Forever Distraction (Distraction #3) Page 3

  He continued his outrage, bending to yell in my face, “You can’t walk into my house and disrespect your mother. You will never use that foul mouth again, understood?” He sucked in a breath, and I blinked my eyes from the feeling. “Your perception of love is skewed; love is sacrifice, and following through with obligation. He didn’t sacrifice anything for you. Everything I did…was out of love…for you.” My mind blurred at his words. He was comparing himself to Grandfather, implying Grandfather’s love wasn’t real.

  I was completely absorbed in the image of my father being the victim, the victim of not being appreciated for the sacrifices he made for me, and the victim of placing second to Grandfather. It felt like long moments of heavy silence fell between us, my silence more because I was holding my breath, and his out of extreme control. His fingers dug into my neck, and I saw pure evil in his scrutinizing eyes right before he tossed me. My feet shuffled beneath me, and I bounced from the shelf to the floor and for whatever reason, lack of food, exhaustion, or fear, I fell like a rock to the ground. If I were a balloon, my air would be visibly deflating in this moment, leaving only a shell. I peered up at the monster over me and winced when he stepped over me to open the door. “Ungrateful,” he mumbled. My body felt the awful blow, sore, weak muscles beginning to ache and the arm I fell on throbbing beneath me. My father called out for my mother, his voice echoing against the tile flooring, and I licked my lips as I took in a deep breath, scrambling to get control over my pain. For years, I had felt nothing when he touched me, and now I hurt all over. I fell hard on my left arm, so when I attempted to stand, I protected it by tucking it into my stomach, trying desperately not to move it. Brian slowly walked into the kitchen, stretching his neck to find me, kicking the cans out of my way.

  My father’s voice was controlled and flat. “She slipped; that’s all. Katarina is tough and can handle a little fall. She can load up in my car. She needs to go to the hospital anyway, and I am leaving. She’ll go with me.” My mother pushed her way into the kitchen, brushing past me. I returned to the dining room, Brian attempting to help me.

  “Shit, Kat,” he said softly, “let me take you. I forgot how clumsy you are; you look really hurt.” I yanked my good arm away at his words. He was a sheep following the herd, and I fucking hated him right now. He continued to defend my father. “He didn’t know about the rape. He never knew. He is just shocked, and that’s why he reacted like he did. You just caught him off-guard. Let him try to make this right.”

  Who was this man in front of me? Brian knew just like I did that my father didn’t make things right. He was a dictator, and he was so messed up in the head that he did things because he was the ‘all-powerful man’ everyone bowed down to.

  Chapter Two

  The Demon in the Room

  My father insisted on taking me out the side exit, saying it was closer to his car. I was still so stunned and taken off-guard, that I followed his instructions and found myself in the back of his BMW. The car jerked forward, and I looked up in time to see Smith run for his car. Shit, where in the hell did I place my brain? I had no protection, none. I was alone with my mother and father, Bruce and Adeline. I silently prayed for death, a car crash, swift and just.

  I faced the window the entire ride to the hospital. I heard my stomach growling, but covered it to buffer the sound. My mother glanced back; I was conscious of her eyes on me, but I didn’t make a move to look at her. I just continued to pretend she didn’t exist. When we reached the hospital parking lot, Smith was the first to my door, tearing it open as soon as the locks clicked, and my parents opened their doors.

  The two of them moved ahead of us, and I was reminded of all of the trips to the hospital in the past, how they walked ahead of me to shield me from any of the staff. A sickening thought filled my body and I shivered. Smith grabbed my good arm and I pulled it away. I didn’t need to be comforted or touched. I didn’t need anyone. He could leave; he should leave. I heard more footsteps behind me and glanced back at the two other bodyguards following me. I laughed at the thought Smith believed he could protect me from my parents. Even my grandfather tried, and the only thing effective was complete separation, which I had a hard time believing they would allow to happen again.

