Lost

  When I left the bathroom finally, I laid on the sofa bed with my mom watching TV beside me and I slept a dreamless, medicated sleep of exhaustion. I slept knowing unconsciously my mom was beside me, and I slept knowing I wasn't in my bedroom of shame.

  *****

  The following days with my mom were easy, and sometimes even a little fun. My mom and I watched way too much TV, ate endless amounts of crap food, drove to the grocery store for more crap food, and took little walks around the neighborhood together.

  We drove to Home Outfitters and I bought black-out curtains for every window in my apartment, and a new comforter with matching sheets. We even stopped at the cafe once, but I wasn't in the mood to speak, so she ran interference as I left and waited outside for my French Vanilla with chocolate shot.

  We just did nothing and everything until it became almost boring. And then I begged her to leave on Saturday evening the following morning.

  I explained I was going to work Monday morning and I wanted to settle into my own routine again. I promised I was okay, even after she protested, but she gave in like I knew she would even though she didn't think I was well enough to go to work, or to be alone. I knew she thought I was a step away from losing it, but she was wrong.

  I had decided the previous Monday night hadn't happened, and I was actually starting to feel like it didn't really happen. When I ignored the various aches and pains, and the residual bruising around my temple, eye, and cheekbone, I felt like I looked like a normal woman.

  So on Sunday morning before she left, I put on a flimsy nightgown and my mom stood in the bathroom beside the tub helping me shower and wash my hair.

  She actually washed my long hair because I couldn’t move my shoulder properly, and she was soaked by the time we were done. But other than making a few jokes, she didn't seem to care. She helped me slip the nightgown off, wrapped in a towel without any of my body being seen naked, and then she dried my hair for me.

  My mom was so kind to me I choked up once when she was drying the back of my hair and told me to tilt my head forward. She was so kind, I cried a little, and whispered a very meaningful 'thank you' when the dryer finally stopped.

  Before my mother left Sunday morning she told me she'd come back anytime in the night if I needed her, and then she let me know what I might expect at work, which honestly I hadn't thought much about, but clearly should've.

  I didn't realize I had made the papers as an unnamed 'sexual assault' victim, and I didn't know my parents had told the head of HR about the attack. I hadn't really known what they said, but somehow I thought it was something like, 'Sophie's sick', or 'Sophie fell and screwed up her shoulder', or even 'Sophie needs the week off for personal reasons.’ Never in my worst nightmare would I have thought my coworkers had been told the truth.

  Crying from her betrayal, my mom didn't let me close down completely without hearing how she had been evasive about my absence until a Madeline and a Deborah had contacted Steven as my next of kin with questions regarding what had happened and when I would be returning. And so my mother told them the truth, but with a promise of absolute confidentiality. A confidentiality she actually had faith in, that clearly I had none. And as she spoke calmly, I realized my job at Halton Facilities was probably over, because I knew if Madeline knew, everyone knew.

  After she explained what happened I put on my game face, thanked my mom for everything, pretended I understood why she betrayed me, and gently forced her to leave my home.

  We hugged, and again she offered me endless words of love and affection, with the opening for her to return just a phone call away, until finally, she left me alone.

  After she left me I walked around my place, unsettled, and insecure, until I eventually passed the day away with mindless TV and an attempt to read Beautiful Losers which I had once loved.

  But I was horribly unsettled.

  When I finally brushed my teeth at 9:00 and tried to go to sleep, I realized I was scared. The door behind me held the potential for being attacked unaware, and I realized I couldn't lie there with the doorway and door behind my head. I found it weird that my sofa layout hadn't bothered me at all when my mom was there, but suddenly, I was scared to death of being unable to see my attacker walk into my home again. So I quickly rearranged the furniture.

  One-handed and in agony, I slowly pulled the couch over and over until it was sideways in almost the middle of the room, until the area rug was bunched up because I wasn't strong enough to move it under the couch, or even out of the way, but I didn't care what it looked like. I just needed to know I would be able to lie on my side facing the door so I could see the attacker walk back into my apartment to kill me while I slept.

