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“Babe, change can be good. Life is all about change and growth. That doesn’t mean we can’t do that together. You need to trust me with this, so we can work it out and get you to the other side, knowing I’m going to stand by you.” His lips touch mine lightly.
I climb off his lap and move to sit on the two-seater couch in the room. I pat the seat next to me, encouraging War to join. “I am going to tell you everything. Please don’t interrupt, just let me get it all out.” I clasp my hands tightly on my lap.
“I love to sing. It makes me feel alive and that I have a special gift that I can contribute. The lyrics I write are about beauty, love and tragedy too. When I create, I feel connected to people because music is a universal language. When I perform, I am adding actions to the words I sing. What I didn’t realize was that my words and actions are subjective to the listener. My understanding and feelings are mine and everyone else, although hearing the same words, interpret them in their own way.” I stood to pace the room.
“One day I started getting fan mail from this one fan in particular. I would get a new note every day. I was flattered at first. They were pretty harmless. He wrote about how much he liked my music and loved my voice. He went on to say that I was the most beautiful angel he had ever seen. I never replied, partly because I didn’t have the time and Paul thought it was a little creepy that he was writing so many letters.” I shrug my shoulders and stretch out my hands. “I don’t know what changed. The letters started becoming harsh. He didn’t like what I wore at my last concert, or the way I wore my hair. He commented that I spoke salaciously to someone in the audience. He actually wrote that—salaciously. As Paul heard more, we came together, the whole band, and decided to step up security, not that we were sure that he would be a threat, but we were getting more coverage and were therefore more popular and thought it was the smart thing to do.” I force back tears. “I didn’t know how sick he was. I wasn’t trying to lead him on.”
“Baby,” War rumbles.
“No. Stop. Let me get it all out.” I raise my hand up palm out to stop him from coming to me. “Let me finish.” He nods, and I continue.
“The letters stopped coming a week before the concert. I assumed that he found someone else more interesting and, in this industry, there is a new star rising all the time. We had good security and they took great lengths to ensure we were safe. I don’t know how he got back stage. I don’t know how he managed to drug the entire band. I was sitting in my dressing room, waiting for the crowds to thin so we could all go home. Paul and I have a ritual of getting nachos and root beer after a show. I love that moment together with him. It was all we could afford after our first gig and it’s what we’ve done ever since.” I smile at the memory.
Then I drag out a long breath. “The door was pushed open violently and there he was with a gun in his hand. I had no idea who he was at first and then he said he was there to save me. That’s when I knew it was him. I started to call out for Paul and the others, but he dragged me to where they were. They were passed out, but at the time, he told me he’d poisoned them, and they were dead.” I caught my breath. War reached out to hold my hand. “He said it was my fault. They turned me into a slut and he needed to make me clean. I cried and ran towards my brother, but he grabbed me and dragged me across the room and out the door. He said if I made any sound or movement to alert anyone, he would shoot them dead and I would be to blame for their deaths too.”
I squeeze War’s fingers. “He threw me into a car. I tried to talk to him and tell him I needed to get back to my family and friends. I wanted to reason with him and make him see me as a regular person and he got more and more angry and hit me hard with his fist. He told me I was his family now, then I must have passed out. When I come to, my face ached, and I had a horrible headache. I can remember holding my cheek and forcing my eyes shut because the light was too bright. When I was finally able to focus, I saw that I was in a basement. He gave me a sandwich, but my jaw hurt too much, and I was so terrified, I couldn’t eat. He ranted that I was an ungrateful little bitch. It went on for hours about how they’d tainted his angel and he needed to get her back. Over and over and over.
I had to sit down again for the next part but forced myself to look directly at War. “He told me to undress. He needed to get me clean.” I cleared my throat. “I refused, and he hit me again. He asked me again and again. I refused each time and each time he hit me. Then he started ripping at my clothes. I fought as hard as I could. Then he threw me against the wall and I crumbled to the floor. He kicked me over and over while he screamed, ‘Whore leave her body’. I thought I was going to die. And truth be told, I wanted to die. I thought Paul was dead and it was all my fault.” I start sobbing quietly. War reaches out; I hold him off.
