Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Zarah
S tanding in the bathroom, my side of the vanity covered in cosmetics, I do my hair and makeup. I have to look perfect. Someone at Quiet Meadows cut my hair off and now it’s styled into a sleek bob that I didn’t grow out. I’m not sure if I can ever wear my hair long again. I like the bob, more of a lob, longer, but the ends tuck in and graze my collarbones. My glittery eyeliner is straight and my brown eyes are more pronounced. My berry lipstick is precise.
My clothes are wrinkle-free and meticulous. High-heeled boots, dress slacks, matching blouse.
It’s like, if I’m beautiful on the outside, no one will be able to see the dirt on the inside.
Ingrid shuffles into the bathroom we share through her bedroom’s connecting doorway. She’s still dressed in her pajamas. I like her and don’t mind she’s always around, but whenever I allow myself to think about it, I get embarrassed she knows so much about me. She passes me the medication I’m forced to swallow every day and fills a glass of water at the sink. I hate doing it, and a lot of mornings, I gag trying to force them down.
Ash’s poison.
Zane and Dr. Reagan explained why I still need it, but as I swallow the white and blue pills one by one, they add to the filth inside me.
Garbage rotting me from the inside out.
Ingrid stares pointedly at me until the pills are gone. I know how dangerous it could be for my body and mind to stop cold turkey. Sometimes, I think about doing it. Running into the woods and hiding. Letting the withdrawal kill me. Or I’d go crazy, ripping at my face and hair as my body’s denied what Ash taught it to crave.
I’m scared of who I’ll be once I’m finally off the medication. Will I still be me? Or will I be a ghost, my personality drugged out of me?
She rubs my back and whispers, ”Shh, shh,” attempting to soothe. She knows what I think about when I swallow that poison every morning, but she’s a nurse and she understands my body’s addicted and knows it’s not my fault. Zane speaks to Dr. Reagan once a week. They’ve been working tirelessly to wean me off, and every two months my doctor lowers my dosage. I’ve made good progress since Stella broke into my room at Quiet Meadows prompting Zane to look into my care.
I have a therapy appointment in the city and I’m spending the morning in King’s Crossing. Ingrid and I usually go together, but lately I’ve been going alone. She didn’t question my need for independence, it’s what we’ve been working toward, and I never asked what she does to fill in that time.
Handing the glass to her, I say, “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
“Be careful, Zarah.”
She tells me that every time I leave the house without her, but I don’t know how to be any more careful than I am. There are some things I can’t control, and I know that better than most anyone. “I’ll try.”
I trot downstairs and head toward the kitchen. I shouldn’t take my pills without food, and Lucille always has breakfast ready. Nerves twist my stomach constantly, and the medication doesn’t help. I push through the doors but Stella and Zane are already there and I back quickly away. I peer at them through the crack. She’s sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar in front of her laptop, her hands resting lightly on the keyboard, and he’s standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her.
The eight months Stella stayed with her parents in Florida were hard on Zane, though he tried not to show it. He didn’t know if she would come back. I always knew. I know Stella loves him more than anything. She let Ash steal five years of her life to protect my brother. I’m grateful and thank God every day Ash didn’t sell her like he did me.
I rest my head against the edge of the door and watch them. I envy how sure they are, how they know they love each other with everything they have. My brother’s made a lot of mistakes, and he feels guilty whenever he looks at me. It’s not all his fault. He’s not responsible for Ash’s evil. Ash found pleasure in hurting me, and he fooled everyone around him, not only Zane.
His shoulders start to shake, and Stella turns in his arms and holds him tightly to her. He hides his face against her neck and his sobs carry to me across the kitchen.
I quietly close the door and retreat down the hallway. I don’t want to ruin their private moment and I’m not hungry anyway.
I snag a jacket in the foyer’s closet and wait for Douglas. Because of the fiasco the other day, I haven’t asked for another afternoon to myself. It’s obvious that even after a year free from Quiet Meadows, I’m still not ready to be on my own for any length of time. A humiliating realization. I’m not sure what would have happened if Gage hadn’t rescued me on the sidewalk.
