Remember Me This Way Page 9

  The last notes fade away, and I open my eyes, realizing that I closed them as I was singing. There’s silence, and then Michael and Chris both begin clapping loudly, elation written all over their faces.

  "You wrote that?" Chris asks. I nod, shyness overcoming me once again, but I also feel an enormous sense of pride. Chris looks like his mind is already full of ideas for the song. "We're going to record you on the piano first and then lay down the rest of the instruments. But I think the piano should be the central base of the song," he tells me excitedly. I nod, thinking that was how I envisioned it as well.

  We get to work right away. I’m glad that I get to see this song built from one instrument up as it feels like my baby. The other tracks that we recorded had basically been completed with just little touches here and there from the guys and I.

  This song, I was a part of every step. Hours and hours pass as we work. It was all worth it. When I hear the song completed, tears gather in my eyes. I know it’s going to be my favorite song on the album. And I can’t wait for the guys to hear it.

  Chris put’s it on the flash drive so I can have the guys listen to it. The feeling in the room is joyful and light. It’s amazing how cathartic it is to create this song, to turn my pain into art.

  This is what I have always dreamed of doing.

  I feel bad as I walk out of the recording studio, suddenly remembering my bodyguards are still out here. "I'm so sorry that took so long," I gush. "Were you able to get something to eat?" I ask, realizing how hungry I am after not taking a break. They nod politely.

  "A girl brought us sandwiches, Miss Kent. No worries," Orlando tells me. He suddenly blushes. "I heard what you did in there. I have to say, that was pure magic," he tells me shyly. It’s a little funny to see this mountain of a man acting so shy, but I really appreciate that he liked what he heard. The rooms were basically soundproof, so he would have heard only a little bit and was probably just being nice, but still, a compliment was a compliment. I’m working harder on accepting those better.

  I’m practically desperate to get back to the mansion to show the guys. But as soon as I walk in through the front door, my excitement disappears. There’s a heavy silence threaded throughout the house. And the deeper I venture in, the more it feels like I’ve found myself now attending a funeral.

  I find the guys in one of the many living rooms. Tanner’s drinking by the window, not an uncommon sight since I’ve been shot, but there’s something about the heavy set of his shoulders that tells me whatever mood he is in is even worse than usual. Jesse is sitting on the couch, his face in his hands. And Jensen, Jensen is almost unrecognizable. He’s standing by the bar cart, facing it, but there’s broken glass and shredded pillows all around him. "What happened?" I ask worriedly, hesitantly taking a step towards him. My bodyguards are right behind me, and their eyes widen as they look around the room.

  "I think you guys better leave," I tell them.

  "Not until we find out that everything's okay," Orlando says seriously, obviously not liking the look of the room. I smile at him gently.

  "I'm sure everything's fine. I just really need to be alone with them right now," I tell him, knowing that there wasn’t a situation where the guys would ever present a danger to me.

  They reluctantly leave, and as soon as they do, I want them to return. Just because maybe that would delay me hearing whatever they’re about to tell me.

  Jensen takes a deep breath and then turns around. I see that he’s holding a stack of papers and my stomach starts clenching.

  "What are these?" Jensen asks in a shaky voice. I take a step towards him until I’m close enough to his hands to see the papers he’s holding. As soon as I see what’s on them, my heart freezes. My breath literally just disappears from my body. I’ve done everything I can to make sure that those documents didn't see the light of day, especially after Gentry somehow got a hold of them.

  I'm not sure what to do in the situation. Do I just tell them the worst part of me? Or do I keep doing what I've been doing since I've come back to them, and just ask them to give me time?

  It feels like an important moment, the kind of moment that defines a relationship, that defines a life. Do I take the leap of faith?

  "Don't lie to us, Ariana," Jesse suddenly barks, his voice so different from the gentle way he usually speaks to me. "Is this why you didn't come meet us in LA?"

  Tears are gathering in his eyes as he looks at me. I'm not sure that he can actually handle the truth of those papers. I can’t even handle what’s in them, and they’re about me.

  "What do you have there?" I ask carefully, deciding I want a couple more seconds to gather myself.

  Jensen gapes at me. "What do I have here? You know what I have here, Ariana. Gentry, or some other fucker who’s also obsessed with you left this in a box by the front door. These appear to be your medical records. And they say…" His voice breaks and he tries to clear it before continuing. "They say that the reason that you didn’t come to us all those years ago was because you were raped,” he says brokenly.

  He says what I’ve never been able to say out loud.

  13

  Then

  “I miss you,” says Jesse through the phone, and I know he means it.

  “What are you guys doing today?” I ask, fiddling with the frayed edges of my shirt.

  “We’ll be in the recording studio all day today, working with the label’s producer. I can’t fucking wait.” I can hear how giddy he is through the phone, and it makes me smile, despite the fact that I’ve been in the worst possible mood since they left.

  Only a few more weeks, I tell myself. But the weeks might as well be years for how slow time is passing.

  “How’s home been?” Jesse asks, his voice losing its happiness.

  “It’s fine,” I lie. Lying over the phone is so incredibly easy.