“He stopped kicking me when I couldn’t move anymore. He pulled me into his arms while I was bleeding and crying. He tells me that he killed the whore inside me and I can be his angel again. I don’t know how I found the strength to pull away and curl into a ball in the corner of the room.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “The door burst open then and all I could see was cops rushing in. He screamed that he won’t let them taint me again and will kill me first. I wanted it to end and I didn’t care if I died. Everyone I loved was dead and I just didn’t care anymore. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. The next thing I knew, the cops had disarmed him, and I was carried out to an ambulance and taken to the hospital.”
I take War’s hand and hold on tight. “When Paul walked in, I was in shock. I though he was dead, and apparently, I completely lost it after that. They had to sedate me. They wanted to take my clothes and all I could feel was his hands on me. Paul held and rocked me and until I was calm, and I agreed to let the doctors work on me.”
I’m afraid to meet War’s gaze full-on. Does he think I’m dirty too? Or worse, will I find a look of pity because I was too weak to fight harder, to break away?
His hand slides under my chin, and I can’t ignore his gaze any longer. But I don’t see pity or hate. I see anger.
“You are not to blame for any of it. Not. One. Damn. Thing,” War states. “When I look at you, I see a woman that cared more for others than for herself. I see strength and resilience. You are talented, beautiful, and strong. You are a survivor and as long as I live, I promise you will never have to fight, and if for some reason you do, I will fight alongside of you.” He moves my hand to his chest; I can feel his heart beating strong.
“He called me dirty. A whore. Unclean. He said my lyrics were offensive and sexual and were leading people into depravity. I thought I was responsible for my brother’s death. I thought my friends were lost to me,” I sob quietly again his chest. “I just want to make music that everyone enjoyed. I want to sing.”
When I finally pull my head from his chest to look up, his eyes are glazed with tears; he’s absorbing my pain. “I refuse concerts because I’m afraid. I’m afraid for me, but I’m also afraid for my family. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I don’t know that I can ever recover from something like that. It took me a long time to even be able to record again. I went back to the studio to prove to myself that I was healing. I was taking a piece of myself back.”
My lip began to tremble, and I forced myself to continue, “When you called me a tease, I heard his voice in my head. All the horrible words he called me, and those letters filled with hate crawled through my mind like a toxic serpent slithering around me ready to strike.” I place my hands on either side of his face and beg him, “Please don’t give up on me. I am trying to get this all under control. Please just give me more time.” My bottom lip quivers and as much as I try to stop it, I can’t.
He lifts me into his lap, "I am not going anywhere, and neither are you. We are going to get through this together. I am so proud of you; you fought hard to get to this place with me and now I am telling you that you are not alone." A sweet kiss on my brow and then one on my nose. I am not alone I can feel it down to my bones.
I give a small smile, but it disappears when I see War’s lips thin. “I need to know Maddie. I need to know if he touched you—I mean intimately. I want to know so we can work through this together and so I can be more aware of how to handle you with care,” he said. He struggles to ask me, and I wonder if it’s because he isn’t sure he wants to know the truth.
I hold on tight to him and answer, “I fought him with everything I had in me. Each time he tried to kiss me, I would flinch, turn, or push him away. When he started to get more violent, he didn’t want to touch me that way because he thought I was a whore. I preferred the beating to him touching me. I would have preferred death to his touch.”
“You are the strongest woman I know. Brave and smart with the voice of an angel.” War strokes my hair and kisses my jaw.
“They all could have died because of me, War. I would have been to blame,” I tell him.
“Bullshit! That sick fuck is to blame and no one else. NOT YOU. NEVER YOU!” His voice filled with anger. War squeezes me a little and softens his tone. “I don’t want you to ever think that again. I am the luckiest man and every one of the guys outside in that shop came running in here to protect you because they agree that I have something very special in my arms.”
I smile broadly and lighten the mood. “I think I can be a biker chick,” I say as I run a hand down my dress.
That sexy huge smile crosses his face, “Yeah, Baby, you are going to be a great biker chick.”
Fourteen
Something’s Missing
War
It takes all my strength to control my temper in front of my brothers. That dumb fuck is going to pay for what he did to Maddie. When I find him, I am going to make sure he never gets another opportunity to terrorize her again.