On our drives into the city, Douglas and I listen to audiobooks. There’s something calming about drifting through the country, the farmland, green and lush. Well, now that it’s close to winter, the crops have been harvested, but the emptiness is beautiful in its own way.
My blood hums with excitement as we near the city.
I can understand the appeal of both. I love the city’s energy, but King’s Crossing is confusing and full of people and bad memories (the ones I can remember), and no matter how eager I am to let the city consume me, it leaves me depleted and exhausted. When I return to the country, I gather my strength in the woods, the quiet, and the dogs’ company.
Then I do it all over again.
Today we listen to the end of a thriller. I’m pleased that throughout the story I was able to piece together the clues, and I knew who killed the little girl before the detective reveals the murderer.
Douglas shares my joy and admits the plot stymied him. It probably didn’t, but I’m proud of myself and in a positive mood when he lets me off at my therapist’s building. He watches me step into the lobby and only then does he drive away.
The receptionist greets me and says Jerricka is ready for me.
I step into her office, and Dr. Jerricka Solis smiles warmly as she always does. “Good morning, Zarah.”
I don’t have as casual a relationship with her as I do with Ingrid, but I like Jerricka, too. Zane said he vetted her more harshly than he normally would, considering the circumstances, but her background check came out clean and her professional accomplishments were impressive. I agreed to meet her, and I liked her straightforward attitude. That was one thing Zane was adamant about—he wanted me to choose the woman I would spend time with. He said it was imperative I was comfortable around her, and I am.
He tries hard to give me as much control as possible, and while it’s scary, it’s also thrilling to be in charge of my own life in small ways. It’s difficult for him to allow me that, but Stella reminds him that breathing down my neck isn’t going to make up for the years he let Ash lock me away. Sometimes, if Jerricka thinks it’s necessary, Zane attends my sessions. He should have his own therapist, but he cries on Stella instead.
It’s not healthy, but trusting someone...it’s a leap of faith some can’t handle.
I have no choice.
“Good morning.”
“You’re looking happy today,” Jerricka says, briefly touching my shoulder. She moves away and sits in her usual position on a sofa positioned under a huge window. “How are you?”
Her office is located in a sterile skyscraper and suite of offices she shares with other therapists, and we’re high enough to look over the city. During difficult conversations, sometimes I’ll stare out the window instead of making eye contact with her. She doesn’t like that, but she’s never stopped me from doing it.
I slip off my jacket and hang it on the coat tree near the door. I like her office. She decorated it in black and grey, and bright accents of peacock blue pop against the dark, which happens to be my favorite color. At least, it is now. I decorated my old room at the penthouse in black and pink, and I don’t know if the drugs altered me or if my taste naturally evolved. It’s just another question I’ll never have an answer to.
I sit on the couch near her and explain listening to the audiobook and how I puzzled out the whodunit at the end.
She nods but doesn’t write anything down. “That’s wonderful, Zarah. What else?” she asks, leaning into the cushion and crossing her legs.
“I met Max’s brother a couple of days ago,” I say, tucking my hands between my knees. We talk a lot about Max. How much I miss him, where I think I would be if he were still alive. Emotionally speaking.
“Oh? Is this the same man who told you he didn’t want you to attend Max’s funeral?”
I nod, and tears fill my eyes. “He let us go to the memorial service.”
Jerricka scratches something on her tablet. This is a story she’s heard before and we’ve spoken at length about how going to the memorial service was probably more meaningful, and thinking back, it was. The memorial service at the funeral parlor was small, and I was able to stand over his open coffin and cry, my tears dripping onto the suit someone had chosen for him to be buried in. I wasn’t rushed, and no one tried to talk to me. I stood with Max until the funeral director wanted to close for the evening.
