Fallen Woman(52)

I took the glass from him and eyed him warily, wondering where he was going with this.

“Jase said Emmy’s pretty sick. Is she going to be okay?” The wine touched his lips, caressed them in the most sinful way. Briefly, I watched as his mouth took on an erotic shape. “Gianna?”

My gaze jerked back to his eyes. “What?”

“Emmy. Is she all right?”

“Mmm. She will be. We’ve been through this before. She’s a tough kid.” I didn’t know what he knew, but I assumed Jase had told him it was chronic, even if he hadn’t told him specifically.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

I found myself sipping my own wine while we talked, unable to tear my gaze away from his moving lips. Something about them kept drawing my attention back; they were intoxicating. Their fullness, the way his tongue would slip out to moisten the bottom just before he tasted the wine. I became mesmerized by them.

“We’ll be okay but thank you.” I was only half participating in the conversation. My mind was fuzzy, and there was a halo of light hovering around Holland. When I coaxed my eyes away, I realized there was a ring surrounding everything I focused on. I felt good, warm on the inside. My eyes were heavy but not sleepy.

The conversation didn’t register; I spoke but nothing was coherent. When Holland laughed, I realized he was laughing at me, not at something I said. I was making a fool of myself, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I was so loopy.

“I bet money’s a huge concern for you these days, isn’t it?”

I nodded my head sloppily. I hadn’t been this drunk in years, but I had nothing more than a few sips of wine.

He moved closer, taking my glass and setting it on the table next to the couch along with his own. When he returned his attention to me, he tucked my hair behind my ear and gently caressed my cheek. I leaned into his touch. The warmth of his hand was inviting, the smile he gave me tickled my insides, and as he dragged his hand down my neck, between my breasts, tingles began to build between my legs.

Holland was affecting me in a way I didn’t think I’d wanted until now, although something didn’t feel right. My judgment was clouded, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. He offered small talk, making me promises of money and gifts, and all I could think of was how odd all this seemed. I didn’t want to want it, yet for some reason, it’s all I could think of.

His sudden movement to the floor startled me. He knelt in front of me and spread my legs apart to settle between them. My eyes closed when he hooked his hands behind my knees and pulled me to him. I felt his fingers on the button to my slacks, and then there was nothing.



I woke the next morning, fully clothed in my own bed—unaware of how I’d gotten home. I didn’t remember anything past going to Holland’s house and the glass of wine he’d offered me, but I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Every inch of my being hurt. I laid perfectly still, hoping to calm the beating inside my head, but I was unable to stave off using the restroom any longer. Stumbling to the bathroom, I pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet. The stream of urine burned my skin like I’d been ripped in half, and when I jerked my head between my legs to see what was causing the discomfort, I noticed the prints on the insides of my thighs.

With as much movement as I could bear, I started to take my clothes off as quickly as I could. There were bruises and marks all over my legs and my pelvis. When I stripped off my blouse, I found bite marks on my breast and nipples. Standing naked in front of the mirror with pee dripping down my leg, I stared at my reflection and wondered what the fuck I’d done.

Irrationally, I wanted to get in the shower, but with each movement, I felt more pain. My bottom hurt just as much as it did between my legs, and I knew there was no way I’d ever agree to anything happening there. Drunk or not, it wasn’t my thing. I glanced at the clock and noted it was just after six in the morning. I put the clothes on I’d just taken off, grabbed my purse and some change for the bus, and went to the hospital.

I didn’t call anyone; I didn’t tell Miss Pearl where I was going. She wouldn’t be expecting me for another couple hours, and there was no need in getting anyone worked up if I had imagined things. I forced my mind off the path it seemed determined to go down and thought of anything I could besides what might have happened last night in Holland’s study.

When I reached into my pocket for change to drop into the box on my way up the bus stairs, I pulled out a wad of cash…far more than I should have had. There was no one on board, so I counted it out. Twenty-five-hundred-dollars. It was confirmation of what I didn’t want to believe. Two thousand dollars more than I should’ve had. It was a clear indication I’d consented to something he paid big money for. But I couldn’t remember a minute of it. Nothing. There was his study, wine, and then waking in my bed, but not a flash of memory in between.

I got off the bus just outside the hospital, dreading where I knew this was going, but unwilling to not follow through. Stepping inside the Emergency Room doors, the peaceful quiet of an early morning was lost, and the chaos of an inner-city hospital ensued. The lady at the front desk asked me if she could help me and seemed frustrated when I just stared back at her.

“Sweetheart, are you all right? What can we do for you?”

I shook my head. No. I wasn’t okay; I was far from it. “You’re going to think I’m insane.”