8. Verena
8
VERENA
I’m awoken by a knocking at the front door. Opening it, I’m met with a broad muscular frame holding a bouquet of blood-red flowers.
His arm extends and I notice every muscle, vein, and…tattoo? His arm is littered with them. I step back, surveying his other arm and neck. All covered in ink. “For you,” he says and his full lips stretch into the most annoyingly perfect smirk. Dimples appear on both sides of his smile and my core instantly clenches. I take the flowers and offer a small thank you, turning to display them in the living room. The man follows me inside and I question it, but not because I’m scared. Because I’m curious.
When I turn to face him, he’s sitting on the couch with that devilish smirk on his lips. I can make out dark eyes and matching curls that frame his face. His tongue glides over his lips, wetting them before breaking into another panty-dropping grin. “Come sit. Let’s watch a movie,” he says, patting the seat directly next to him. The voice is warm, familiar.
But it couldn’t be. Could it? “Grimm?” I whisper, anxious to see if he’ll respond.
His head turns on a swivel. “Yeah, babe.” My mouth drops and my hand swings up to cover it. Babe? Did I die? Where’s my handbook for the recently deceased?
Padding over to the couch, I snuggle in next to Grimm, but I’m still weary of his presence. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close, the smells of sandalwood and marijuana filling my senses. His finger traced circles on my shoulder, traveled in towards my collarbone, and down the slope of my breast.
I feel my nipples harden through the tiny camisole I had worn to bed last night. His fingertips brush over them and my legs squeeze together, attempting to appease the ache in my core just a smidge. Grimm’s hand trails back up my shoulder, grabbing the strap and letting it fall. The other strap follows shortly after and before we’ve turned on the television, he’s nibbling at my neck.
Those soft lips and lingering kisses make my head spin. I’m dizzy off of a few innocent kisses; something must be wrong with me. But being in his arms, feeling his skin on mine, it’s just right. This is where I’m supposed to be.
His hands slowly trail down my chest and he hooks a finger in as he pulls it down, my chest spilling out of the top. Grimm massages my breast and pulls at my taut nipple. His voice sounds like smooth whiskey, the heat of his breath intoxicating and sexy.
A pound on the door breaks us out of our intimate moment. Clearing my throat, I fix my cami as Grimm stands to open the door. Before I can see who is on the other side, three gunshots ring aloud. I cover my ears and drop to the ground. What the fuck is going on?!
Grimm’s body falls with a heavy thud and I look up to see Leo standing in the doorway. “You thought you could escape me, baby? You’re not going anywhere. You’ll be with me until the day you die. Until the day I say you’ve had enough. Until I fucking say so, you are here, with me. Got it, you fucking slut?” With that, his hand rears back and comes towards me at full force, making contact with my face. My face heats from the sting of the smack and I fall back into something wet. Looking down, a sticky sea of red has formed around me and my head whips toward the front door to see Grimm’s lifeless body, two holes through him. His forehead and his chest.
A loud sob racks through my body and turns into a scream.
Sitting up in bed, the scream continues as I realize it was all just a dream. Taking slow breaths, I regain my composure. “It was just a fucking nightmare. Thank God it was just a nightmare.” Placing my hand over my heart, I sit in bed and wait for the excruciating pulse to slow.
It's been a few days since Leo and I had an argument. As the days go on, I’m more and more set in my decision to leave him, but how the fuck can I pull that off? The burns littering my hand are still there, but slightly less visible than they were the other night, but present enough to reinforce my choice to leave Leo in the dust and focus on bettering myself. Nonetheless, I'm thankful for the style change I had after Ronnie’s death. Otherwise, everyone would be able to see the marks marring my skin.
And that is something I wouldn’t be able to handle. There’d be no lying my way out of this mess.
Despite the fact I’ve grown rather creative over the years at covering up Leo’s abuse, I can’t keep it up forever. I know that.
Leo and I met here at Blackwood. He was a senior and I thought I was the coolest little bitch on the planet for catching the eyes of someone older. But I had to give it to him, Leo put on an Oscar-worthy performance the first year of our relationship. Fancy dinners, lavish vacations, he was never humbled a day in his life and it showed. It didn’t matter to me that he had money, but he chose to spend it on me. He gave me his attention and his time. Something my parents never cared to do.
Even when the money started flowing in, it was spent on a new house, new cars, and cancer treatments. Oh yeah, and a fucking mommy-makeover.
Leo saw my vulnerability fairly easily and took advantage of it. If only I was smart enough to see it back then.
One day, he changed. It was that simple. I don’t know what set him off. I don’t know exactly what I said or did to lose his love. Even with years to think about it, I’m no closer to understanding it than I was on day one.
What I’m unsure of is why I continue to do it. Why do I let him get away with causing me so much physical, mental, and emotional pain?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I don’t know what is being covered in my classes anymore. I sit in the lectures, my mind wandering to a place where pain is forbidden and peace is worshiped.
My art has been affected by the downfall of our relationship. My writing is pretty much non-existent because all of my creativity is being used to make excuses for Leo’s actions. These used to be my outlets when things got tough. They were an escape. A peaceful escape where I only needed to depend on myself to fill my canvas or the piece of paper in front of me.
My mental health is taking a turn for the worse and I feel my artistic side slowly slipping with it. I’m so tired of fighting this feeling on my own, but there’s nowhere for me to go.
You could go to him. You know you can. He wouldn’t deny you. Not like mom and dad will.
