Clarity Page 12

  “Did something happen, Helen?” He pauses, and his voice sounds almost hurt. “You’re acting different. I thought we were going to have fun with this fake-date thing. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I tell him quietly, “but it looks like my sister isn’t getting married after all.”

  “What? But she said…”

  “I don’t care what she said,” I hiss into the phone. “I’m going to stop this fucking wedding.”

  And with that proclamation, I hang up the phone. I stand victorious in my resolve for a moment, breathing heavily in fury. Then it occurs to me that I have no clue in hell how I’m going to stop this wedding without trampling on my sister’s heart, and destroying the hopes of my fragile father. Feeling suddenly drained of my strength, I move over to collapse facedown onto my bed. My face sinks into the fluffy duvet atop the lovely farmhouse bed that I haven’t slept on in three years. It is much larger and softer than the tiny, hard cot I slept on back in my cabin, but in this moment, I cannot appreciate the luxury. I would gladly lie down on anything; even a bed of dirt in the slums of India, if it meant I would be far away from this house and him.

  “Why,” I mutter again into the pillow as my makeup surely gets smudged all over the fabric. I can’t seem to form any other utterance. “Why.”

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying flat on my face before I can no longer stand the inertia. I have been running dozens of possible scenarios through my mind, and trying to choose the best course of action. I have been hovering in a strange meditative state somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, and it has been calm and serene. I can hear people rushing about the corridor outside my room, but I have been able to block it out and listen only to my inner voice. I have been able to reach inside myself and grasp a few morsels of wisdom and patience, to help me combat my overpowering anger and fear.

  I need to tread carefully.

  With a few words, I have the power to drop an avalanche on my sister’s head. It’s the right thing to do, but I shouldn’t be hasty and careless. I need to be graceful and delicate in my delivery, or I could hurt her just as much as Grayson. The fact is that Carmen doesn’t trust me. She sees me as an outsider, or even an enemy, and anything I can say or do to protect her will seem malicious and spiteful. I hear a female voice in the corridor, and I recognize it as an older family member.

  Rising to my feet, I head to my bedroom door and unlock it before bravely swinging it wide open.

  “There you are, child!” says the old woman’s voice. “Oh, look at you, Helen. You’re absolutely darling in that gown! You look just like your mother. I’ve been sent to collect you. It’s time for the family wedding photos!”

  “Aunt Edna,” I say firmly. “My sister is making a huge mistake. She can’t marry Grayson.”

  “What do you mean, dear?” The older woman chuckles softly. “Why, I’ve never met a finer boy than that Grayson. Your sister sure got lucky and picked a good one!”

  “No. She didn’t.” I grip the door frame tightly, and almost expect the wood to shatter under my fingers. “Aunt Edna. You have to talk to my dad and get him to convince Carmen to stop the wedding. I have evidence that Grayson is… only after our family’s money.”

  “Good gracious, child!” Aunt Edna scoffs. “I hardly think that’s true. From what your father tells me, that boy single-handedly saved the family fortune! Grayson helped your dad make hundreds of thousands of dollars from investments in only a few short years. He’s the only reason you could keep the house!”

  “But Aunt Edna,” I say sharply. “I have reason to believe…”

  “Rubbish! Stop this nonsense immediately. Grayson is a lovely young man, and your sister is going to be just fine.” Aunt Edna reaches out to slip her hand under my arm and guide me into the hallway. “Besides,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “they have a pre-nup. My husband saw to that, and it’s iron-clad. If something goes wrong and your sister needs to divorce him, he doesn’t get anything! So, you can stop worrying, dear.”

  I groan and stiffly follow the woman as she guides me through the hallway.

  “Really, I understand your concerns,” Aunt Edna chatters on. “Why, when my daughter got married, I was in such a fright…”

  “Excuse me, Aunt Edna,” I say, pulling my arm away and trying to escape as gently as possible. “I forgot something important that I need to do.” I slip away from her and move toward the staircase. The scent of the flowers decorating the main foyer fills my nostrils again, but it does not enchant me the way it did before. I don’t have even a millisecond to pause and appreciate them. There are dozens of voices in the house, and I realize that many of the guests have begun to arrive.

  I should not have waited so long. By being depressed and indecisive, I have probably made cancelling the wedding far more painful to Carmen. People start to greet me as I descend the staircase, and dive into the confusing sea of voices. My head begins to spin a bit, as I try to move through the crowd without colliding with anyone.

  “Helen, dear! Oh, you’ve grown so big, sweetie!” says a deep woman’s voice.

  “Thank you,” I mumble with a nod as I slip past her.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Helen Keller,” says a cheerful man’s voice—I think it’s one of our uncles. “I heard you’ve written some books! Boy, you never cease to amaze me. Being blind never slowed you down, kiddo!”

  “Thanks,” I say again as I move past him. I am startled when I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I jump and rip my body away from the physical contact.

  “Cousin Helen? Holy shit! The last time I saw you, we were both four feet tall. You turned out a lot prettier than I expected.”

