| Subject: Chapter 273 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 273) |
Author:
KatherineG.
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: Monday, March 05, 07:06:09am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark continued (273>)" on Monday, March 05, 07:03:06am
Such distraction wasn't safe in a woman as endangered as the actress--but she didn't have time to worry about the fact just yet; her bodyguard's eyes were deep, truthful, as he furthered her grandmother's thoughts. "I do love Annie." There was a lingering sort of sigh, his reluctance to discuss this evident. "That's why there's never going to be anything more between us than there is now."
Such contradictory statements made Nikita blink, wondering at what sort of knowledge could lie behind them. Adrian took the opportunity of her silence to point toward a chair for the man, inviting him to tell his truth. He seemed to accept, possibly realizing that there was little way out; he put both arms on the table before him, sighing, gathering himself. And she could see that this wasn't an easy moment for him at all.
He showed this truth even further by his initial silence, clearly fighting for words; they were slow, when they came. "I don't feel right about telling you this." His sigh deepened, his self-reminder almost inaudible. "But Annie did give me permission." He looked back up to Nikita, gaze deep, tortured--and she realized that, whatever was to come, it wouldn't be pleasant at all.
His eyes alone made this clear, the look suddenly fairly truculent, angry over his position here--over what he was being forced to confess on the woman's behalf. Still, he seemed to have found his starting point. "How much do you know about Annie's father?"
Nikita shook her head, bemused. "Very little." All she could guess was that he was every bit as disgusting as her own.
This wasn't the half of it, though, Fredericks knew--a sickened smile appearing for only an instant, as he gazed down at the table; it disappeared as quickly, as it had come. "He's worse than you can imagine, then. He's a brute." It took him a moment to even try to explain--to think where to start. "He has no conscience, no soul. He kills because he likes it--enjoys the blood and the power." He let out a shudder, not even wanting to imagine such motivations. "He used Annie to . . ."
There, he broke off--and Nikita found herself with her hand to her throat, trying to force herself not to be ill, seeing all those fates she had come so damn close to in his eyes. The weight of them seemed to take its toll on the teller, as well, his shoulders hunching, as his head bowed further toward the table. "He used her for anything he felt like: sex, making connections and bargains, all his scut work." His head shook, his disgust evident. "I don't think she even remembers the first time she was raped. It was too long ago--and there've been way too many since." His forehead rested on the heels of his hands for a moment, clearly drawing together the strength to go on. "Having a man within a thousand feet of her makes her nervous." His head shook, voice dropping. "Sharing a bed with me is nearly killing her."
Jesus! His employer's eyes were tearful and horrified, her need to find some way out for them immense. Maybe she could do nothing about the woman's past, but she could at least . . .
He looked up, saw her intentions, shook his head quickly. "No. You can't move us. There's nowhere else for us to be; she knows that." He sighed again, as his gaze moved away. "Besides, we aren't usually there at the same time." His mouth firmed for a second, before he confessed the rest. "She's usually looking after you, when I'm sleeping." His gaze seemed a million miles away, held a world of sadness. "That way we never . . ."
Nikita had to close her eyes, fighting back the tears--feeling guilty, and empathetically bruised. After all, the woman's life was so damn close to what she could have suffered through herself--to what she had come so close to a million times. It made her see that she had been lucky, had only had to *fear* the violation of the men in her mother's house; another few tears escaped. But poor Annie . . .
It took a great deal of will to swallow back the sorrow of all these truths, to keep down the violent urge to run home and protect the woman at gunpoint; her eyes closed. But there was no way to do that now. Vicious memories didn't respond to any such threats.
It took her a second to pull herself back together, wiping away the lingering tears with the heel of her hand; it was even longer, before she regained enough of her voice to answer. "I'm sorry that I . . ."
She wasn't allowed to finish, Carl looking up to her, eyes horrified at her obvious guilt. "No--it wasn't you." The look bore in, absolutely intent. "*We* made the decision to come. We wanted to do it."
Such a declaration made no sense to her, however, her gaze quite lost. "Why?" Why in God's name did every person she meet either want to protect or destroy her immediately?
He couldn't answer this question for her, barely saw the extent of the thought--his focus elsewhere. "Because . . ." His gaze traveled over to Adrian, but he was clearly waiting for a sign to go on.
It was the first time in many minutes that the woman had been included in the conversation, sighing at all her granddaughter had learned. Still, she supposed it had been inevitable. She filled in all she intended to. "Once Kessler was in prison, I found a place for Annie to grow up." She didn't say where or with whom. Once again, the details were hers alone.
Carl knew them, of course, but he said nothing further--following her lead. As Nikita's bodyguard, he felt there was much she was safer not knowing, as well. "And she appreciates it," he assured the woman, instead. Adrian just nodded--both of them understanding. While she had every intention of taking full advantage of their gratitude, that hadn't been the reason for her original actions.