  We took the elevator to the second floor and neither parent stalled or hesitated; no detours were taken. They walked with purpose and practice, our feet knowing the way by heart, whatever the hell that meant, because what was about to happen next had nothing to do with heart. I walked with them out of habit. I walked with them instead of running away from them out of a combination of anxiety, shame, and embarrassment. I’m not the victim, I continued to repeat in my head. I would face every fear to prove I could, no matter how badly I wanted to sprint in the opposite direction. I knew the drill—look down, don’t make eye contact, and don’t draw attention. It was the same every time they brought me here. The faster I followed their rules, the faster I could get the hell out of there. I heard commotion behind me, and I heard my name, but my father grabbed my good arm, coaxing me down a hall and through some offices until we reached an exam room.

  “Katarina, you can wait in there.” My father looked behind me, and then he turned his full attention back to me. He lowered his voice, acting like I was a fragile being. “We called Dr. Holtin, and he is on his way.” Shit. My eyes rounded and my heart pumped more radically. I think my father enjoyed that expression, because his smile widened as he took a moment to bask in my fright. It was something I hid, compartmentalized, and he rarely saw, but I was off, my game face gone with the numbness. I couldn’t mask how much I hated Dr. Holtin. He was an evil spawn and the scariest man I have ever met, worse than the boogey man in my closet. He was my parents’ friend and my longtime pediatrician, except I wasn’t sure he really was a pediatrician. He just didn’t seem to have the caring qualities a children’s doctor had. He always treated me like a project with his complete lack of empathy; all of it made me believe he was just someone my parents hired to hide what they did to me. I took a seat in the corner of the room and picked up a magazine. I peered up at the sound of a door closing as my father left. Anxiety filled me, knowing what was next, dreading the alone time with Dr. Holtin.

  A little while later, a young, female nurse walked in. I only noticed her small feet; if I was guessing, they were a size six. Light blue scrub pants and white tennis shoes moved quickly under my fallen head. She started chattering, but I ignored everything she said, knowing from experience I was not supposed to talk to anyone in the hospital; it was a rule. I continued to read about the royal baby just born, and the nurse kneeled down in front of me, trying hard to get my attention. She put her hand on my now-bruising arm.

  “We should get an x-ray of that.” I continued to pretend she was only a figment of my imagination. “What happened, Ms. Covington? Does it hurt?”

  I knew she was seconds away from getting in trouble and then fired. “You shouldn’t be in here,” I whispered.

  “What?” Her voice was as soft as mine, but I didn’t break my attention away from the magazine. I heard the door swing open, and felt a rush of air that followed. The nurse stood up, and I watched her Nikes move away from me. I heard her murmur about ordering an x-ray, but the doctor quickly dismissed it, ordering her to leave the room. His voice slithered underneath my skin, and I felt a new wave of nauseating shivers. I noticed his feet next, black shoes beneath black slacks. “It’s been a while, Katarina.” He plucked the magazine from my lap and tossed it. “You know the drill.”

  I did know the drill. He stepped back and I heard the click of the door lock. I didn’t remember this amount of uneasiness though. I had blocked it out in order to preserve myself. My heart pounded in my chest, and I tried to remember my coping techniques as I stood like I did so many times before and took off my clothes. My body robotically knew the next step, making the whole process feel clinical, even when I wanted to cry and throw things. I let my hands move as I attempted to hide inside my body so he could
never ever find me.

  I untied my shoes and tucked my socks inside. He was forcing me to submit, forcing me like he always did, and I complied, giving him what he wanted, power over me. Then I undid my pants and slid them down my legs. I folded them slowly, placing them on the chair I’d been sitting on. I was hyperaware of his eyes on me, but he never rushed me to remove my clothes faster. It was like he enjoyed this part of the process. He watched how carefully organized and systematic I was with all of my clothes, and got off on the anxiety-induced method I used to control each fold, each straightening and every perfecting of an iron crease. I slipped my T-shirt off next and folded it in the same pattern, setting it on top of my jeans. He occasionally asked me to take my bra and panties off, but I always waited for him to ask.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, and I lifted my chin slowly to meet his icy brown eyes. Dr. Holtin looked older than I remembered, wrinkles ghosting around his eyes and mouth. He gave me a superior smirk, and I thought it was creepy he could enjoy this, but his dark, haunting eyes flickered with pleasure. “Turn around.” I obeyed instantly, gradually pivoting on my toes and never moving my eyes, because I wasn’t instructed to. I watched his gaze drift over my body, slowly and deliberately studying every part of me. “You look good.” My eyes fell to the floor at his unsettling words. His shiny black shoes came into vision. “I have missed this. I have missed seeing your beautiful body, Katarina. You have broken out of your cocoon a beautiful butterfly, so pretty.” He paused, taking in a pleasured breath, a mixture of a hum and a groan.