  “Thanks,” I say again as try to move away, but the male voice follows me.

  “Can you believe Carmen’s getting married? She’s such an airhead. I always figured she’d just spend her life moving from random dude to random dude. But I was sure that you’d settle down and get married. You’ve always been the serious one!”

  “Excuse me,” I say, trying to pull away from him.

  “Hey, you don’t recognize my voice?” he asks, sounding hurt. He grabs my elbow gently. “It’s Cousin Charlie! Remember, we shared our first kiss in the attic when we were ten?”

  “Sure. Great to see you,” I say as I remove his hand from my arm. I deftly maneuver around him so that I can escape. I cringe a little in memory of the kid that Carmen and I had dubbed Creepy Cousin Charlie—yet there is a bit of wistfulness in my expression. I long for the days when our biggest problem was an awkward young boy who wanted to play spin the bottle a little too often. Now that we are larger, it seems that the dangers have grown along with us, escalating from tiny annoyances into real threats.

  I push these thoughts aside as I continue to navigate through the crowd, heading for my father’s library. Like me, he has never enjoyed crowds very much, and chances are that he will be locked away in the quiet privacy of his study until it is absolutely necessary to socialize. A few more people try to accost me for conversation as I move through the foyer, but I excuse myself. I accidentally bump into a fat woman’s squishy body, and quickly apologize and step away. I wince in embarrassment and aversion. Every time I come into contact with another person, my insides quake in momentary terror. But it’s unavoidable.

  Trying to move gracefully through a crowded room when you’re blind is kind of like dancing in a swarm of bees and expecting not to get stung.

  After great effort, I finally arrive at the doors to my father’s library. I am pleased to see that they are closed, and I quickly slide them open and slip inside. Tugging the doors closed behind me, I release a sigh of relief as the noise from all the wedding guests is instantly—but not completely—muffled. I feel as though I have placed all the bees into a jar and fastened the lid tightly closed; for a moment, they are no longer an issue. I hear breathing in the room with me, and I am glad to know my father is in his library, as always. Now I can finally di
scuss the situation and stop this wedding.

  “Dad?” I say with determination. “I need to talk to you about Grayson.”

  There is a silence. “No,” he responds quietly. “You don’t need to say anything to anyone.”

  My heart feels like it has been jabbed with a taser. For a moment, my insides are paralyzed. It is his voice—I am in the room alone with him. I am too frozen to escape before I feel two hands circling around my waist.

  “Helen,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  I am torn between wanting to run, scream, lash out and hurt him, or say something profound and wise that will fix everything. However, my mind can’t work quickly enough to decide what to do, or what I could possibly say, and I end up immobilized in anxiety.

  I can feel his face descending close to mine. The bristles of his chin scratch against my cheek as he puts his lips close to my ear. His breath tickles the tiny wisps of wayward curls framing my face.

  “You shouldn’t have come back here,” he tells me. “I’m never going to be able to let you go. Those mesmerizing amber eyes of yours—it’s such a pity they’re useless.”

  Finally, I am so appalled that I am able to break through my barrier of fear and push him away. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, and my voice is filled with snakelike venom. “I don’t know how you weaseled your way into my home and into my family, but you are not going to marry my sister.”

  He laughs softly. “You’re delightful when you’re pissed. Unfortunately, I am going to marry Carmen. We’ve been together for years—and in case you haven’t noticed, your entire extended family is already here, eagerly anticipating the wedding.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” I tell him. “They don’t know who you are and what you did to me. I’m giving you one chance, Grayson. Call the wedding off and tell them you changed your mind. Or I’m going to expose you and send you to jail.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name,” he says in wonder. “It sounds so refined coming from your lips. Say it again.”

  I close my eyes briefly. This man is beyond infuriating. I need to find a way to overpower him with my words. “Three years ago, you raped me. All I need to do is tell someone that it was you…”

  “How do you know it was me?” he asks. “You have no idea what I look like.”

  My face twists into a scowl. “No one is going to doubt my judgment.”

  “Maybe I’m not who you think I am. Did you ever think that maybe you have me confused with someone else?” He moves close to me again, and reaches for me. I back away, but he grabs me and pins me to the door beside the wall. “You can’t positively identify me. You have no evidence.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I tell him quietly as I peel his hands off my body. “After you beat me unconscious and I woke up, I immediately filed a police report. They checked me out and created a rape kit.” This time, I’m the one stepping forward and lifting my chin to put my face close to his. I need to be as intimidating as possible. I need to show that I won’t back down. “If I ask them to reopen my case and test my rape kit, whose DNA do you think they’ll find? If you don’t call off the wedding now, then we’ll find out. I wager you won’t be too happy with the results.”

  There is a moment of stillness as he considers this. I hold my breath, thinking that I might be victorious. Did my threat work? Can he tell I’m bluffing? Of course, there is no rape kit. I was so depressed that I was unable to file a police report or do much of anything after the event. I only had the presence of mind to call our family doctor, Leslie Howard, and have her bring me emergency contraception. I listen to the silence, trying to figure out what Grayson is thinking. Does he believe me? This is my trump card; if this doesn’t work, I have no other ideas.