  CHAPTER 32

  On Monday morning I started my life again, but the following day and week was a total nightmare for me.

  I was welcomed back to work with fake smiles and knowing glances. Everyone knew what had happened it was obvious, and though they tried hard not to look like it, I could see the questions of morbid curiosity, sometimes repulsion, or even flat out pity on their faces. I could see it all, though I stayed in my office for most of each day.

  Monday I completed payroll and stayed fairly quiet, though Madeline did enter my office at lunch to see if I needed anything, and again when I was leaving at 4:30 to kindly help me into my winter coat.

  She helped me without even acknowledging what she was doing, and I thanked her for her kindness. I thanked her even though I was unsure if it was her who had told the entire office about what had happened to me. But then I realized it didn't really matter if it was her, because chances were pretty good everyone would have found out eventually.

  Throughout my return to work, Steven left me messages each morning before I arrived at work to let me know he loved me and was thinking about me. Something about my best friend being my brother, and a man, and my twin made it impossible for me to talk to him still, but I loved my little messages in the morning which told me he was there for me whenever I needed him. He always said he loved me before he hung up, and he always made me feel good and loved by his words and voice.

  So I made it through the week, slowly, and with as little interaction with my coworkers as possible. I even managed to keep Deborah away from me though that was a little more difficult, because she had the HR department and my job security to back her up. But after a few quick words, nodding about counseling, and being offered a leave of absence which I refused, Deborah left my office after my constant assurances of 'I'm fine.'

  I spoke to my mom each night and gave her the lowdown of my day, but otherwise kept it together. We did have a tense moment on Wednesday night when she approached the subject of therapy to help me deal with everything that happened to me, but I vehemently refused explaining I needed to handle things on my own, and if that meant therapy down the road, then I'd get it.

  Eventually, my mom backed off but she did beg me to let her come to my pottery studio Saturday morning because she missed me. She actually said that, and I cried before thanking her for being so awesome again, and I told her I'd love to see her at the studio Saturday morning, followed by lunch with me, my treat.

  I decided I couldn’t go back to the studio on Friday nights, because nights were still a little scary for me, but I would go back the following morning in the daylight to meet my mom.

  I had taken the sling off Thursday, and though my shoulder still hurt like a bitch, it was tolerable for most of the day. So I left work Friday at 4:30 with nothing planned but McDonalds for dinner, and more useless TV to keep me company through the long night alone.

  But I was attacked in my courtyard instead.

  Dropping my food, I was quickly grabbed from behind and lifted right off the ground with my mouth covered. I was grabbed, and I'd love to say I fought, but I didn't. I simply froze, and allowed the man to lift me and cover my face without a single movement or even a sound from me.

  I wasn't capable of fighting from the sheer shock and memory of what I
'd already endured, and there was just no fight left in me anyway. There was nothing, but the little moan that escaped my chest when realization dawned that I was going to be hurt again. So I closed my eyes and waited for the pain.

  “Sophie, stop! Sophie, it's me,” he said as I felt my brain leave me.

  I knew I was being tricked again, and I knew I was dead. There was no way to fight the inevitable, so I let it take me.

  “Sophie, please. It's me, baby,” he said again as he shook me hard in his arms. Squeezing my chest, he continued. “I have to get you inside. Please baby, I have to talk to you,” he growled in my ear.

  Finally releasing me gently and standing me back on the ground, I was turned against the wall before the main door to look at him.

  Shocked still, I could only whisper, “Peter...?”

  “Sophie, you know it's me. Come on, baby,” he said shaking me again.

  “Oh god... Where have you been?” I cried.

