Maybe Baby Lite (43 page)

Mark stood waiting at the
arena gate, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled me down off of
Derringer, twirling me around and around before he set me down. We
waited for the judges to post our scores.

In freestyle competition,
the score is comprised of two separate areas: technical execution
accounts for 50% of the total score; artistic impression, which is
basically the harmony between the horse and rider, accounts for the
other 50% of the total score. Our score reflected a perfect 150
points, the maximum allowed for artistic impression; technical
execution was 135 points, giving us a total of 285 points. I was
ecstatic! There were still quite a few contenders, but I was
determined to remain positive.

After untacking Derringer
and giving him water and a treat, I retired to my hotel room to
rest. A few hours later the hotel telephone awoke me abruptly from
my nap. It was Mark.

“
Are you ready for this,
Tylar? You took first in this morning’s competition.”

“
No!” I exclaimed, totally
in shock.

“
Oh yes you did,” he
confirmed, “You'll get your trophy at closing ceremonies tomorrow.
You did an excellent job!”

“
Right back at you,” I
said. “You did all the hard stuff with the choreography and getting
me prepared,” I emphasized.

“
Tylar,” he said
earnestly, “You're my success story. You had so little training
when I met you. Don’t get me wrong, you could ride, but you had so
little experience with technical dressage. I’m blown away at how
quickly you learned. You’re a natural!”

“
I don’t know about that,”
I said. “I do know that Derringer played the major
role.”

“
He is awesome,” Mark
agreed. “Hey, I’m getting ready to come back to the hotel, want to
get some dinner?”

“
I just need to catch up
on my rest. I’m just worn out from all of this. See you
tomorrow?”

“
Sure thing. Have a good
evening.”

The following day, I felt
well rested for the closing ceremonies, which started at 7 p.m.
Mark’s quadrille event had come in second place, securing a total
purse of $60,000, which would be a $30,000 net purse for Sinclair
Stables.

My first place standing in
the musical freestyle captured a $75,000 purse. Not too shabby.
Mark and I were seated and awaiting the beginning of the awards
presentation. People continued to file into the grandstands, mostly
owners who'd not been present during the various competitions, but
had special interest in the awards ceremony. Mark was reading the
final results from the latest printout.

“
I wonder if Trey's
staying for the awards ceremony.”

“
What?”

“
He was here for the
competition, didn’t you know?”

“
No,” I stated flatly. “I
didn’t know.”

“
Yeah, he was up in the
grandstands with some woman. He came down after they announced that
you and Derringer had taken first place to congratulate you, but
you were back at your room.”

I was numb. Why had Trey
bothered to even show up? Why did Mark wait until now to mention it
to me? Just as I turned to say something else to Mark, I caught a
glimpse of Trey, coming into the arena with Charlotte on his arm.
They made their way over to our section, taking seats in the same
row, just a few seats down. Trey caught my eye as they were being
seated, smiled, and gave me a brief wave. I nodded and turned to
Mark.

“
I think I’m going to be
sick,” I stated plainly.

“
What?” He turned to face
me in his seat and noticed the Trey and Charlotte. He didn’t get
what I was trying to convey.

“
See, there’s Trey now
with the woman he was with earlier,” he said, nodding in their
direction.

No shit. I was really
feeling nauseated, that part was true.

“
You look green,” Mark
acknowledged.

“
Ahh, yeah,” I said my
eyes wide. “I told you I felt ill.”

“
Can you make it through
this presentation?”

“
I’ll give it my best,” I
answered.

The closing ceremonies
started, with each event being detailed as to the participants and
placement after completed. Finally, they got to the dressage
category of freestyle musical. The top five scorers were announced
starting from fifth place. My stomach roiled.

My event was finally up.
The master of ceremonies announced Derringer, owner Trey Sinclair,
trainer Mark Montgomery, and talent Tylar Preston. We all proceeded
up to the podium to accept the trophy along with the envelope that
had a check for our take from this competition. Somehow it ended up
that I was standing next to Trey as the presenter shook each of our
hands, presenting the trophy and envelope to Trey while yesterday’s
competition with Derringer and my performance was being shown on
the backdrop screen complete with Lady Gaga’s music in the
background. As we turned to leave, my stomach gave a final lurch. I
threw up all over Trey’s shiny black shoes.

In the weeks following the
Malvern competition, Mark and I continued to work on another
musical freestyle routine. We had to increase the technical level
since taking first at Malvern Park. Our next competition was
scheduled for October 13th in Nashville. The workouts with
Derringer were exhausting, at least for me. Derringer was in his
element.

I hadn’t seen Trey since
my vomiting faux pas during the awards ceremony. He'd called me the
next day to see how I was feeling. I'd apologized to him repeatedly
over the phone. He insisted it was no big deal, saying that he
hadn’t liked those shoes anyway. His parents had returned to the
manor that same weekend. I wondered how long it would be before
Trey went back to Atlanta and stayed. His responsibilities were
finished for now.

The fall weather was a
blessing in southern Virginia. The nights were cool I took
advantage of it. I had removed the window air conditioner from my
bedroom and had taken to sleeping with the window open, enjoying
the night breezes and fresh air. I was normally in bed by 9 p.m.,
drained of all energy.

I was determined to stay
up later tonight. The season premiere of “Revenge” was on and I was
hooked. I made some microwave popcorn and poured a tall glass of
iced tea for myself. I relaxed back on the sofa and lasted about 15
minutes before I dozed off. The show was long over by that time. I
turned the television off, switched off the lights, and went to
bed. The stars were out tonight; I liked being able to see them
from my bedroom window. A cool breeze blew through the curtains,
parting them so that I could see the beautiful night sky. I was
back to sleep within minutes.