Gage didn’t pressure me, and Max’s mother didn’t approach me. His father wasn’t there, called away on urgent business, and I was relieved I didn’t have to speak to her or meet him. Zane sat in the corner and drank coffee, wrestling with his own guilt and loss.
But going to the church would have been nice. I could have prayed. I wanted to watch him be buried and throw roses into his grave. Later that week, I had to make do and visit the cemetery.
“Did you speak?” she asks.
“What?” Her question catches me off-guard. I’m still at the funeral parlor, knowing it would be the last time I’d ever see Max.
“Did you and Max’s brother speak? What’s his name?”
“Gage—” He told me his full name, and I forgot it. I frown, frustrated, and Jerricka smiles in understanding.
“It’s okay, Zarah.”
I sigh. “Thanks. I was on my own, like we talked about, but it backfired. A group of photographers cornered me, and no one was around. I stood there, frozen, like some stupid girl, and I broke down instead of handling it. Gage, he was across the street and saw it happen. He chased them away.”
“Was he kind to you? You said he wasn’t before.”
“He asked if I wanted to go for coffee, but I was scared of him and almost said no. I couldn’t order...the choices, and the barista waiting...I tried to walk out. He stopped me and ordered our lattes. He apologized for the way he treated me and wiped whipped cream off my nose.” My cheeks heat, remembering the heat in other places when his fingers brushed my skin.
Jerricka catches my blush and tilts her head. “Are you attracted to him, Zarah? It’s okay if you are. You’re a healthy, beautiful woman.”
“I’m dirty.” The words pop out of my mouth. They were already in my brain and they rush out from between my lips like a dark secret. In agitation, I stand and pace her office, my heels sinking into the deep carpeting. “I’m a whore, and I’m filthy, and men paid Ash to hurt me. My daddy was a son of a bitch and I deserved what I got.”
A flash of a memory rises to the surface, and a man wearing a suit pounds into me from behind. My dress is torn, and I’m screaming into a pillow. He calls me a slut over and over.
Jerricka turns toward the window to give me privacy.
I know the words aren’t from my own mind, my own heart. Ash would say those nasty things whenever he set up a new job for me, and they’re carved into my brain.
He said Zane and I had to pay for Kagan Maddox’s crimes. My father wasn’t a criminal, not like Ash and Clayton, but we’re still paying. Neither of us has anything left.
I pull a tissue out of the box on Jerricka’s desk and wipe my face.
“You’re not dirty, and you’re not a whore,” Jerricka says, her gaze touching on everything in the room but me. “There are a lot of women, some of whom I see, who feel the same way you do. They married men who only wanted them for sex, not love, or they were raped at parties or walking to their cars after work. You definitely aren’t alone in thinking your self-worth has been reduced to what’s between your legs.”
Her words don’t change my mind. “No one wants a dirty girl. Gage doesn’t want a dirty girl.” I lift my chin knowing she can’t argue.
I’ve been used, my virginity stripped away, and I’m black inside.
“Does Gage know what happened?”
“Everyone in the world does.”
That’s the honest to goodness truth. The press covered every one of Ash’s and Clayton’s crimes, and what Ash did to me eventually came out.
He sold me a total of four times—five if you count the repeat customer Stella interrupted. Three of those men are in prison for using Ash’s service and for what they did to me. I had to meet with an attorney and I told her everything I could remember. Stella was there, holding my hand, and so was a victim’s advocate, and even though it took me all day because my memory comes and goes like a rainbow in a thunderstorm, I was able to tell them enough to press charges.
The fourth man...the drugs they gave me at Quiet Meadows causes details of that night to slip and slide, and so far, the DA’s office hasn’t been able to pin him down. He was the most violent, saying my father cost him millions in business deals. I can’t remember anything about him, and I have nightmares that one day he’ll find me and take what Ash said he could have.
“And even though he knows your history, he still invited you to have coffee.”
I open my mouth to deny...what? I’m not sure. “It was only coffee.”