The couple knew, had clearly never questioned her motives. Nikita looked between them, wondering at all she was being kept out of; she let out a sigh, allowing them their silence. There was no point in asking for more than either of them were likely to give.
It was another subject she addressed, then, drawing Fredericks' attention back to her. While she could see Annie's reasons for going through all this, his were a bit murkier. She supposed it was more of the same--her grandmother's secrets many--but still . . . "I'm sorry. This is hard for you, too."
Lord--was that ever an understatement. Still, he managed a smile, trying to get through; there was very little other way, his choices made. There was no reason to let himself wallow in meaningless regrets.
He decided on honesty, as well, seeing no point in keeping his employer out of everything. "I've loved Annie, since I was a child. I want a real life with her more than I can say." His sigh deepened, soul in torment. "In some ways, this marriage is *exactly* what I've dreamed of for years." His gaze dropped, head shaking. "But still . . ."
He didn't have to finish, the rest too obvious--so clear in his eyes. His love and desire for the woman were futile; she was incapable of ever being close to any man--her past much too painful, marking her too deeply. Nikita could sympathize. Just that one encounter with Fanning--the nearness of the violation and violence he had intended--had left her feeling bruised and almost broken, her encounter with her father later that night making the brutal memory no better at all. Still, she had been lucky, had been an adult and had already been in love with Michael, had trusted him completely. His tenderness and compassion had helped to ease, and then mostly to eliminate, the pain of what the producer had tried to do to her. That was a gift she could never thank him for enough.
Despite the terrible conversation, all she had learned in it, she was smiling now, remembering so sweetly. That very first night with the man she loved had taught her what everything sensual was supposed to be, had showed his true love and concern for her a thousand times over. Her eyes closed, feeling the ache of remembrance, cherishing the child within her which was only the visible sign of his never-ending love; her thoughts turned suddenly, the torment growing stronger. Damn, she had gotten lucky. If she had been Annie . . .
She couldn't even bear the idea, her gaze returning to poor Carl, feeling desperately sorry for both him and his wife. She didn't know Annie's feelings for him entirely, but she could guess. As much as the woman could bring herself to feel anything for a man, she did seem to care for him; the look swam in sympathy. But to know that they were thoroughly unlikely to ever be able to express it at all . . .
The possibility brought her both an intense sadness and rage--the horror of it immense, undeniable. The men who had done this--the men who committed such acts on anyone--were unforgivable, their souls incomprehensible to her. That some sort of sadism and evil which inhabited them could cause them to intentionally--and happily--rip away from a woman all sense of self and pleasure appalled her. And how did any woman get past it? It was the most intimate violation imaginable; she felt sick to her soul at the thought. How any person could *want* to damage another in such a way was much too demonic for her to ever understand.
It was in that moment, as well, that she fully realized how unbelievably lucky she had been. For all the pain and threats and fears, for all that so many men would have willingly done to her, she had somehow been saved. The only man who had ever known her in such a way was the one she had always loved--was one to whom gleeful consent was everything; her eyes closed, her soul sending up a prayer of thanks. That any woman on earth should ever be with anyone she didn't desire to the very depths of her soul seemed the greatest sin the world had ever conceived. There was no part of her which could ever comprehend how any man could desire such a thing for a second.
Even in all of its torment, though, such degradations weren't always unconquerable. There were millions of women who had been through such horror and survived; part of her knew this. Either with the help of a partner who cherished them, the aid of good friends, or through their own sheer, bloody-minded determination not to let such pain define or destroy them, they had gone on to live happy and well-fulfilled lives--the horror of what they had been forced to endure only a constant sort of bruise at the back of their souls; her head shook unhappily. But for women such as Annie, whose pain had started so very early, who had yet to take any steps fully beyond it, it was crushing; she let out a sigh. How any of them made that first move to discard it she had no idea at all.
This was her belief, at least--ignoring her own truths. She herself knew the path back, had managed her way along it for years; perhaps she had never had to endure the final degradation, but the constant threats of it had done a damage all their own. She had stumbled many times, true, but she had made it. With her husband's love, and her own, innate sense of hope, she had managed to come out victorious at last.
She let out a sigh, as these thoughts passed through her, realizing again all her mother--and so many others--had been through, seeing as well just what this man before her wished to spare her of. It was exactly this sort of degradation her father wished for her, was the one he was determined to drive her toward--yet again; she felt something in her firm, resolution deepening, until it was absolutely rooted to her soul. Well, she wouldn't allow him to--wouldn't allow such horror to happen to herself or anyone else she knew. No matter what they had to do, they would survive. They were going to protect all of them from even entertaining the threat of any such violation again.
[End of Part 273]
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 