Creative people work with emotion. Our work is tied to our emotions and sometimes it’s a good thing because the best might come out of you. But it doesn’t work that way if you’re broken and the only thing you feel is lost. That’s a different type of emotion that syphons the life from your soul.
“I had to,” I decide to say.
“Why? Your sister still did it, why didn’t you?”
As his gaze rivets to mine, I think of that last time I stood on stage. I was fifteen years old and in the local theatre production of Gone with the Wind. I was Scarlett O’Hara. It was the first adult role I’d played and I’d gotten that part because of my raw talent. When it came to anything with Vivien Leigh, no one could beat me.
On closing night, Mom brought Ted along to see me and I wish she hadn’t. That was the first time she’d brought him over into my world I kept sacred. He tainted it just with his presence.
That night when we got home, was the worst. He made me wear my costume and his assault on my body included telling me how hard my performance in the play made him and he couldn’t wait to get home so he could fuck me.
That was the last time I acted in anything and my last show. I’ve never been able to fully talk about what happened to me. The closest I came to it was telling my father and he made me feel like a whore.
“I just couldn’t do it anymore,” I tell him and draw in a breath. “I think I’ve answered more than three questions.”
“You have and you got two more questions to ask me.”
I think about those questions carefully and decide on one easy one and one he might not answer
“How old are you?”
He raises a brow. “Thirty-one.”
“You don’t look like you’re in your thirties.”
“No?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Last question, Babydoll.”
I pull in a breath. “Has something happened with Robert?”
“That’s not a personal question, Sweetheart. You sure you want to ask me that?”
“Yes. It’s personal because it looks like you came out here to drink by yourself. That’s never usually a good thing.”
He dips his head for a moment and looks out to the scenic view of the city lights. When he looks back at me he relaxes his shoulders and gives me a look of uncertainty.
“Something has happened. Not a good something, but I’ll deal with it.”
Instantly I wonder if Robert knows I’m alive and my nerves spike. “Does Robert know I’m alive?”
“No, I don’t think he does.” He studies the worry that’s probably evident on my face. “Don’t worry, you’ll know when he knows the truth.”
“Is that because you’ll tell me? Or, because you’ll use me as bait to reel him in?” I hold his gaze and try not to reveal how worried I am that he’ll do the latter.
The contemplative look in his eyes makes my heart speed up.
Would he really use me as bait?
I don’t know him enough and my instincts tell me I mustn’t try to know him. In my heart I’m just hoping he’ll be different and won’t just use me, because my strength is fading. That inner strength I had is leaving me and God knows what I’m going to be like when I bury my sister. It’s then the hard truth will really sink in.
“I’m not going to let him get to you, Summer,” Eric answers and the knots of tension twisting in my stomach loosen.
The conviction in his tone surprises me. He sounds like that’s a promise, or a vow. It’s different to when I first got here. Back then I would have bet my last cent he’d serve me up to Robert the first chance he got just to get a chance to kill him.
“Aren’t you?”