Blackmailed by the Beast

Chelsea is by the window and her grandfather is standing in front of her. She is crying and at first glance, it could seem like he is consoling her and wiping away the tears flowing down her face, but the look in her eyes tells me that is not what’s happening. I don’t even wait a second. I piece together everything as I move forward towards her.

The abuse didn’t stop when she was six.

This bastard was hurting her.

Thorne

Then I am on her grandfather. Grabbing him by the shoulders I yank him away from her, pulling him clean off the ground. I’m not thinking. I am simply acting on pure rage. I throw him onto the bed and stand over him. It takes all of my strength not to strike him. My breathing is heavy with hatred. I want to hurt him so bad my hands clench and my fist rises up into the air of its own accord. I glare down at him with my fist raised, ready to strike if he even thinks of trying to provoke me.

Like any bully who comes up against someone stronger or bigger, he cowers on the bed with his forearms pulled up to protect his ugly face.

Part of me is urging the pervert to do something that will allow me to beat the shit out of him. Actually, I want to kill him with my bare hands. Of all the things in the world I hate people who hurt innocent, helpless children. I stand over him breathing hard, trying to control myself, until the corner of my eye catches movement in the doorway. I turn away.

Chelsea’s mother is standing there watching us. There is a strange expression on her face. When Chelsea staggers towards her, she backs away into the landing. I debate whether I should at least let rip one blow on her grandfather, or follow Chelsea.

I decide on the latter.

My rage is such, if I start on her grandfather, they will be burying two people today and locking up one. I give the coward one last dirty look and I follow Chelsea out of the room. I reach out and take her hand to try and calm her. It makes her stop moving. I wrap my arms protectively around her. I feel her shaking against me, but she doesn’t flinch.

This could be the moment where she lets her mother know what really happened to her as a child, and I want to make sure she feels safe in saying what she wants to say. Her mother needs to hear the truth. Face to face with her mother, Chelsea comes to a dead stop.

“You knew!” Chelsea spits suddenly. Her eyes are wide with anger and pain, and brimming with tears.

What? I’m shocked to the point of freezing in place, my muscles becoming rigid. This is certainly not what I expected to hear. And yet. It makes complete sense.

Her mother stares at Chelsea with a blank expression. Then she turns away and goes towards a closed door. I’m not sure where it leads, but Chelsea pulls away from me and runs after her. I follow close behind. Her mother has gone into what must be the master bedroom.

I hang near the door. If Chelsea needs me, I want to be here with her to do whatever it is that she needs me to do.

“How could you! You knew the truth the whole time. You killed James. You made everybody believe he was a pedophile when you knew he wasn’t. I told you he wasn’t hurting me, but you knew that, didn’t you? You allowed yourself to go to prison and let me end up here. You never told anybody about Granddad. Oh, my God, it’s so obvious now why you never told anybody about Granddad. You knew he would hurt me just like he must have hurt you. You let me stay here. You made me stay here. Every time Grandma brought me to visit you, you said the same thing. “Be a good girl for your grandparents. Stay with them until I come and get you. You wanted me to stay here. You wanted me to suffer,” Chelsea howls.

Even though she is sobbing uncontrollably, I can make out everything she is trying to say. I do feel like I am eavesdropping, but I promised her before the funeral I will be here for her no matter what. I won’t let her out of my sight; certainly not in this terrible house.

She is loud and hysterical, and downstairs the music and singing have stopped. There are people at the bottom of the stairs. I put a hand out to indicate that they should stay put. This time belongs to Chelsea. She has to get it out of her system.

“Is that really what you want to hear?” her mother retorts bitterly. “Yes! Yes, I knew he was not abusing, but … I needed to teach you a lesson. Because of you and your stubborn ways the only man who ever loved and gave a shit about me was murdered in the woods. Then I find James and you were trying to take him away from me as well. All those sly little girlish smiles. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? He wasn’t your dad, he didn’t need to sit with you, or buy you all those gifts. He was my man and you were taking him away from me.”

“You killed him because you were jealous of him and me?” Chelsea asks incredulously.

My heart breaks for Chelsea. She looks utterly devastated.

“Yes,” her mother cries defiantly. “James was mine. You were a whiny little brat who thought all you had to do was flutter your eyelashes and you could take James away from me. I gave so much to that man. I loved him, I loved him and he repaid me by lusting after you.”

Her mother is weeping now, but it still seems like a fake-ass performance to me. When she lifts her head, as I suspected, I don’t see any tears, but her face is contorted into a grimace of hate.

“How could you even think such a thing? He was not lusting after me. He felt sorry for me,” Chelsea says.

Her mother’s face twists with fury. “Sorry for you? Why would he have felt sorry for you? You had it easy. Everyone loved you. You had everything.” Her mother’s eyes narrow and a sly look comes into them. At that moment, I realize that she is clinically insane. “Unless you told him something. Did you say something bad about me?”

Chelsea takes a step back, her face horrified. “No. Of course not. I never said anything bad about you. I loved you, Mama. You were all I had.”

“I wish I never had you. You brought me nothing but pain. I ended up in prison because of you.”