  Shaking and crying out I stood deathly still staring at his face. Shocked, I took him in as I tried to get my brain to work properly, but I couldn't reason reality from fantasy. I knew Peter was standing in front of me, but I couldn't understand it. I was so confused, I could only lean forward and smell him, which was when I finally woke up. Peter looked like shit, but he smelled the same.

  “Sophie, we have to get inside,” he said nearly pushing me toward the front door. I let him push the door open as I walked under his arm, and I let him pull me to my door as he took my purse from me and found my keys to unlock my door.

  I let Peter lead because I was too afraid to ruin anything. I didn't want him to leave, but I didn't know how to make him stay.

  When we entered my apartment, Peter leaned me against the door and quickly locked it. Looking around, he made a shhhh motion with his finger against his lips as he motioned for me to stay where I was, until he suddenly left me as I desperately reached for him.

  Quickly, he went to my kitchen then he walked out to the dining room. Looking around my living room, he seemed content that no one was there. He walked back to me and opened the closet beside me and pushed my coats and jackets around. After closing the closet, he walked to the hall closet, then the bathroom as I heard the shower curtain quickly thrown open. Just waiting and watching, I still couldn't believe he was there in my home.

  When Peter walked to my bedroom I almost yelled no, but stopped myself. My bedroom door had been closed since the first night my mom and I returned from the hospital, and other than opening it quickly to get my work clothes in daylight, it was always shut behind me.

  After Peter was in my room, doing whatever, looking for whoever, he returned to me calmly. He returned to me, staring hard at my face, but I just couldn't speak.

  Staring at a silent Peter who looked so sad, I waited until he whispered, “Sophie... Please don't be afraid of me.”

  “I'm not afraid of you. I'm just afraid,” I answered truthfully as he nodded.

  “Can I hug you?” He asked quietly.

  “Yes...” I nearly begged just as quietly as I felt the first tear fall down my cheek when he held me.

  Peter took me in his arms like he always had, and I felt my heart shatter in my chest. It didn't feel good, and I wasn't filled with warmth. The pain in my chest was every agony and devastation I had felt for the past 10 months of my life without him. I was broken, and I felt lost.

  “Why are you here?” I choked.

  “I just found out what happened, and I had to come to you. I'm so sorry, Sophie. I'm so sorry you were hurt, baby. I wish I could've stopped it, and I wish I could've helped you. I'm sick over what happened to you, and I came as soon as I heard. But I can't stay,” he said pulling away from me slightly to look at my face.

  “Why?” I cried.

  “Sophie, I'm working a job right now, and I can't just leave. I'm in too deep, but I had to come to you. I had to see you. So I found a way to get out tonight, but I can't stay. I'm so sorry,” he begged me to understand.

  And I did understand, kind of. “So you are a cop?”

  After I asked, Peter stared at me like he wouldn't answer, but eventually he nodded like he couldn't say it out loud or something. He acted first surprised that I knew, then resigned to the fact that I did know.

  “A message came to me yesterday about you and what happened, so I got out as quickly as I could. But I can't stay, baby,” he pleaded which almost annoyed me.

  “So you've said. Multiple times. Why did you even bother coming at all if you can’t stay? I'm fine without you here. I'm good without you. You should probably just go if you shouldn't be here,” I said coldly.

  “Please come sit with me,” he said trying to take my hand.

  “Why?”

  “I need to talk to you and I want to hold you. And I need to know you're okay.”

  “I'm fine, Peter.”

  “You're not fine, Sophie. You've been through so much, I need-”

  “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!” I suddenly screamed as Peter jumped and quickly covered my mouth with his hand.

  Staring at me, Peter looked almost afraid and angry at once. His head whipped around my apartment and he opened my door slightly to look down the hallway to the main door. After looking at nothing he closed the door and relocked it but still kept his fucking hand against my mouth. So I bit him.

  I was losing my shit, and I didn't care. I hated him.

  Keeping his hand against my mouth, he glared at me in a way I had never seen before. He was pissed and I couldn't care less.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” I snarled again once he removed his hand from my mouth and wrapped it around my arm.

