Still Beating

“You probably should have thought about that before you fucked me.”

Dean smacks a handful of money into my palm like I’m some kind of hooker. I stare at him, wide-eyed and wounded.

“For the pill,” he adds.

I watch him storm out my front door, and he slams it so hard, it rattles on its hinges and the dogs leap up from their place on the giant dog bed. My feet remain frozen to the wood planks of my living room floor, and my eyes are glued to the door, secretly hoping it will swing back open and he’ll come running through.

And secretly hoping it doesn’t.

I swallow down the acrid lump in my throat before I choke on it. A tiny paw jabs my bare calf, and I’m reminded that I’ve been staring at the door for at least five whole minutes with a wad of crumpled bills in my hand that Dean gave me to purchase the morning after pill.

Because we had sex.

Because I had sex with Dean.

The reminder almost knocks me off my feet. I realize he’s not coming back, but I haven’t decided if I’m okay with that or not. I blow out a slow breath, making a humming sound. It’s the sound I make when mind-numbing pain is crawling its way up my throat, looking for a way out.

Dear God, I had sex with Dean Asher.

And then I told him it was over because I’m weak and unprepared to deal with the consequences of my own selfish actions.

I pace backwards until I reach the couch, collapsing onto it as the pain comes spewing out. I toss the money on the coffee table and draw my legs up to my chest, burying my face between my knees. Sobs pour out of me in waves and my ribs start to ache.

Jude appears in front of me, sitting at the edge of the couch with perky ears and a swiftly moving tail. Penny hops up beside me with her little legs, resting her chin against my hip bone. This only makes me cry harder, knowing these sweet animals are trying to console me when I don’t deserve it. I made my bed.

I made my bed, and then I screwed my sister’s ex-fiancé in it.

And holy crap, it was good. So, so good. Hot, intense, rough—unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, physically and emotionally. Mind-blowing is the term Dean used, and I wholeheartedly agree, despite the fact that I couldn’t tell him that because even acknowledging what happened between us feels like a slap in the face to Mandy. And to my own dignity.

I run my fingers between Jude’s ears as I scoop Penny onto my lap, stretching my legs back out. I’ve never been so torn like this before, so split in half, pulled in two different directions. I’ve never wanted something so badly, while rejecting it at the same time.

Dean is like the ocean.

Compelling, calling to me, within reach…

So much magic. So much beauty.

Something I want with every aching layer of my soul.

But I’m that little girl again, frozen in the sand, afraid of the dark waters in front of me. There’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much I can’t see. I’m scared I’ll lose myself to the tumultuous waves and drift away, barely treading above water, hardly able to breathe.

I’m scared I’ll lose everything—my sister, my parents, myself.

I’m scared I’ll drown.

It’s safer here at shore.

I tell myself this as I go about my day, running out to grab dog food and Plan B. I try not to die of embarrassment as I keep my oversized sunglasses on at the pharmacy, while tugging my beanie down as far as it will go in case I have the words ‘Totally Banged Dean’ scrawled across my forehead. I don’t check my phone as I clean the house later. I already cleaned yesterday, but I vacuum again and wipe down the windows just to distract myself.

I don’t text him. I don’t call him.

I don’t go near the bottle of wine in the fridge in fear of texting or calling him.

I can do this.

But when my sister shows up unexpectedly with Mexican food that evening, I almost faint from crippling anxiety.

“You look like hell.” Mandy breezes through the entryway also looking like hell, and I can’t help but feel like there is one common denominator that is responsible for our mutual hells. “I brought a shit ton of tacos. Cilantro has cleansing powers.”

“That’s because it tastes like dish soap.”

Mandy scoffs at me as she slips out of her knee-high boots. She saunters through the living room to the kitchen, tossing the brown paper bags of food onto the dining table. Then she wavers, taking a few steps back, and glances towards the corner of the room. She looks up at me. “You have dogs.”

I shrug, my arms crossed. “You would have known that if you hadn’t dodged my calls and texts all week.”

A bleak silence stretches between us. I take in the way Mandy’s eyes lower to the floor, lacking their usual sparkle, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is pinned up in an ultra-messy bun, her roots growing out. She blows back a strand of hair that has come loose from her bun and leans her hip against the back of the couch. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I noticed.” I dig my fingers into the fuzzy fabric of my sweater, my insides clenching with unease. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through this night without confessing all of my dirty sins to Mandy. I clear my throat, braving a few steps forward. “How are you?”