  Fuck. I despised this man. He continued, “Every inch is perfect, and I take credit for some of it. You know, always making you show yourself to me, I am sure that is why you still have that girlish figure.” He went on and on, telling me how wonderfully my body was made, and I loathed him and his compliments. I never wanted to hear another compliment…ever. My stomach flipped over in the most awful way, and I tasted sour milk in my mouth. Then I did what I always did…I went numb inside.

  I opened my eyes when I felt his hands on me, which surprised me, because I was usually calloused to that as well. I watched his finger slide over my stomach and dip under my lacy panties as he walked around my body one more time. He tugged my panties off and undid my bra. He was attempting to intimidate me, but I didn’t care any more about anything. I convinced myself my body was numb to his touch, like it had always been. I stopped responding to the cold temperature of his hand a long time ago. I closed my eyes, bringing back that girl. Now, I stood naked in front of him, counting in my head slowly. I went into the address book in my head where I memorized phone numbers and addresses, repeating them mentally over and over until he was done.

  He liked to watch and seldom ever touched me. I learned when I was young to never interrupt his process, because he would start over, even going so far as leaving the room and reentering long moments later. I tried to remember the last time I had stood before him naked. I was fifteen; I had a broken rib and a fractured ulna. I was barely a woman, and he had enjoyed the first peeks at me. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the real reason I got my pubic hair removed. He was that demented and had that much control over my parents, which I never understood.

  He reached out and touched my arm. “Does it hurt?” He used his fingers to trace the bone. He flipped my forearm and continued feeling, thoroughly inspecting the swollen, bruised area.

  “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

  He pinched it roughly and laughed. “Make a fist and stick it straight out.” I did as I was told, keeping my breathing slow, even though I was terrified when his hands were on me. He stepped back from me toward the door again. “Thomas will be happy to see you. I will call him to have him pick you up. His mother will get the wedding plans going, so expect a phone call from her. I don’t know if you know this, but I had an arranged marriage. I wanted to do the same for my son. Your father didn’t agree right away, but eventually, he came around. You are perfection, Katarina, bred with beauty and brains. I was hoping for you and Thomas to be married by now, but we’ll correct that and get you both together.”

  He was clicking his pen as he rattled on, so I focused on that. His voice was driving me insane; like a demon in a scary movie, his voice was haunting. I tried to put my protective shield around my ears, desperately wanting to block out the wicked voice. I counted seventy-two clicks of the pen before he stopped talking and silence took over the room. He spoke again from his ogling spot at the door. “Oh, I have a nurse practitioner coming in to make sure we don’t have to take care of any pregnancies. I was told you no longer have your virginity, that you have been…active.” His voice was clearly angry, and he began clicking the pen again. I didn’t respond, and I think he enjoyed that. His villainous chuckle led me to believe he was freaking proud of the control he had over every aspect of my life. I think he took my silence as regret or embarrassment, but he was mistaken. I would never lift my head and tell him that, but I loved my sex life with Jason. “Do you have anything to tell me before I leave?”

  I responded quickly, hoping to forgo the lady part investigation. “No, I am not pregnant. I’m on my period.”

  I heard his body shift against the door. “I will tell the nurse.” Then, he left.

  Relief fell like a warm blanket over my trembling body, and I picked up my clothes, setting them on my lap. I squeezed my eyes shut, hating myself for submitting without a fight and letting him treat me so disrespectfully. I waited for a few moments before the door burst open again. It was a female wearing dark maroon scrubs and gray tennis shoes. “Lie on the table.” Her voice was firm, authoritative. I knew she wasn’t my mother, but she sure sounded like her. I set the clothes back on the chair and gave in to her orders.

