Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Lou
“Expect the unexpected, and whenever possible, be the unexpected.”
Lynda Berry
We’re singing “Pink Pony Club” together and filling the cookies with strawberry jam when I hear something hit the living room window.
Grady’s been gone about twenty minutes, and we’ve been having a ball dancing around the kitchen while we shape the cookies. Paige and I share a taste in music, upbeat and catchy. Songs that call you to move. Happy songs for happy people.
Paige makes me happy. She’s a perfectionist. There were a few cookie balls that weren’t uniform in size. Immediately, she redid them, as if it was the most important thing she had to accomplish today. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s something she’s picked up from her mother.
Her anxiety flees quickly, though. She doesn’t take it too seriously, and I know she’s inherited that trait from her father.
“You take over. I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, poking her tongue out while she dabs the jam onto the next cookie.
There’s movement in the corner of my eye when I walk into the living room. When I turn my head to look out the window, there’s nothing there but the rays of afternoon sunshine. And a photo stuck to the outside of the window.
As I step closer, I see it’s a picture of Grady and me. Naked and having sex on the floor. Last night. It’s grainy and dark, but even his stalker photos are artistically created.
Pierre.
My fingers shake and the pounding of blood rush sounds in my ears. Panic roars.
I run back to the kitchen for Paige, who looks up with a smile, until she sees whatever expression I wear.
“Lulu?”
“I need you to listen very carefully, okay?” I pull my cell out of my back pocket as she nods.
Pulling up the keypad, I hand it to her.
“You know where we put the big bags of dirt in the greenhouse? I want you to go crawl behind those. Call your dad and tell him he needs to come home, right now, and that he needs to call 911, because someone is here who isn’t supposed to be.
If he doesn’t answer, you call 911. And you don’t come out of the greenhouse for anyone but him. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says with a trembling bottom lip.
“It’s going to be okay, baby girl. We’re going to be okay.” I take her hand, keeping her behind me as I take her to the back door and quietly slide it open. I peek my head out to make sure it’s clear. “I’m going to watch you. You run, okay?”
She nods, and as soon as I’m out of her way, she runs to the end of the fence and disappears behind it. I’m in tears before she does. But I’ll keep her safe. If nothing else, I’ll keep her safe for Grady.
I slide the door shut and walk around the side of the house. What I find is what I’ve been expecting since the day I left Los Angeles. It was always coming. He doesn’t simply give up.
I won’t either.
Despite the reminders, the images of that night flash through my brain like a movie on repeat.
The first fist that I knew gave me a black eye from the sting of it.
Pierre staring down at me, his powerful hands tightening around my neck, closing my airway.
I understood, that night, what it means when people say their life flashed before their eyes. Nothing I saw was very interesting.
It would be different, now.
“You fight back, you get safe, you come back to me.”
Grady’s words echo in my mind, along with all the things he and Jerry taught me. Don’t think about it, just react. Fight.
“You can’t be here,” I say with a wobbling voice. He turns his head, glaring at me with a mixture of anger and anticipation. It’s the latter that scares me most. Pierre likes to play with his food.
He walks toward me, his blonde hair glowing like a false halo. There’s nothing angelic about him. Quite the opposite, actually.
“You look like shit,” he says, looking me over slowly.
I struggle to keep the shivers at bay. I do look different, though. With him, I was always polished and dressed in the best designer clothes, regardless of what I was doing. Here, I’m in cutoffs and one of Irma’s old T-shirts.
“And you left me no choice, Louisa.”
He takes another step toward me, and I hold my ground. Surprise shows on his face. Then, he grins. He likes that I’m not cowering. Hopefully, he doesn’t know that I’m not because, on the property behind me, is a scared child that’s relying on me. I won’t let him get any closer to Paige.
I’d die for her. No questions asked. I love that little girl.
I hope that’s not how this day ends. But if Pierre senses I’m on the cusp of happiness, he’ll do whatever he can to take that away from me. He only allows joy if it comes from his hand, and it’s attached to strings.
“That was the point,” I say. “You need to leave before I call the police.” Moving my hands behind my back, I fist them to try and ease the shaking. The more he stands so still, staring at me, the more anxious I get. The silence is a bomb exploding.
I step toward the road. One single step that he mirrors, while wearing a snide smile.
“You went to the press, Louisa,” he says. “That was bad form.”
“Bad form,” I repeat, cringing as I laugh. He’s used that before. Often enough for me to hate the saying. “You beating the shit out of me and nearly choking the life out of me was bad form.”