  I hear a little metallic click, and I feel a cold nozzle pressed against my forehead, between my eyes.

  “Do you know what this is, Helen?” he asks me softly.

  My heart starts racing. Is he going to kill me? Right here in my father’s library? I am so terrified that I can’t reassure myself with the reminder that there are dozens of people just outside the door who might hear the shot. I know what this man is capable of—but I don’t know how smart he is.

  “This is a gun. Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’m not going to put a bullet in your head.” He slowly drags the nozzle of the gun down along my nose, and roughly over my lips. He rakes the gun down over my neck and collarbone, until he slides it into place over my heart. The gun lingers there for a moment, between my breasts. “I’m not going to put a bullet in your chest, either. But let me tell you this…”

  He lowers his voice to a deathly whisper as he lifts a hand to cup my cheek. “If you tell anyone anything about what happened three years ago—or if you do anything to jeopardize my marriage to your sister—I will kill Carmen. I will put a bullet in your sister’s head. I will put a bullet in your sister’s chest. And then I’ll shoot myself. I love your sister more than I’ve ever loved another human being. If you take that away from me—if you take that away from us—you might as well be killing us both.”

  All the energy drains from my body. I am defeated.

  “Do you understand me?” he demands, shoving the gun forward painfully so that it digs into my chest and pushes me slightly off balance. “If you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll kill Carmen. Why are you just standing there? Can you hear me? Nod if you understand.”

  Very slowly, and with great effort, I force myself to nod.

  “Great. But don’t worry,” he says gently, removing the gun from my chest and returning it to his blazer. “There’s no need to be jealous. I still have plenty of love to give to you.”

  “Go to hell,” I whisper.

  He laughs and grasps the back of my head, leaning down to force a kiss against my lips.

  I am stupefied and speechless by his gall. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to do more than this, because I no longer have the strength to fight. I feel like the blood has left my veins and been replaced by empty air. I won’t risk my sister’s life, and he must know that. He has won. When he moves away, I hear him wiping his mouth with his sleeve to remove any telltale traces of lipstick. For a brief moment, a spark of fury fills me with fire. I consider tackling him and trying to steal the gun away from him—maybe I could shoot him in the chest. But the thought disappears as soon as it comes. Even if my limbs didn’t feel lifeless and weak, I am not sure I could be capable of such cruelty. I am not even sure if he deserves such treatment. After all—he did not take my life. It would be unfair to take his.

  “It’s been a pleasure catching up with you,” Grayson says as he walks to the library doors. “But I’ve got to get back to my wedding. Haven’t you heard? It’s the most important day of my life.” He pushes open the sliding doors and moves back into the foyer. There are joyous sounds of welcoming as the other guests greet him with good cheer and claps on the back.

  I am left standing alone and staring into my familiar nothingness.

  >> Click here to read the rest of the book! <<<br />
  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for joining me for the beginning of Helen’s story. This book and the upcoming novels are heavily based on true events from my life, and the lives of several of my close friends. It is very important to me to try to accurately depict Helen’s heartache and her struggle to trust someone again and find love after what happened to her.

  I have recently been dissatisfied with the depictions of sexual abuse and violence in some popular fiction. I felt it was often used solely as a vehicle for entertainment, and did not truly examine the way that being a victim of such crimes can affect a person’s entire life and psyche. I was appalled when someone recently said to me that “only soldiers experience Posttraumatic Stress Disorder,” and I discovered that many people think this way. I wanted to try to dispel this common misconception. Almost fifty percent of rapes result in PTSD, and these symptoms can have serious consequences for the suffer
er’s long-term mental health.

  Rape itself is far too common, and it is a problem we face here at home, and in our families; not on some distant battlefield. It also does occur at increased rates for college students like Helen. I find it very upsetting that campuses, which should be sacred places of learning and safe environments, can end up being so dangerous to female students.

  Regarding the cliffhanger ending of this story, I must apologize for leaving you without a firm resolution. This book was originally intended to be one single standalone novel, but the more I wrote, the more I fell in love with the characters, and the more it developed into a series. I had planned for Owen to be funny, but he surprised me by being laugh-out-loud hilarious. There was never a boring moment with that character, and I enjoyed writing about him so much that I could do it forever!

  After sending the story to my beta-readers for feedback, we all came to the conclusion that this was the best possible place to end the story. It left us with strong lingering thoughts and feelings, that took some time to get past. Rushing into the subsequent events while still recovering from the bombshell Helen just received felt emotionally exhausting. As I wrote the next chapters, I began to realize that the atmosphere had changed greatly and that I was writing an entirely new book that needed to be separated from this one.

  I hope that you will join us for the next installment of Clarity, to be released soon! If you enjoyed this novel, it would be a great help if you would take the time to leave a review on Amazon and share your thoughts. You can also join my mailing list to be informed when a new book is available.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Best wishes,

  Loretta Lost

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