26. Harper
Harper
Dawson doesn’t take me to the penthouse, which I’m thankful for. That’s the last place I want to be right now. After everything I’ve been through, I want to feel safe, and I was just abducted from there.
God, even thinking that seems so surreal.
I can’t believe what’s happened to me in the past twenty-four hours.
And to think my own family has done this to me.
My mother, who is supposed to love me unconditionally, had agreed to sign me away to some sort of criminal to take my virginity.
Dawson, someone I have come to trust, knew all about it.
He had ample opportunity to tell me so I could get away, but he didn’t.
In fact, the bruises all over my face and body are because of him. He knew about this deal, and he took my virginity, anyway. He’s the one who warned me about Malik. He had to have known what he was capable of.
“Xander has a safe house in the city that he said we could stay at,” Dawson explains as we pull up to a simple Colonial-style house in the middle of the suburbs. “For obvious reasons, it’s not safe for us to go back to the penthouse. Malik is still out there, and he’s going to be looking for us.”
He parks the car and watches me while he waits for me to reply, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to talk to him right now. I don’t even want to look at him.
Dawson helps me out of the car, and I let him do that. As much as I wish I could stand on my own and shove off his help, every muscle in my body is aching, and it takes a lot just to walk.
Thankfully, it’s late and none of the neighbors are out walking their dogs or attempting to stargaze through the Los Angeles smog because I look atrocious.
Anybody who sees me would think it reasonable to call someone to help me.
But then again, nobody has ever seemed to care about me.
With my luck, a bystander would see it and just walk by as if it was nothing.
Dawson guides me through the house to a bedroom on the first floor and helps me get settled in bed.
More than anything, I want a hot shower, but I know that’s not going to happen right now.
I practically collapse against the pillow as he covers me with a blanket and stands at the edge of my bed to watch me for a moment.
“Do you need anything?” Dawson asks. There’s a hopefulness in his voice as he tries to communicate with me, but I don’t want to give him anything. I don’t respond. I don’t even shake my head. He waits a moment and then leaves.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, and I don’t remember trying to fall asleep, but I do wake up with the sun blaring in my face and birds chirping outside.
It reminds me of just how normal everything else is in the world.
All the light might have vanished from my life, but the sun still rises, and the birds still sing.
The world carries on regardless of the terrible things that happen every single day.
The bedroom door opens, and Dawson walks in with some scrambled eggs and toast, sitting down on the corner of the bed and offering me the plate.
Once again, I don’t say anything. I just look out the window at the backyard with the grass that’s a little too long and birds skipping between the blades.
“You have to eat something. If you’re going to recover, you’ll need all the strength you can get,” Dawson says in a soft voice. When I don’t answer, he eventually gives up and leaves the plate on the nightstand before leaving.
He comes back around lunchtime with some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which I also reject. The only help I do accept is when he helps me shower. I need to wash the filth of last night off of me more than I need to ignore him. Still, I don’t say anything to him as he helps me.
“Talk to me, please,” Dawson practically begs when he sits me back down on the bed with freshly changed sheets. I don’t say anything.
After the revelation of what happened last night, I can look back at the past with clear vision. Everything looks different.
I was told that I had to work for Dawson for a year to get into art school, but I know now that was never going to happen.
Henry just used that as an excuse to get me to stay with Dawson so he could keep an eye on me.
Dawson knew about that, and he let me believe it.
He let me get my hopes up that one day I would actually get to live out my dream.
He knew what would happen, and he took my virginity, anyway. That’s all Malik wanted from me. He wanted a virgin bride, and I was handed to him on a silver platter, and Dawson decided he was going to ruin that. Every ache in my body is a reminder of how selfishly Dawson handled that situation.
On Wednesday when we rushed out of town for an emergency meeting with Xander, it was because of this.
Looking back, I know now that’s because of the appointment Malik mentioned I missed.
I was supposed to be evaluated by that doctor then to see if I was still a virgin, and they would have found out that I wasn’t.
It wasn’t to keep me safe. It was so Dawson could buy himself some more time.
Everything that’s happened between us has a brand new, glaring light shining on it, and I don’t know if I can forgive him.
He lied to me and betrayed my trust. He got me to tell him things that I never thought I would tell a soul, and all the while he knew I was supposed to be sold off to Malik.
In my eyes, Dawson is as much of a monster as he is.
By the time the sun is setting, Dawson knocks on my door and lets himself in regardless of my clear disinterest in seeing him.
He’s not carrying food this time, clearly realizing I’m not going to eat anything he makes me.
Instead, he carries a brand-new sketchbook and a myriad of pencils and drawing supplies.
“I thought you might like this,” Dawson says as he sets the art tools down on the bed beside me.
“Look, I understand that you don’t want to talk to me right now.
If I were in your shoes, I’d be upset too.
But you have to trust that I did everything in my power to protect you.
I failed, and that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
But now that you’re here, I just want you to get better. ”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to respond, and I don’t. After a moment he lets out a slow exhale and nods, accepting that I don’t want to speak to him. He just leaves the art supplies on my bed and walks out of the room.
I pick up the sketchbook and consider trying to lose myself in my art, but I’m too depressed to even try.
The thought of holding a pencil in my hand and trying to think of something that would bring me joy is nearly impossible.
It’s taking everything in my power not to break down and sob uncontrollably as is.
Instead, I put the drawing supplies on the nightstand and lie down to close my eyes. I’m used to Dawson insisting that I sleep alongside him now, but we are somewhere else, and we’re supposedly safe, so he doesn’t.
Sleep finds me, and for the first few blissful hours, I am away from the torment that has been haunting me since Friday.
But then it infiltrates my dreams, and all I can think about is being dragged into Malik’s brothel and tossed into a room while people peeked their heads in to see who was waiting there.
I think about the person who saw me battered and bloody and thought I was exactly who they wanted to fuck for the night.
I still feel the man’s breath on my neck as I think about him holding me against the mattress and calling me names. I scream out and beg for him to stop as he fights to hold me still on the mattress.
The light turns on in the room, and I’m awoken from my sleep, covered in sweat with the blankets twisted around me. My breath is ragged, and the dream clings to me like reality, which it very unfortunately was.
“What’s wrong?” Dawson asks with worry thick in his voice.
“It was just a dream,” I say, still panting from the panic I felt. I lean forward and hold my head in my hands as I try to fight the memories resurfacing all over again.
I think about my stepdad when I was fourteen, Malik, Richard, the man from the brothel, and everyone else who’s ever hurt me. I can’t fight the memories like I used to.
Dawson approaches and sits on the edge of the bed as he rubs his hand in a circle on my back. Neither of us says anything while I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think about something that makes me happy. It’s hard to find, but it’s enough to help me calm down.
“It was only a dream. You’re safe now,” Dawson whispers as he continues massaging my shoulders. “I’m right here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I don’t say anything. Rather, I focus on deep breathing to calm my nerves. It takes a few minutes, but I am able to force the dream away and focus on the present, where I’m in a room that nobody knows about, and I’m actually safe.
I lie back down to go to sleep again, and instead of leaving the room, Dawson grabs an extra pillow from the bed and sets it on the floor beside it. I look at him curiously as he settles down to sleep on the floor beside the bed.
A part of me is touched that he would go through something as uncomfortable as sleeping on the floor just to make sure I’m comfortable. A small part of my mind is telling me that Dawson has protected me, and he did save me.
But then again, none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for him.