I was dreaming. I felt his
hands on me...His fingers were caressing my inner thigh, parting my
legs. It must be Trey. Trey had come to me in my dreams, finally.
His touch seemed foreign to me now. That was no surprise, it had
been awhile. Perhaps Charlotte had ruined his magnificent touch. We
would get it back; we would once again work our magic with each
other’s bodies.

His hand was pulling my
silk panties down to my ankles, then removing them and tossing them
aside. His lips were on my sex, tongue darting in and out of the
folds, fingers roughly pushing inside. Had he forgotten how to find
my sweet spot? His hands were roughly exploring every part of me
down there. He thrust another finger inside of me, the fingernail
scratching my soft flesh. I moaned from the pain, he mistook it for
pleasure and continued the rough in and out motions with his
fingers.

This is eerily
familiar.

Then I heard his voice. It
was no longer smooth and silky.

“
You like that don’t you,
bitch? Moan for me again. Tell me how much you like it,
Sissy.”

I realized this wasn't a
dream. This was the reality of the moment. I fought to open my
eyes, yet I didn’t want to see that awful man. The man from when I
was 13. My mind fought to find some logic, some rationale as to why
and how he was here now. I thrashed away from him, trying to push
him off the bed.

“
Sissy likes it rough,
huh?” his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Want me to fuck you like the
boss man did in the stable that night? You liked it rough then
didn’t you Sissy?”

I found my voice and
shrieked with rage. A hand clamped down savagely on my mouth to
quiet my screams. My survival instincts kicked in. I bit his hand
as hard as I could tasting his blood.

“
Ow!” he bellowed, “you
fucking bitch cunt!” he hollered, pulling his hand back
momentarily. A moment was all I needed. I screamed wildly, kicking
and flailing at him with legs and arms. My hand came in contact
with something on the nightstand. It was the lamp. I grabbed it,
swinging it around and smashing it against something. I was hoping
I’d hit him.

“
Help! Someone please
help!” I wailed.

He was on top of me now,
livid with rage. The curtains were billowing out from the night
breeze, letting the light of the stars and moon inside the darkened
room. In the seconds just before his meaty fist found my face, I
saw the man from my past once again in the dark. It was Charlie.
His fist took the image away. I sank blessedly into black
unconsciousness.

I was dreaming again. In
my dream, I had a horrendous headache. It throbbed and pounded
worse than any hangover. But I hadn’t been drinking. I was
confused. I heard voices around me in the dream. They were hushed
voices, almost whispering. Were they talking about me? The voice
talking now was talking louder. I didn’t recognize the
voice.

“
Mr. Sinclair,” the
unrecognizable voice said firmly, “we've no way of knowing when she
will come to. These things are not predictable. Every person is
different; healing is dependent upon many factors. I know that you
want an answer. I just don’t have one to give you.”

“
Fine, doctor,” Trey’s
voice said. He was perturbed I could tell. He mumbled to someone
else a few moments later, “You’d think that with all the damn tests
they’ve ran on her over the past 24 hours, they could tell us a bit
more than that.”

“
I know it’s
frustrating.”

That was Mark’s voice!
Mark and Trey were both here in my dream? Why couldn’t I see them?
I opened my eyes but there was nothing but darkness. Why was I
blindfolded?

My eyes fluttered open to
blackness. This wasn’t a dream, I realized. But something was
definitely covering my eyes. A bandage, perhaps? I was thirsty,
definitely thirsty. I tried to say something, but all that came out
was a squeaky groan. Someone came close to me; I could feel someone
there.

“
Tylar, are you
awake?”

It was Denise. Denise was
here, thank God!

“
Denise…” I groaned; my
voice was a hoarse rasp at best.

“
It’s me Tylar. I’m here
with you. You're in the hospital.”

What? Again?

“
I’m going to buzz for
your nurse.”

Had I been in an accident?
Did I fall from Derringer? I couldn’t recall anything. A few
moments later someone else came into the room. It must be the nurse
as I felt someone hovering over me, taking my blood pressure then
checking something on my arm. Probably one of those IVs.

“
Ms. Preston? Can you hear
me, Ms. Preston?”

I nodded because it hurt
to talk.

“
That’s good. You’re doing
fine, Ms. Preston. The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few
minutes. Just try to relax.”

“
Denise,” I
croaked.

“
Yes, I’m still here,
sweetie. I’m not going anywhere.”

I raised my arm to feel
what was covering my eyes. I felt gauze wrapped around my
head.

“
Tylar, you don’t want to
mess with that bandage. The doctor will explain everything to you
when he comes in, okay?”

I nodded. Several minutes
later, someone entered the room. “Hello Tylar, I’m Dr. Greyson,
your treating physician. I’m glad to see that you’ve come around.
You have been in a slight coma due to the head injury you sustained
a couple of days ago. Your memory of that may be fuzzy, but it will
come back in time. The fact that you came to indicates that the
swelling in your brain has reduced. It’s all part of the healing
process.”

I nodded to let him know
that I was listening.

“
As for the bandage over
your eyes, this was done as a result of a blow to your left eye.
The injury is called an indirect orbital floor fracture, or
‘blowout fracture.’ What this means, Ms. Preston, is that there is
a small hole in the floor of the eye socket. Because you’ve been
unconscious, we don’t know if there was any damage done to the
surrounding eye muscles, which may affect your vision. I can remove
the bandage now, and we can test your vision.”

I felt the bandage being
unwrapped from around my head. There were two cotton pads resting
against both eye sockets. The doctor removed those. I blinked my
eyes several times, adjusting to the light in the hospital room.
The doctor leaned over my bed, holding one finger up in the center
of his face, in front of his nose.