I could never run back to California and tell my parents about Leo. I’d just be met with a big, fat, “I told you so.” They were so against my choices of coming to Blackwood, to major in the arts, they would find a way to blame everything that’s happened on me. For so long, they had pushed me to study business at Stanford and move back to California with them, but it wasn’t where my heart was. I was grateful for the distance. Grateful for the chance to express my individuality. Grateful to be able to focus on the things that mattered to me. Art, writing, keeping Ronnie’s memory alive, experiencing life for myself and not being someone’s accessory or plaything.
Look where the fuck I ended up anyway. Maybe they were right.
Every single night of my senior year of high school, I would pray to whoever would listen and ask them to change the way my parents saw me. They’ve never appreciated my talents and they sure as hell do not appreciate self-expression. All my mother cares about is preserving her looks, and my father only cares about how much money his businesses bring home.
You’d think cosmetic surgery would be put on the back burner, especially when her ten-year-old was teetering on the brink of death. But there she was, getting her third nose job just two days before Ronnie took her last breath.
The only good thing about my home life was Ronnie. Ronnie was sweet and funny and charismatic. She cared so much about others, which wasn’t a common trait that was acquired in our family. She was a vibrant energy with an infectious smile and a big heart. She was my world. Her days in the hospital consisted of her reading endless novels about love and fluffy romances that gave her the happily ever after she yearned for. Living vicariously through those characters gave her strength, hope, simple happiness. When she wasn’t reading, she was writing her own happy endings.
So many girls always wish for a big sister to show them the way. They dream of having someone older, cooler, more experienced to walk them through life. A built-in best friend who swaps secrets with you at night after your parents go to sleep. One that covers for you when you sneak out and holds you close after your first heartbreak. A sister who wants to share her clothes with you. A sister who wants to share her time with you.
I never dreamed of those things because I had Ronnie. I had a little sister with such a fire in her heart. She took care of me. She held my hand through backstabbing friendships and lying teenage boys. Ronnie was my rock.
Whenever I think about her, I try to reminisce on all the good stuff. The late nights filled with gossip and movies, tanning by the pool, and creating a million inside jokes with each other. It was always me and Ronnie. Two sisters against the world.
A few days before her last, we were having a movie marathon, playing card games, and relishing in our time together. Ronnie had leaned on my shoulder and sighed.
“What’s up?” I asked, as I turned my head to place a peck on her forehead.
Another sigh, and then, “That movie we watched yesterday. The opening line was, “Bad things happen to good people,” and it has been on my mind since the moment I heard it. It’s true. I’m only ten and look at me.” She covers her face and a small sob follows.
I wrapped my arms around her and spoke lowly in her ear, “I do look at you. Everyday I admire your bravery and strength at such a young age. Everyday I think to myself of how scared you must be, but how well you hide it because you want to seem strong to those around you. You’ve brought so much light to everyone’s lives in the ten short years you’ve been here.”
Ronnie clings to me, “But what about Mom and Dad? I’m nothing but an extra bill.”
Rage filled my heart as she spoke, “Ronnie, no. You are amazing. If they can’t see that, it is there loss. You have me. I have you. We have each other. It will be us against the world. We’ll have our own place, just us, and we can fill every wall from top to bottom with your art. Our favorite movies and shows will run on repeat and we’ll stay up late eating garbage and gossiping about the losers we’re so done with and the cuties we're moving on to.”
Ronnie’s smile made a slight reappearance. She shook her head, accepting all that I could give her were promises that were destined to be left unfulfilled.
The sad thing is, I’m pretty sure I believed it more than she did.
She was too good for us. For our family, for this earth. Seeing her deteriorate did a number on me. I was destroyed after her passing and vowed to never let happiness sneak its way into my life. Maybe it’s why I find it so hard to leave Leo. I don’t want to find my own happiness because it feels unfair. Ronnie should have gotten her happily ever after, too. If that was unattainable in her lifetime, why do I deserve one?
Short answer, I don’t.
Besides Ronnie, the only other people I’ve been able to lean on are Aspen and Lorelei. Granted, Lorelei is a lot like my parents. Her main focus has always been herself and her grades. I know she’s under a lot of pressure to prove herself to her parents and compete with her siblings’ achievements, but gosh, would it kill her to genuinely care about someone else for five minutes?
Aspen, on the other hand, she’s quite possibly the most caring and nurturing soul to exist. She reminds me of Ronnie and I know it’s the reason I was drawn to her on the first day of our freshman year at Blackwood.
We have a new roommate this year, Blair. Let’s just say I wasn’t excited when we were notified that another student would be moving in. Mainly because I didn’t want Aspen to spend less time with me, but Blair has been nothing but a sweetheart.
I know I can tell them pretty much anything without fear or judgement, but I don’t want to place unnecessary worry in their hearts. A part of me feels like they wouldn’t be able to handle the darkness I’ve succumbed to, and I wouldn’t want to put any of them in Leo’s violent path of destruction. If anything were to happen to them because of something I said, I would never forgive myself.
There may be one other person I can trust wholeheartedly with my situation. One person strong enough to handle the reality of what I’m going through. One man who possibly knows me better than most and has told me plenty of times that he’d be there to help me, save me.
I’ve pushed him away more times than I can count, afraid of getting too close. Afraid of blowing my cover. Afraid of realizing sooner that Leo isn’t who I should be with.
The least I can do is try and hope for the best.