Jerricka smiles. “It was only coffee.”
We pass the rest of the session talking about what to do if I’m alone and in a situation I can’t handle. I hated feeling powerless and overwhelmed, but if I want more time on my own, and I do, then I’m going to have to learn to troubleshoot. That’s what Jerricka calls it. Troubleshoot. Use my words and if I need to, ask for help. For instance, instead of running off like I tried to do at the café, I can take a deep breath and say, “I need a moment, please, the person behind me can go first,” and focus on the task at hand instead of my fear.
Then she says something even more comforting. “If you’re frozen and can’t get your brain to work, order your usual. Zarah, you drink coffee all the time. What do you order when you’re not pressured into looking at a menu you’ve never seen before?”
The words come out of my mouth just as easily as my self-hate. “A medium Americano with lots of cream.” I slap a hand over my mouth.
“See? You say it naturally because it’s your go-to coffee order, and there’s no harm in resorting to ordering it if you feel trapped. Sometimes, my girl, you just have to give yourself a break.” She pauses to scribble a note. “Next time, I’d like to talk more about your feelings regarding sex, okay? I want you to be prepared to have that conversation. It’s important for you as a woman who has a bright future ahead of her that could include marriage and children. We’ve been getting to know each other and I’ve let you lead, but it’s time to tackle some of the issues you haven’t wanted to confront. This is a heads up so you don’t feel blindsided at our next session. I’m going to write a note, right here in my tablet, so I don’t forget.” She holds up her iPad and faces the screen toward me. Jerricka is kind that way, not directing our sessions on weird, twisty paths. She likes me to know what’s coming next, but she’s not going to let me avoid it, either.
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. I don’t want to talk about sex. It’s all I can think about, and I get so tired of it ruining my life.
“Good. In the meantime, I’m assigning you a little homework. I want you to write down ten things a man could love about you, and sex isn’t going to be one of them. Ten attributes that a man would be proud of you for if he was in a relationship with you. I want to see the list the next time we meet.”
That sounds even more impossible than trying not to think about sex, and I nod, already knowing the list I’m going to give her will be blank.
“Have a good day, Zarah,” she says, sitting behind her desk, our session done.
“You, too.”
I pull myself together using a sitting room connected to Jerricka’s office she designated for her clients who need a moment before facing the world. I often sit and drink a cup of coffee, wash my face, or just breathe and calm down. Sometimes these sessions are difficult, and I cry more than I talk. I don’t like upsetting Douglas, and it’s helpful to have time to find my bearings and I can act normally on the ride home.
Today, I drink a bottle of water and run cold water over my wrists. During our session, I rubbed off my makeup, but that’s okay. I’m going straight home, and I’m looking forward to taking the dogs on a long walk. It’s getting colder outside, but I don’t mind. I love my breath frozen white in the cold air and branches covered in frost in the early morning, and then watching it slowly melt off as the day warms. I like the feel of the solid earth under my feet and the open sky above me. When I’m outside, I’m reminded there’s more to the world than what Ash did to me and that maybe, one day I can get past it.
Sometimes Stella comes along, and we talk about our missing five years. Knowing I didn’t go through my hell alone helps, and we cry together, healing. Talking to Stella can be more therapeutic than a million hours with Jerricka because Stella understands in a way Jerricka never will, but Stella’s enrolled in classes at the university and doesn’t have a lot of time for walks. I admire her. She’s so passionate about being a better person, about helping people. She hasn’t let Ash hold her back like I have.
I tell her I want to be her when I grow up, and she says that I can—the world is my oyster.
Then I tell her I don’t like oysters, and she laughs. It’s silly, but I know what she means. I’m Zarah Maddox and I can do whatever I want. Have whatever I want.
What I want is to forget how it feels to have a stranger’s cock shoved inside me so deep it hurts, while he grips my leg so hard he’ll leave bruises the next day.
What I want is to feel loved.
But no one will love a dirty girl.