  The truth is that my Terry’s drug use has amped up...and David has been creepier than ever. But I’m only a few weeks away from leaving. I don’t need to worry the guys and distract them from what they’re trying to do. I’ve handled this my whole life. I can handle it for a little while longer.

  “Have you been staying in the library until it closes?” he asks.

  “Yes. And I’ve been spending the night with Amberlie a lot,” I tell him. But what I don’t tell him is that Amberlie is at Nationals this week with our school’s cheerleading team, and her house isn’t an option this week.

  But Jesse wouldn’t know why that was such a problem.

  I hear a voice in the background. “I’ll be right there,” Jesse yells to someone, and my heart clenches because even just talking to him on the phone makes me not feel so alone.

  “I’ve got to go, pretty girl,” he tells me, and I take a deep breath so I can keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  “I’m so happy for you guys, Jesse,” I respond. And I can practically hear how wide his smile is through the phone.

  “See you soon,” he tells me.

  “Bye.”

  As I walk up to the dilapidated trailer that I call my home, it somehow looks even more menacing than usual, which is a tall task.

  All the windows in the trailer are dark. For a moment, I think about going and sneaking into my room from the back window. But listening, it sounds like everyone's asleep. I cut my knee on a rusty nail the last time I had snuck in the back, and I wasn't eager to repeat that. I was still expecting I was gonna get some kind of disease from the who knows what on the nail.

  Listening for another moment, I finally decide that it’s safe. I pull out my key and insert it, and then open the door as quietly as possible. Every few seconds, I pause, listening in to see if I can hear anything. But the house is quiet. So quiet, I don't think that my mother and David are even here. I step inside and tiptoe down the hallway. Listening at their room through the closed door, I can't hear anything. They really must be out.

  I walk a little farther down the hall until I get to my room. It's pitch blac
k, which is weird because I always leave a nightlight plugged in for when I come home late.

  When you're surrounded by monsters like I am, you don't like the dark.

  I go to turn on my light, and the door closes behind me.

  I know who it is before I even turn around. He was specifically trying to be quiet before. And now that he's not, there's no hiding the sound of his excited breathing.

  "I've been waiting for you, girl," he says to me.

  "Well, I'm home. So you can leave now. I'd like to go to sleep. I have school tomorrow," I tell him.

  "It's funny. Like you think you're too good for us now that you've been hanging out with those rich boys," he says as he slowly walks towards me. I inch my way backwards, looking around the room out of the corner of my eye to see if there's anything I can use to defend myself.

  Because I have a feeling that I'm going to need to defend myself.

  Unfortunately for me, I decided to clean my room this week, and there's nothing out that I can use.

  "I don't think anything. You need to leave right now," I tell him, trying to keep the tremor and fear out of my voice. "Where's Terry?" I ask him, trying to keep my voice from sounding scared.

  "Your mama is out paying off a little debt that she’s incurred," he sneers. "Guess she shouldn't have had so much blow at Lexi's party last night."

  I didn't know what "paying off" meant, since we had no money, but I could guess. And I could guess that David put her up to it. I shiver. I’m alone.

  Trying to hide what I’m doing, I start to sneak my hand into my pocket to grab my phone so that I can dial for help. I’m not even sure who I can call, since everyone that I know is out of town, but surely there’s someone.

  He’s on me before I can get the phone out of my pocket. "I don't think so," he practically purrs, wrenching the phone out of my pocket and throwing it across the room. I stare at the shattered pieces in horror. This isn’t happening. I'm supposed to be done with school in just a few weeks, and I’m supposed to be free, living out my dreams in LA with the guys.

  I open my mouth to scream, but his sweaty, dirty hand covers my mouth before I can get more than a few decibels out. "Are you gonna be a good girl for me?" he asks as he begins to drag me toward my bed. I'm kicking and screaming, but it's like he's gotten superhuman strength overnight. By the look in his eyes, maybe he has. What is he on, bath salts?

  "Please don't do this," I plead with him, trying to appeal to any sort of humanity that he holds within him.

  "Don't act like you don't want this," he says with a sickening smile. "Just because you've gotten a taste of the rich boys doesn't mean that you're out of the trailer park. Them rich boys don't know how to satisfy a girl," he says as he reaches out and rips the top of my threadbare shirt.

  I scramble to pull my top back up, but he doesn't let me. He’s sweating even more right now, his pupils so wide that it looks like his eyes are actually black. He pushes me down on the bed, his hand returning to my mouth as I try to scream again. I'm kicking and thrashing until he pulls out a syringe.

  "This should help you relax,” he says as he stabs my arm with the needle. All I can hope for is that the needle is at least clean. As I drift off from whatever drug was in his syringe kicks in, I feel myself getting lighter. So light that it feels like I'm floating. I'm only faintly aware that the rest of my clothes are being torn off, that he's touching me in places that I've never been touched before.

  I'm only faintly aware that I'm ruined.

  He's gone by the time I come out of my stupor. I'm left with a dry throat and a headache so fierce that it feels like my brain is pounding its way out of my head. It takes all of my strength to push myself off the bed and pull on the scraps that are left of my shirt. I'm aching everywhere, and I can already tell that I've been violated.