“I apologized for that, assuming you read my emails,” he says. “I know you did. You can’t help yourself. You never could with me.” He takes another step, so I move that much closer to the road.
“Your apology isn’t what I want. We’re over, you need to leave.” Pleading with him isn’t getting me anywhere. All I can hope is that I stall long enough for the police to get here.
“Do you think it will be different with that man you whored yourself out to? That you won’t be a constant disappointment to him?
It won’t last, Louisa. I followed you from the bar, watched as he fucked you.
He can’t give you what you really need. Even if he could, he won’t put up with you the way I did. Nobody would.”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know you!” It comes as an outburst. His temper bleeds through his carefully crafted control as he lunges at me. I dodge, but he manages to trip me up. As I fall to the road, the gravel digs into the bare skin of my thigh below my shorts. “You are mine. You’ll always be mine.”
“I’m not yours! I’m my own person,” I say, kicking at the hand that’s wrapped around my ankle. “Get the fuck off me!”
His grip only tightens, so I move to kick at his shoulder, attempting to keep him from getting his other hand on me.
Wildly, my leg strikes, my elbows scraping against the gravel as he tries to drag me closer.
It stings as my skin grates over the ground, but I ignore it.
I have to. If I’m distracted at all, he’ll get the better of me.
“Fucking bitch,” he screams, before my foot connects with the side of his head. It’s enough to soften his grip. I scramble back, awkwardly getting to my feet. He does the same. “I like this new you, Louisa. It’s more fun when you fight back.”
Pierre presses fingers to his temple, testing the spot I kicked him. It’s my only clue that it stung. He brushes his hands down his sleeves, all while glaring at me for daring to cause him to roll around on the filthy ground.
“Why can’t you just let me go? You don’t love me. You don’t even like me,” I plead.
“I like you the way a farmer likes his prize pig,” he sneers. “You’re my trophy to set on the shelf for others to look at, to admire, to crave. Knowing I’m the only one who can touch you.”
Again, he lunges at me, his hand raising to my throat. I swing for the same spot my foot landed on. He flinches but catches my collar, fisting it as he pulls me closer. Then, his fist lands on my cheek. My eye swells instantly, while blood throbs through the left half of my face.
“You fight back, you get safe, you come back to me.”
I keep swinging. Through my blurred vision, I try to find his throat. His eyes. He keeps punching, too, making it harder for me to find a target. Still, I fight. I won’t make it easy for him. Not this time. He chokes, and I think it means I found his windpipe.
“I fucking hate you! I hate you,” I scream, as I cry, push, kick, and hit. I fight with everything I have. “I’m not yours! I hate you!”
I cry for all the times I couldn’t. I hit for all the times I didn’t. If I’m doing any damage, I don’t know. It would be a surprise if I was. But at least I know I didn’t give in or give up.
Fight back. Keep Paige safe.
Grady will come. The police will come.
It’s exhausting. My limbs grow heavy, but still, I swing. Minutes pass like hours, but I fight. I can’t stop. Won’t. Don’t give in. Keep moving.
Another fist lands somewhere on my body. I’m losing track. Losing time. Yet, I don’t feel the pain. That will come later. After the adrenaline. After the bruises flower in bouquets of autumn color.
Pierre roars in my ear. My name…over and over. I keep swinging. Fight back. Get safe. Keep her safe.
Time slows. My head spins, ears ring. There’s more sound, now. Sirens. Voices. Lights flash behind my stinging eye.
“You fucking whore!” A sharp thud. “I’ll fucking kill her!”
More voices and more voices. So many words. I spin as I struggle to stand.
“Lou,” someone says. Someone not Pierre. A soft hand on my shoulder that still makes me flinch in fear. “It’s over, Lou.”
“Paige? Is she okay?” The words come out too watery. I spit blood. Lose balance. The hand catches me.
“Grady has her,” the voice says. I wipe at my eye, the one he managed to miss. A hazy Sam comes into view.
“Sam,” I say on a sob, and he wraps an arm around me.
“Jerry’s here to help get you cleaned up. Is that okay?” I think I nod, but I can’t be sure. “The sheriff is taking that piece of shit out of here. Good thing, or we might kill him in the street.”
That doesn’t sound like a good thing. Or a bad one. I can’t discern anymore. Can’t focus or stand on my own. Maybe I never could. Maybe I never can. Not when he’s always there to knock me down.