  She was very thorough, removing my tampon before she started her exam. She talked to me the entire time about how long she knew my mother and father, and how much she idolized them. She asked me about birth control, but I didn’t talk; I couldn’t. I focused on numbers, and when I ran out of addresses to remember, I started multiplying things. I knew she didn’t really need me to talk; anything I had to say wouldn’t change her opinion of me, and honestly, I couldn’t care less what she thought. She left for a brief moment when I was still naked on the table, and then returned. She ordered me off the table and took three vials of blood, and then gave me a shot of something. I waited until she told me it was okay to get dressed, and then I focused on that.

  “I need to give you that shot every twelve weeks, and you shouldn’t have unprotected sex for five days. Do you understand?” I ignored the acid dripping from her voice. She wasn’t going to get any emotion from me. When I was dressed, I sidestepped around her and left the room. My father caught my good arm and wrapped his around it. I struggled to withdraw, but he wasn’t having any part of my disobedience.

  “I have surgery. I want you there.” He was pretending this was a field trip.

  “No,” I mumbled, and attempted to pull my arm out from under my father’s for the third time. His arm tightened, and if I allowed myself to feel his touch, it would probably burn. My arm was twisting in his, and it was a matter of minutes before he damaged that one too. My feet froze as he continued his stride next to me, but I’d had enough; I officially reached my hospital limit. I knew he wanted to show me how powerful he was in the operating room. He wanted me to see how people worshiped him, how he was the best of all the doctors, blah, blah, blah. It wouldn’t change anything for me though. I had forgotten about the hospital visits when I lived with my grandfather. I had forgotten about Dr. Holtin, his obsession with me, and his fixation on me marrying his son. My legs deadened, frozen and immobile, and I started to fall. My father continued his stride and was dragging me.

  Smith appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up, cradling me in his arms. My father reluctantly let go of my arm. “Dr. Covington, she appears to be tired. I’m going to take her home and get her fed. I will have her call you later.” My father looked at him and then glanced at me. The
narrowing of his eyes told me he was irritated. Smith didn’t wait for a response. He yelled at one of his men to bring the car around, and then he charged for the car, obviously upset. He stopped abruptly when he was outside.

  “Fuck!” Smith’s raspy yell was loud. It startled me, and I jerked away from him. In all the years I have known Smith, this was the first time I had heard him yell, and the fact it was a swear word made it twice as intimidating. The black SUV was brought around in front of the hospital entrance, and Smith set me down gently inside. He swiftly climbed in behind me, and the car eased out onto the road. “That won’t ever happen again. The fucker had security stop and clear us when you were being examined. I didn’t know where you were. You can never leave my sight; look at me, Katarina.”

  I lifted my face to meet his eyes. He had his sunglasses removed. “Fuck.” I squeezed my eyes closed at the harsh word; coming from him, it seemed more frightening. He must have sensed my nervousness, because he quickly apologized, “I’m sorry.” He inhaled, and then brought a hand up to pinch the top of his nose. “What did they do? Why were you gone so long?” His face softened, and it shocked me a little at how fast he changed his temperament. His eyes held concern like Jackson’s held for Jason when he wasn’t able to stop the pain inside his son. I searched his eyes and started to feel something similar to compassion, so I stuffed it down and twisted my body away.

  Then I spoke with no inflection, no excitement, and no reaction. My voice was controlled and monotone, practice from years of lying about my bruises and welts coming to the surface, part of my basic instinct kicking in, self-preservation. “They did the same thing they always do after I am hurt; they make sure I am not scarred or physically broken, and that no record is made if I am. If there is harm, then they document it as self-inflicted. Smith, you have read my chart; you know what an attention-seeking child I am.” I inhaled at the thought. My ballet instructor found the bruises on my body when I was young. When I was questioned later by the police about the black and blue marks, I told them I did it to myself. Dr. Holtin was there at the time of the interview, and he told me what to say. I went to therapy after that, but no one ever questioned the bruises.