  There's blood on the bed around me.

  I don't feel like myself, and in this moment, I think I've actually lost myself forever. I struggle to stand. Everything hurts so much that I know I have to see a doctor. I'm not even worried about reporting him, because the damage is already done. Punishing him doesn't make me whole, so it's not even a thought as I drag myself out of my room, down the hall, and out into the muggy night. I only have just enough strength to make it out the front door, and then I collapse at the foot of the stairs. As I lay there on the rocks and dirt that make up our yard, I wonder if this is what dying feels like.

  I'm never going to see what they become, I whisper to myself softly.

  I'm never going to see what I become.

  Everything fades after that, and when I wake up, the hospital lights are so bright above me that I feel like I might go blind. There's beeping and frantic voices, but it all doesn't feel real.

  "You're going to be okay,” someone says soothingly to me. But they're wrong. How could I ever be okay again?

  "The lights," I croak. Immediately they’re dimmed, and I'm able to see more of what's around me. I'm lying in a hospital bed in a generic blue hospital gown. I can see the remnants of my torn shirt on a tray next to the bed with a pair of scissors next to them. Evidently, they had to cut it off. There's a female doctor standing next to the bed. Her brunette hair is up in a ponytail and she's wearing minimal makeup. I don't know why I’m noticing details like that, but I am.

  "How did I get here?" I asked, my voice barely recognizable.

  She’s looking at me with such pity that it makes me want to scream. “One of your neighbors found you passed out in the front yard of your house,” she says soothingly as she adjusts an IV that I’ve just noticed is hooked up to me.

  “We need to get a sample for the police, if you’re willing,” she continues.

  “A sample?” I ask confused, until I notice the kit that she’s holding in one hand.

  “We can also talk about emergency contraceptive measures.”

  “Emergency contraceptive measures,” I murmur as everything suddenly comes into sharp focus.

  I begin to thrash wildly in the bed as the images crash down on me. "Help me. Help me," I start screaming.

  I'm faintly aware of the doctor barking orders at someone as a pair of hands attempt to hold me down.

  But that only makes everything worse.

  "Ariana, please calm down. You're safe," someone calls out.

  But I'm not safe, because I'm trapped in this never-ending nightmare.

  I feel a sharp prick in my arm, and then it all fades away.

  When I come to again, all the panic is gone, but in its place is numbness. In its place is a death of my spirit that I don't know how I can ever come back from.

  There's a stranger in the room, a kind looking woman with grey streaked black hair. She's sitting in the chair next to my bed, and I've just realized that she's holding one of my hands.

  She doesn't speak. She just holds my hand for what seems like hours. I don't think about anything in particular during that time.

  I just exist. And maybe that's all I'm capable of doing now.

  "Did they swab me?" I finally ask.

  She pats the top of my hand. "They haven't yet. They need your permission before they do that."

  I nod once, the numbness preventing me from feeling the burning desire for justice that I should be feeling.

  "Time is a little bit of the essence right now," she continues. "They need to do the test-" she stops in mid-sentence and clears her throat.

  "They need to do the test while it's still fresh," I finish for her, and she squeezes my hand in response.

  I turn to look at her. "Will you stay in here with me while they do it?" I ask, somehow needing her to keep holding my hand, even though she's just a stranger to me.

  "Of course," she says, and even though I'm pretty sure she must be a counselor for the hospital, and I'm sure she's seen things like this all the time, she still sounds hoarse...like she's going to cry for me.

  She presses the button on the bed, and when a voice responds, she tells them that I'm ready.

 
The next few hours seem hazy, yet I know they will be ingrained in my head for the rest of my life.

  They take the sample and then give me two different kinds of emergency birth control.

  I'm grateful in that moment more than ever that I ended up in a hospital, because I don't know that I would have been in sound enough mind or in any condition to take anything.

  The police are next, and they ask me question after question. I think that having to relive it over and over again is another way that David is able to torture me. At least the first time he violated me, I was high. I'm alert enough now that every detail is like a sharp knife to my soul.

  When they leave, the silence in the room is deafening. I'm 18 now, so there's no foster home that I can go to, and there's no way I can go back to that trailer.

  My body is bruised, my soul is broken, and I'm homeless and hopeless.

  "You'll come to my house," the woman, whose name I've found out is Gene tells me.

  Evidently, I had been speaking all of that out loud. Gene is indeed a counselor at the hospital, but I'm convinced that she's secretly an angel in disguise. She hasn't left my side since I woke up. And I'm not sure that I could have gotten through the last few hours without her.

  "I can't come to your house," I tell her, tears forming in my eyes.

  "Nonsense. You can't take care of yourself, and you certainly can't go back to that place."

  "I don't have any money to pay you," I reply hoarsely. She just squeezes my hand and gives me a small, sad smile.

  "I would never expect that from you, child."

  Gene was a stranger, but she saved my life. I went home with her a few days later.

  David overdosed before he could be taken in, so there was no justice for me. Not that a prison sentence could ever have made me whole inside.