Mandy flusters a bit and shrugs her shoulders, her eyes flickering back to me. “I’m guessing Dean told you?”

Just the mention of his name makes me flush. “It’s all over Facebook. You changed your relationship status to ‘single’ and have been posting sad, depressing quotes every few hours.”

“Helps me cope. So, you’re saying he didn’t mention anything about it?”

Something in my chest pitches and my cheeks flare with heat. “I didn’t say that.”

“I figured as much,” Mandy says flatly, turning back to the kitchen to sort through the food. “He said you had a connection. A bond. He said you were both forced to do fucked up shit.”

Oh, God.

Bile rises up my esophagus, and I choke it back down. “I-It’s complicated.”

“He said that, too.” Mandy spins around, holding out something wrapped in tinfoil. “Two steak tacos, no cilantro.”

I swallow, taking a few more hesitant steps toward my sister, and reach for the tacos. “Thank you.”

Her smile is strained. Forced. Mandy unwraps one of her tacos and takes a bite, nodding her head at Jude and Penny curled up in the corner. “What made you get two dogs?” she asks, swiping a dollop of sour cream from her lip. “Protection?”

I set my food down on the kitchen island, feeling too queasy to eat. “Companionship, I guess. I planned on getting a dog before… well, before everything happened.” I scratch the back of my head. “They’re the dogs that were confiscated from his property.”

Mandy pauses mid-chew. “That psycho’s property? You adopted your kidnapper’s dogs?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s fucked up, Cor.” She resumes her chewing and hops up onto my table, swinging her legs back and forth. “You seem to be having a hard time letting go of the things that connect you to that basement.”

Her eyes cut to me, knowing and pointed. She’s not just referring to the dogs. I slink back like the coward I am. “It’s not like that. They needed a home, and I needed a distraction from the pain.”

“There’s a million other dogs out there you could have taken.”

Pretty sure she’s still not talking about the dogs.

Shit.

“Mandy…”

She hops off the table. “Your food is getting cold.”

I watch my sister parade around the kitchen, pulling a wine glass from the cabinet and digging through my refrigerator. I feel hysterical tears stabbing just beneath the surface, ready to blow. I gather a slow, calming breath, trying so hard to rein in my fear and nerves and guilt as Mandy saunters back over with a full glass of wine. She leans forward against the kitchen island, elbows to countertop, facing me as I stand behind the opposite side.

I wring my hands together as she stares at me over the rim of her glass. There is only a small kitchen island between us, but it feels like a continent. “I appreciate you stopping by with dinner. That was nice of you.” God, I’m pathetic.

Mandy arches an eyebrow, sipping on her wine. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not that hungry. I’ll bring it to work tomorrow for lunch.” I smile as sweetly as I can, but I’m pretty sure I look like I’m about to start ugly crying.

Mandy taps a perfectly painted fingernail against the glass, her gaze shifting between me and her beverage, as if she’s trying to string together her next sentence. Her eyes are hazel and hollow as they linger on mine, her head tilting slightly to one side. “So, what fucked up shit were you forced to do?”

She asks the question so casually—so nonchalant.

But it thunders through me like a typhoon, wreaking havoc on all of my fragile insides. My skin tingles, my hands clam up, my legs start to wobble in place. I latch onto the edge of the countertop to keep myself steady as I hold my breath. I hold it for a long time, afraid that my oxygen alone will spill out all of my secrets. I hold it until I feel dizzy and sick and lightheaded, and then I let it out like a harrowing confession. “I-I don’t want to talk about it, okay? It’s personal and traumatic, and I’m trying to forget those three weeks ever even happened…” I bite down on my lip to stop the words from flowing.

Mandy’s eyes narrow as she chugs down the rest of her wine. Then she slams the glass down on the counter, making me wince. “Something happened down there, Cora. I need to know.”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t!” The tears start spilling, my voice catching and breaking. “I can’t.”

Mandy is about to bite back when my cell phone vibrates between us on the island, resting only a foot away. We both look at it.

Dean’s name lights up the screen with a text message.

I glance at Mandy. She glances at me.

Then we both lunge for the phone at the same time, with Mandy coming out victorious. I practically scream in defiance. “No!” I race around the island to where Mandy is reading the message with her back turned to me. I wait for her to face me, my shoulders heaving, beyond horrified and nauseated by what she may be discovering right now.