“You ended up in prison because you killed a man, but actually, you got off too lightly. You should have done the full sentence for cold blooded murder. You’re a monster, Mama. You’re so selfish that you would kill an innocent man who loved you just to punish your daughter, and pass her on to a man who takes pleasure in raping his own flesh and blood!” Chelsea screams back.

“You think you’re the only one who knows the kind of man your grandfather is? You think you’re the only one he’s hurt? You had to feel what I felt. You needed to be with my father to truly pay for taking James away from me.”

Real tears well up in Chelsea’s mother’s eyes when she remembers her own abuse. She chokes up and tries to stop herself from bawling, but the pain is too much for her.

“You’re sick,” Chelsea says with a disgusted look on her face. She raises her hands in the air like she’s avoiding touching anything that is in this room. Then she turns to run. Forgetting I am there, she runs right into me. I catch her and hold her close. She is shaking like a leaf.

Her mother is muttering to herself, but I can’t understand anything she is saying.

“My baby,” her mother screeches through the sobs. Holding her arms out like a zombie she starts moving towards Chelsea.

I hold up one hand in her direction, and I glare at her mother with so much fury she stops dead in her tracks. There is no way I’ll let that fucking bitch anywhere near my Chelsea again. Never. I swear it.

I lead Chelsea out of the house. No one tries to stop us. No doubt they have all heard what happened upstairs.

When we make it to the car, I sign to my security detail to follow behind. Then I help Chelsea in and get into the driver’s seat. I don’t say a word. I am willing to give up any kind of control. None of this is about me. Everything is about Chelsea, and keeping her safe. I am more determined now than ever to protect her.

Chelsea slumps over and onto me, but she isn’t crying. I hold her tightly until she pulls away. When she does, I put the key in the ignition and drive us back home.

Thorne

When we arrive, I go around to the passenger side and lift Chelsea into my arms. She is limp and listless in my arms. I carry her upstairs to her room.

“I feel so unclean,” she says. She sounds as if she’s on the brink of tears again even though her face is that calm mask. To think I once judged her as cold and manipulative.

“You’re not unclean. You’re the cleanest person I know,” I tell her, feeling helpless in the face of her pain. Anger is still bubbling in my gut. Never in my life have I wanted to hurt an old man, but God, I want to kill her grandfather.

She nods, but I don’t think she hears me. “I think I want to take a bath and wash all of today off me,” she whispers.

I set her on her feet and lead her towards the bathroom. I sit her on the edge of the bath tub. Meekly she perches at the edge and looks up at me.

“I’ll run a bath for you,” I offer.

She nods.

I remember watching her the other night while she was asleep, thinking how peaceful and vulnerable she looked. I thought her vulnerability was beautiful, almost magical, but there is nothing beautiful or magical about the way she looks now. Her face is tear-streaked and pale, and her wounded eyes look like bruised flowers.

She sighs. Releasing all that emotion must have taken everything out of her.

I run the tap and throw a couple of bath bombs into the water. It fizzles and pops and turns the water orange. The air becomes warm and scented. I turn towards her. “The bath is ready for you. Want me to leave you alone?”

She shakes her head. “No. Stay with me … please.”

What the fuck was I doing giving her a choice? I don’t know what I would have done if she had asked me to go. I don’t trust her be to on her own. Gently, I help her to remove her clothes. To my shock the sight of her naked body doesn’t get me hard. All I see is a suffering girl in terrible pain. A girl who needs everything I can give her to bring her back from the dark place she has been in for too long and heal herself again.

She gets into the bathtub and sits with her knees drawn up to her chest. She stares at the wall, but her eyes are focused on nothing. I will make her feel clean again. No matter how long it takes. I won’t stop until I succeed.

Gently, I undo the tie around her hair and let it fall. Several inches of her hair land in the water. She hugs her knees like a child and starts rocking. Saying nothing, I take a sponge and run it down her supple skin. She shivers at my touch.

My hands still.

She looks up at me. “She was willing to go to prison just to punish me. God, how she must hate me.”

“There is something very wrong with your mother, Chelsea. She is not mentally well. You must understand that.”

“Yes, you are right. She’s not well. She can’t be,” she says, clinging to that excuse.

I wash her body and hair until every inch of her is clean. When I’m finished, I lean in, and ask if she is ready to step out of the bath. She nods to let me know she wants to get out.

I pull the plug, and as the water lowers, Chelsea rises. I hold up a thick bathrobe and allow it to envelop her. The fabric is so plush, I hope it will be impossible for her to feel anything other than safe and warm inside of it.

While she sits on her bed I go back to the bathroom where I saw the hair dryer and brush. I plug the dryer in and, getting on my knees behind Chelsea, I start to dry her hair. Slowly, her hair turns from dark blonde to the color I am used to. It’s a novel experience as I have never washed or dried a woman’s hair before.

Being this patient and caring is completely foreign to me. It’s a world away from how I was taught to express myself by my family. When other women wanted to be close to me it just made me want to swat them away, but strangely being so intimate with her doesn’t feel off. If anything, it feels like exactly what I need to be doing.