  “I can't tell you, but you have to be quiet. You have to keep your voice lowered in case I was followed. You have to speak quietly, Sophie, so no one can hear us. Do you understand? Otherwise, I have to go.”

  “Go, then! I don't give a shit. Get the fuck out of here!” I snapped because my heart hurt and my head was pounding. My shoulder was aching and I absolutely hated Peter Connor in that moment as he stared at me silently.

  “I'm not leaving yet. Come here. Let’s go sit on the couch and talk.”

  But there was no couch. There was a perfectly made sofa bed, and there was a love seat. There was nowhere to talk unless we sat close to each other on the love set. And I didn't want to sit close to Peter.

  Looking at my furniture, I was suddenly struck with the absurdity of my situation. For nearly 10 months I had begged and pleaded for him to return. I had cried thousands of times and thought of nothing but Peter back in my life. I had thought he would return one day and I would know why he left. I thought we would fall into each other's arms and everything would be as it once was. I had truly believed that, and I had wanted that from the moment he left me. But suddenly I found myself with Peter and I felt like I hated him.

  Every anger for every single thing I had felt and endured for the last 10 months had crested into a totally irrational hatred for Peter.

  “I hate you...” I moaned still standing against my front door.

  “Well, I love you,” he said fiercely.

  “Fuck you!” I exploded.

  “Sophie, please don't do this. I only have a little bit of time and I need to talk to you. Please? Come sit and talk to me. I miss you so much,” he said choking up.

  Looking at Peter’s desperation, I instantly thawed. As quickly as the anger and hatred came to me, it left when I watched him beg me.

  So I pulled off my boots and I walked to the love seat to talk. Sitting down, I tugged at the sleeve of my coat and winced when my shoulder ached, but Peter quickly jumped in to help.

  “What's wrong? What happened to your arm?” He asked with the old Peter concern I remembered.

  “I had my shoulder dislocated,” I answered without emotion.

  “Dislocated?” He flinched. “When? Oh god, I didn't know.”

  “It doesn't matter. It's better now, and it only hurts when I do certain things, but it
s fine.”

  “I didn't know, Sophie. I just found out today about what happened last Monday to you. But I didn't receive any specific details when the message was given to me.”

  “It's fine. I don't want to talk about it.”

  “I think we should talk about it. I want to help you with-”

  “You can't help me. And I don't want to talk about it,” I said looking away.

  But he didn't stop. Taking my face in his hand he tried to turn me to him as I fought him.

  I didn't want to look at him, and I didn't want to talk about what happened. I wanted to know where he'd been, and why he left me, and how he could stay away. I wanted answers to all the basic questions I had. I did NOT want to talk about what happened to me.

  “Sophie, look at me,” he said as I shook my head no. “Look. At. Me. I want you to look at me and tell me what's going on with you. I want to know how you're feeling and how I can help.”

  Exhaling, I spoke the truth. “You can't help me, and I don't want you here anymore. You killed me when you left, and you keep killing me. Everything that has happened has been because of you. Well, not everything I guess, but a lot of it. And I'm tired of always loving you when you don't love me back.”

  “I DO love you. I left you the letter and the paintings, and I tried to tell you, but my hands were tied. They still are.”

  “How? Please explain it to me,” I begged finally turning to look at him.

  Looking, I finally saw him as he sat beside me, and he was gross. Peter smelled clean, but he looked dirty. It's almost like he purposely dirtied his clothes before putting them on. He looked unwashed but he smelled clean, which was a total contrast I could actually see.

  Peter’s hair was too long, and his nasty beard was raggedy and ugly on his smooth face. Everything just looked so wrong about him I couldn't quite figure it out. I wanted to know why he looked like he did, with the fake tattoos down his neck and the ugly clothes. I wanted to know why he looked terrible but still smelled clean like the Peter I remembered.