You Own Me (Owned 1)

I promptly threw up. I hadn’t eaten much in a number of hours, so it was mostly stomach bile, a yellow acid that burned my throat as it came up. My body threw in a couple of dry heaves for good measure. Deciding that was over, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling better and slightly more empowered. I rolled on my back and away from the vomit.

I stared at my ceiling. Damn, that water spot was growing. When was Vic going to hire a handyman to fix that? It was unsightly.

If Dean was still here, then I didn’t have much time to ponder ceiling aesthetics. Shake a leg, Moore.

I staggered to my feet and made a beeline for the front door. From here on out, I will have no problem letting other people do my dirty work. I’ll even let them do my taxes if they want.

My hand reached out to grasp the doorknob, when I saw the knob wiggle. My stomach started doing backflips. Someone was trying to come in.

No. No. No. Not Dean. I can’t take this anymore. I took a couple quick steps backward until I tripped over my own feet, landing on my ass. I stared in horror as the door opened, helpless. So, so helpless.

Vic stepped through the doorway, looking furious.

I have never been more relieved to see an angry face in my life. I started to cry right then and there. I’m not a crier. I like to think that there are an allotted number of tears per person, and I had already gone through my allotment during my attempted suicide and after my mother’s. When I saw Vic though, I cried fat, ugly tears.

God, the amount fear I didn’t even realize I was holding all dissipated upon seeing him. Relief and safety washed over me. All my feelings and fear came tumbling out of my eyes.

If Vic was someone who was won over by tears, mine didn’t do the trick.

Vic stomped over to me and grabbed my seriously bruised shoulders, yanking me to my feet. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Ugh. My brain is crushed, my soul is beaten. Too much pain. I can barely see his face through my blurry, tear-stained eyes. I need windshield wipers for my eyeballs. Vic tightened his grip on me and repeated his question, the fury in his dark eyes drilling into my heart.

“I was trying to help,” I said feebly.

Vic let go of me and threw his hands up in the air. “Helping? You’re half-dead. Helping?” He yelled, his tone indignant and more than incredulous. “Do you have any idea what I had to do . . .” He trailed off, nostrils flaring. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone, other than Judd Nelson, flare their nostrils in anger like Vic was. It wasn’t pretty.

I cried harder. Maybe it was just because I was a weak person—I don’t know. I did know that for the past couple of months, I’d been hunted like a turkey at Thanksgiving. I’d been tormented. I’d been sexualized. And I’d been found. But, I simply couldn’t handle a tongue-lashing from Vic right now. I know what I did was stupid, but I had needed to take control. I failed, obviously. I didn’t need Vic telling me that. The blackout and possible rape was all the reminder I needed.

I wiped my snot and tears off my face, and stared at the floor.

“Everything’s okay now,” Vic said.

I wanted to laugh at that. Everything was certainly not okay now.

“I . . .” God I didn’t want to tell him this. How stupid was my insecurity? I wish I could be strong like a woman who becomes an anti-rape activist after she survived rape. Instead, I felt small and mousy. “I need to go the hospital,” I muttered.

Vic frowned. “I have a doctor, you know that.”

Could he make this more difficult? “I need to get a procedure done, and it’s kind of time sensitive.” Connect the dots, please, just connect the dots. I was looking away but I could feel his stare like black sun on my skin.

“You weren’t raped, Lenn

ox,” Vic said gravely.

I bit my lip to keep from scoffing. How the fuck does he know that? I blacked out, no wait, I had been strangled into unconsciousness by a man whose prime intent had been to rape me. I’m bruised everywhere. I’m pretty sure I was raped. If I wasn’t, I'd throw a goddamn party. Still, better safe than sorry.

Vic gently pulled my chin so I faced him, the way he does when he wants my attention. “Lenny,” Vic said softly, “didn’t I say you were safe with me?”

I glared at him. That’s a wonderful platitude to believe in when everything is hunky-dory, but it doesn’t mean squat when the shit hits the fan—like now.

Vic let go of my chin and I was about to point out the falsity of his statement when he spoke:

“Lenny, where do you think Dean is?”

My eyes traveled to his, like a monk seeking enlightenment. What a good fucking question. How long had I been out? I scrunched my forehead so hard that it gave me a headache. I thought back to my dreams. Had they been dreams? The air in my apartment felt cooler, not because of air conditioning or because I left the window open, but because something had happened here. I looked around the small apartment, searching for any hint of what had been real and what had been a dream.

I was looking for ghosts. I was looking for memories. I was looking for something.