Chelsea is different now too.

I think she’s been trying to be strong and brave ever since she left her grandparents’ home. If she needs or wants someone to take care of her, I’m her man.

I feel her icy demeanor melt with each gentle brush stroke through her hair. Chelsea’s shoulders sag.

She repositions herself on the bed so that she is now facing me. I notice her lower lip quivers. Chelsea is once again in tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry you had such an unspeakable childhood, I’m sorry your mother is the way she is, I’m sorry I was such a bastard to you when I brought you here, but I promise you this. I’m going to make up for it.” There is nothing more I can do but to keep offering to be here for her. I never want to hurt her again.

She bites her lip. “It’s not your fault. What I did was wrong. I did steal your money and you had every right to try to get it back or get your money’s worth. I’d been saving you know. In the last two years, I’ve already saved more than half. So don’t worry, I’ll continue until I’ve got it all then I’ll give it back to you, okay. I—”

I place my fingers on her lips. “Don’t. Please. Don’t make me feel worse. I don’t want your money. I want to take care of you, Chelsea. I want to give you everything.”

Thorne

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvnYmWpD_T8&index=2&list=RDi3LHatq2u4k

“Give me everything?” She frowns then casts her eyes down. “I’m not what you think I am, Thorne. I’m not normal. I’m damaged. Maybe I’m even a bit insane like my mother. When I was nine, I started having fantasies of killing my grandfather.”

“That doesn’t make you insane. Fuck, Chelsea, I wanted to kill him with my bare hands this afternoon.”

She leans forward until her forehead is resting against my stomach, and I hold her tight. “There was one time he came into my bedroom. I was doing my homework and holding a pencil, and I just wanted to drive it through his eye. I could actually see myself lunging forward and stabbing it so hard that I damaged his brain. I could imagine the jelly of his eye rupturing, splattering on my face and clothes. It was so real.” Her voice is low, but I can feel the vibration of her words and the intensity of her memories.

“The difference between you and me is that I would have driven that pencil into his damn head.” My voice is cold and hard.

“I had so many fantasies, Thorne. I used to dream of such violent things. They were extreme. I was afraid of myself.”

Chelsea begins to tell me the stories about the things she wanted to do to her grandfather given the chance. I listen intently and as she pours her heart out I become enraged. It is shocking to imagine people who are the caregivers of helpless children subjecting them to such heinous abuse.

Her wanting revenge is more than justified. Fuck, I want revenge on her behalf.

“Before I left,” she continues, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I even considered burning down the house with both of my grandparents inside. I almost did it, too. I got so far as to wait outside with a canister of gasoline, but then I froze. It’s like there’s a force field around that house that makes me too terrified to do anything. All I could do was run away.”

She clenches her jaw. “Oh, how many times I wished that I could do something, anything to stop him hurting me. I used to get so angry at myself because I knew there was something I could do, but I chose not to do it. I think I was always afraid I would be taken away, and never see my mother again.” She utters a harsh bark of laughter. “And all that time she hated my guts. What a mess my life has been.”

“Hey, it’s not up to the child to do something. The adult should know better than to be so disgusting and abusive. Your grandmother should have done something. Nothing that happened was ever your fault.”

She pulls away from me and looks into my eyes. “I’m afraid that he could be doing it to other children. That fear has never gone away. Do you think he could be? I don’t know. Nowadays you hear about pedophiles meeting other pedophiles on the net and stuff. It’s a compulsive sickness, after all.”

r />   “You won’t ever have to worry about your grandfather, Chelsea. He’s not going to get the opportunity to hurt you or anyone else ever again.” I have enough money and influence to make a promise like that and mean it.

She hangs her head. “You don’t have to protect me, Thorne. You owe me nothing. Our agreement will end soon. After that I won’t be around to disturb you, or bring drama into your life,” she sniffles.

“Chelsea.” I put my forefinger under her chin and tip her face up until we are looking deeply into each other’s eyes. “You’re not disturbing me. Our agreement doesn’t mean shit to me. It never really did. I was pretending even to myself that I was furious about the money. I was just hurt because you didn’t trust me enough to ask me for it. Now, I just want you safe. I can’t let anything else happen to you because … well … I fucking love you.” It is my turn to be vulnerable and exposed. My secret about Chelsea has been revealed, and I don’t know how she will react to the information.

She freezes. Then blinks. “You what?”

“You heard me. I love you, Chelsea Appleby.”

“You love me?” Chelsea whispers, disbelief in her voice.

I nod. “The truth is I think I was half in love with you even before you left London two years ago. It’s something that I’ve always known deep inside, but have never been able to acknowledge or express. You’ve met my parents, so you know I’ve been brought up to be cold and aloof, but the more time I’ve spent with you the more you turned me inside out.”

“What about the debt though?”

“There isn’t any debt to pay. Nothing. As you said yourself, what is three hundred thousand to me? I’ve earned more from the stock market in the last five minutes. I was not interested in the money. All I ever wanted was you. I can’t be too sorry for blackmailing you into coming to live with me because it was the best fucking thing I did in my life.”