Mandy lets out a gasp that sounds an awful lot like betrayal. She whips around, her eyes watering, gleaming with rage. “You bitch.”

I rip the phone away from her, my hands shaking as I skim over the message in a panic.

Don’t want to fight. Scared. I get it. Last night was everything. Slower. Start over. In this together.

Last night was everything.

“What happened last night, Cora?” Mandy demands, her tears erupting like rainfall. “Did you sleep with him?” Her voice changes in pitch, sounding more desperate and shrill with each word. “Did you fuck my fiancé?”

“I…”

“Tell me!”

I shake my head, a cry breaking through my lips.

“I want to hear it from your lying, filthy mouth.”

I’ve never seen Mandy so upset. I’ve never seen her radiating blind hate like this. I feel like I’m going to throw up or keel over and die from abject humiliation and all-consuming guilt. “We… we were forced to have sex in that basement.”

Mandy pales, her eyebrows creasing. “What?”

My chest expands, up and down, hard and fast. “Earl put a gun to Dean’s head and made him do it. We didn’t have a choice. We…” I dig my fingers into my scalp and tug my hair back. “It was awful and sick and beyond depraved, but…”

“But… ?” Mandy sounds horrified. Appalled.

As she should.

“But something happened, okay? Something changed between us, and I can’t explain it. I thought the feelings would go away when we returned to our normal lives, but the connection is still there. We can’t shake it. I never wanted this to happen, Mandy…” I continue to crack and break and splinter, my entire body shutting down. “I never wanted any of this!”

Mandy’s eyes assess me with a quiet rage. Her chest is beat red, the heat climbing up her neck and staining her cheeks and ears. “Did you have sex last night?”

I pull my lips between my teeth to keep them from quivering. Then I lower my chin, unable to look her in the eyes as I whisper, “Yes.”

Only a heartbeat passes when her hand flies out and connects with my face. I inhale a sharp, startled breath, the sting of her slap rattling my bones.

Mandy has never hit me before. I’ve never hit her.

We’ve argued and bickered and not spoken for weeks, but… this is different.

This is unfixable.

My eyes are glazed with disbelief as I look up at her, wishing I could erase the heartbroken, forsaken expression staring back at me. My fingertips lift to brush against the welting hand print on my cheek, my remorse and regret eating me alive. “I’m so sorry, Mandy.”

She takes a step back, shaking her head furiously. “I can’t believe you’re my sister. I can’t believe you were going to be my maid of honor.” Mandy wipes at the stray tears lingering on her cheekbones. “You’re disgusting. You’re trash. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met, and I never want to see you again. Mom and Dad will disown you over this.”

I gape at her, my mouth parted with incredulity.

Mandy spits out one final barb before storming away: “I hope his dick was worth it.”

The front door slams for the second time that day, another person I care about walking away from me, angry and betrayed. I collapse onto the kitchen tiles, a panic attack creeping into my lungs and taking over. I sob hysterically, manically, ashamed and astounded by the damage I’ve caused. I’m a broken pile of bones and failure, crumpled on the ground, wanting to die.

I just want to die.

All those weeks fighting so hard to live, and for what?

Hell followed me home.

It lives inside me, housing all of my demons and ghosts and unforgivable flaws.

Two wet dog noses tickle my cheeks, and then my tears are kissed away by worried tongues. I stare up at the ceiling fan spinning in circles above me.

Around, around, and around.

It could spin forever, spiraling out of control, until I decide to turn it off.

I try to catch my breath, choking on ugly hiccups as I wipe at my nose and rise to unsteady feet. The dogs follow me around the kitchen while I fill their bowls with food and water. I don’t bother to lock the front door as I head towards the hall bathroom, flipping off the ceiling fan before I round the corner.

I open up the mirrored medicine cabinet and reach for my sleeping pills. I snap the door shut, gazing at my reflection, feeling totally numb. My eyes are red and swollen, my nose puffy. I’m marked and bruised all over.

Dean’s teeth and tongue carved into my neck.

Mandy’s slap of scorn across my face.

I blink slow, then glance down at the pill bottle clasped inside my fist.

My whole life I’ve been terrified of the ocean. I’ve been scared of being dragged down into a cold, dark sea, swallowed by waves, clutching my chest and gasping for air.

But this sea is not made of water.

And maybe drowning is the only way out.