan. I just couldn't stay away.

I wanted to hurt him, and the more I thought about it, there was only one way I knew how.

I cast my eyes around the bar again with a purpose this time. I found what I was looking for at the pool table, bent over, cue in hand. He wore a plaid button-up, rolled up at the sleeves, and ripped-up blue jeans that fit him like a glove. He didn't look anything like Elliot. He was lean, whereas Elliot was thick and muscular. He had dirty blond hair that hung down into his eyes as he took his shot, landing a ball in the corner pocket. He was probably a musician or an artist, or a barista or bartender. One of
those,
as my mother would say. He looked like someone who wouldn't have any problems with a quick hook-up, that was for sure.

Plain and simple, he was my type.

Well, what used to be my type.

He felt my eyes on him and he turned his face my way. I smiled and he smiled back. It was that easy. In less than an hour, he followed me into the ladies' bathroom and I locked the door behind us. I wore Elliot's leather jacket as the pretty boy bent me over the sink and fucked me, hard and fast and relatively satisfying. I had an itch and I scratched it. I have no regrets.

Well, maybe one.

I came with Elliot's name on my lips and his face on my mind.

So much for closure.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he trial wasn't all glitz and glam like an episode of
Law & Order
. The courtroom wasn't gleaming mahogany wood, high ceilings, and chandeliers. It was a dingy white-walled, gray-carpeted room at the back of the courthouse in Downtown Dallas. There were no last minute objections or revelations that turned the jury one way or another, not for lack of trying by Elliot's defense attorney. There was a bit of excitement when Elliot changed his plea, but in the end, it was a pretty depressing way to spend a week.

I saw Trace in the hallway of the courthouse on the first day. He wore a suit I knew his mom had probably picked out for him and walked with a cane, slowly and methodically. It was hard to look at him, but I forced myself to. His mother Janet walked beside him and I could tell she wanted to help him, but she didn't. They both saw me at the same time and I felt their resignation and bewilderment.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Trace and I were supposed to be married by then. We were supposed to be starting a family. But as it was, I hadn't seen or spoken to him in five months.

"So good to see you," my mother whispered, holding out her arms to embrace Janet. Trace looked at me over their heads, his eyes dark and bleak. I stared back, not knowing what to do with my face. No smile, no frown, no tears, no nothing. I felt guilty and shitty, but I also had no interest in getting married. There was no hope for us. He knew it, too. I'd already mailed him the ring back. No note, just the ring.

"How are you?" Trace asked, his eyes still on mine. Then he dropped them to look at my mother before I could answer. "Mrs. Vasquez? How's everything?"

"Oh Trace, honey. Everything's okay." My mother  squeezed his hand. "You look as handsome as ever, bless your heart."

"Nothing handsome about scars and a collapsed lung, ma'am," he said and I almost choked on my peppermint. My mother turned pale and blinked rapidly, like her brain had stopped functioning for a minute. I wondered if she was remembering the big ink-blot stain of Trace's blood on the stone patio, like I was. I bet Trace was remembering Elliot ripping down my panties and forcing his way in between my legs.

Such lovely memories.

"Momma," I finally spoke. "Let's go sit." We made our way into the ugly courtroom and took our seats behind the prosecutor's table. The prosecutor, a sturdy woman with silky blond hair and dark glasses perched on her perky nose, was nice enough. I had faith that she could win the case. Elliot had made it so easy for her, after all. The mountain of evidence was pretty hard to deny.

His lawyer was trying, of course. Elliot's official plea
—not guilty by reason of mental defect. Not without merit, but hardly a slam-dunk. His court-appointed defense lawyer was a schlubby grey haired man in an ill-fitting suit. He looked a mess, but his dark eyes were shrewd. He seemed like a force to be reckoned with.

Elliot still didn't have a chance.

I was going to take the stand and destroy him. I had every intention of crying and detailing every dirty detail. I was going to tell them exactly how he stabbed Trace and raped me and threw me over his shoulder and kidnapped me. I was going to tell them about the cheap motel and how he made me stitch him up and then what he did afterwards.

I was going to tell them everything about that night.

But I had no intentions of telling anyone that Elliot and I had a history.

As far as I was concerned, it was of no concern. Elliot had broken enough laws to be convicted twice over. The weekend I spent at his house in Austin was still our dirty little secret.

My mother clamped her hands around mine and pulled them into her lap. She was already tearing up. I took a deep breath, annoyance swelling up in me. I just wanted all of it over. The sooner Elliot was in prison, the sooner I could get on with the rest of my life. I wanted him in a cage. I wanted him to suffer everyday. I wanted to wake up with a smile on my face, knowing that he was dying a little, everyday. He was a cancer in my body, and I wanted to cut it out.

I squeezed my mother's hands, turning my eyes to the door that I knew Elliot was going to walk through any minute. It had been so long since I'd seen him. I wondered if he would be like a stranger. Would I even recognize him? I leaned forward, impatience and anticipation making my pulse race. I jumped when a cop walked through the door, but he let it close behind him.

“Relax,” my mother whispered to me, but I didn't know if it was more for my benefit or hers. She'd been a bundle of raw nerves ever since the hospital, and I knew she tried to take my pain into herself, hoping to give me some relief. Unfortunately, pain doesn't work that way. There's more than enough to go around.

I wasn't prepared when he finally entered the courtroom, his hands cuffed behind him. It was very unceremonious. Nobody announced that he was about to enter. He simply strolled in and suddenly we were in the same room together for the first time in months. I hissed in a sharp breath at the sight of him. He wore a tailored black suit with a white shirt underneath and a gray tie around his neck. I had never seen him look so respectable. He would have been just as comfortable in that suit in church or a boardroom, as a contributing member of society.

He cleaned up real good.

His black hair was a little longer on top, slightly curly and brushed forward, like he'd just run his fingers through it. He kept his eyes down at the ground as an officer uncuffed him. I stared at him, willing him to look at me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know that I was there, close enough to touch, but he wasn't allowed. I stare at him, but he turns his back to me. He and his lawyer dip their heads, whispering something.

Then the judge arrived and the trial began.

As more and more time passed, the angrier I got. He refused to look at me. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his face blank as the prosecutor made her opening statements. When his lawyer stood to began his statement, I caught a glimpse of Elliot's hands. They were fisted on the table, clenched like he was trying to keep a tight reign on himself.

I could hear the minutes ticking by loudly in my brain. My pulse was pounding and I could barely sit still. I wanted to march across the court room and shake him. I wanted to slap his face and make him look at me. I wanted the satisfaction.

I
needed
it.

Tears of rage welled up in my eyes and I swiped them away impatiently. My mother squeezed my hand again. All of the court proceedings were on mute and fast forward. Before I knew it, the judge called for a recess and the first day of Elliot's trial was over. People around me began to stand and exit the courtroom. I stood too, robotically, but my eyes never budged. Elliot stood and his shoulders were tense, like he could feel my gaze. He turned to face me, his head still dropped, as the officer cuffed his wrists.

Then it happened.

As he turned to exit, he raised his eyes to meet mine. A bolt of electricity shot through me and I froze. Time seemed to stop. All the memories of the night in the motel flashed through me. His breath against my ear. His body against mine. His hands roaming between my legs and pressed around my throat. I could tell he felt it, too. His eyes flashed and widened and he lunged forward. I jumped and the spell was broken. The sounds and people of the courtroom came back, loud and pushy in my brain.