HIM Read online

  HIM

  -BOOK ONE-

  ©Copyright 2015

  www.himthenovel.com

  BRITTNEY COHEN-SCHLESINGER

  For my other half, Joseph.

  -AUTHOR’S NOTE-

  This novel is loosely based off of two different, yet equally scarring traumas of my young adult years.

  Contents

  PART ONE -WHAT I’VE BECOME-

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  PART TWO -HAUNTING OF SECRETS-

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  -ANGELIC KEY-

  -ACKNOWLEGEMENTS-

  PART ONE

  -WHAT I’VE BECOME-

  ONE.

  Walking along Lake Michigan Beach vivid images from my past entangled my mind in a world of mystification.

  Sand collected into tiny swirls of magic around my feet faltering downward as the cold, blue waves toppled over. I held my light sweatshirt closer to my body as a gust of wind blew against me. It was dark in the city of Empire; and relatively quiet except for the muffled sound of college partygoers inside an all-too-familiar beach house.

  I was the only one out here. The only one who wanted to be alone. Anyone else, here in paradise, would have laughed in my face for that fact. In their world it was party time; would always be party time. In mine it was time to mourn – constantly – and probably forever.

  I wished I could have stopped the ongoing chain of depression but it never seemed to subside. No matter what technique or method I used, nothing worked, nothing helped, nothing changed. The depression deep inside me – imbedded in my soul – didn’t want to end. I knew that now.

  Why would it stop though?

  They hadn’t gone through what I had. They hadn’t felt his drunken breath on their neck – the overbearing hatred and despicable lust in his green eyes. He hadn’t touched them – the particular, the specific way – he’d touched me. They wouldn’t know his touch; couldn’t fathom such a thing. His touch was only meant for me.

  I took a seat; the cool sand tranquil against my tired and weary body – which always seemed to be on edge. I heard a scuffle behind me, and my heart caught in my throat. When I smelled her sweet apple body spray I knew who it was without having to turn around.

  “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” Tory said staring out at the cobalt blue waves ahead of us. She took a swig of beer and sighed, taking a seat next to me.

  Tory Walt – my best friend and the only constant person in my life since childhood – knew all my secrets, including the terrifying one about him. We went to that party; hung out with the same circle of people. But she wasn’t dragged up the stairs while everyone else was sipping booze and dancing to the intoxicating techno beat. No one whispered disgusting words in her ear while she was slipping in and out of consciousness. No one treated her like filth that night. Thank goodness for that.

  Tory pressed her square chin on my shoulder and poked my side, causing me to jump in return. “You okay Avalon?” she sighed. She smelled of alcohol, but I knew she wasn’t drunk. Not yet anyway. “You’ve barely spent more than fifteen minutes inside.” She cared about how I was holding up – that was apparent – but also wanted to head back to the party. Who could blame her? I’d been acting this way for ten months. Wasn’t it about time I moved on with my life and left that unpleasant night behind me?

  How can I though?

  “Uh, yeah,” I lied, “just needed some air.” A part of me wished Tory hadn’t disrupted my mourning process. Wallowing in my sorrows in peace was my favorite past-time.

  “You’re thinking about…him again,” she cautioned – we never spoke his name out loud – “aren’t you?” I didn’t look at her face. Instead, I stared blankly at the waves moving in synchronization. “Ava listen, he’s not here. And he won’t be coming back anytime soon. Just remember that.” She squeezed my arm tenderly. “I’ll be inside if you need anything.” She left and walked back to the house.

  But I don’t know where he is. So he could be lurking around out there.

  I shuddered and curled up my legs, chin resting on top. Silent tears slid down my flustered cheeks as I remembered the night that changed me forever . . . .

  “Stay still!” he barked as I struggled beneath his strong, stern grasp. I was his prisoner, his hostage.

  I blinked back more tears as the violent memory continued. A sickening, menacing cloud fogged over his eyes. The only thoughts in my head were reminding me to survive, forget. I counted one . . . two . . . three . . . . repeatedly until it was over.

  “Good girl,” he cooed with his large hands wrapped around my throat.

  I was no longer pure, forever lost of innocence, never again a virgin.

  TWO.

  I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by no one, on a bed, in a room unfamiliar to me.

  Immediately, I jumped off the thick mattress to check myself in a body mirror across the way, shuddering at the thought of something detrimental happening to me the night before. I could barely recall a thing. I hadn’t even remembered dreaming. That came to me as a surprise and an unforeseen relief. Dreaming did nothing for me besides cause anxiety. I conjured up terrifying, vivid images which always involved him in some way or another. After months of this ongoing internal pain it became immensely disturbing; especially because the dreams ended up with him almost succeeding in killing me. At points, death somehow seemed like a brilliant idea. And yet, I still found a reason to continue living. What it was I didn’t know.

  I carefully inspected myself. Everything looked fine except for the heavy bags underneath my dull hazel eyes. If you had looked into these eyes last year you would have seen a young, vivacious twenty-one-year-old looking for adventure, love and ultimately romance. Now, in its’ place you’d see blankness, nothing. I was positive a black hole was in place of my soul, my very essence. All the life that was once there had long since disappeared – taken, stolen by him. Because of that my mind and body wouldn’t allow myself to get close to anyone – especially men. Not anymore.

  When I met him it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. He was like a breath of fresh air and I was unreservedly in love with him, breathing him in with every breath I took. With him, I was willing to risk it all – everything I had and everything I was just to be with him – all of him. He called me his everything. He told me he loved me. Now I knew that those six months of spending numerous nights on end with each other, speaking the words aloud I often wanted to hear, was a waste . . . and a lie. He never came back to apologize – to say he ruined something so pure and amazing. To tell me he was sorry for what he’d done, especially since I didn’t deserve it.

  Ha. Maybe I did deserve it.

  Maybe he’d say it was a moment of weakness for him. Maybe he’d tell me the truth. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybe’s yet no actual answers. The night it happened would be the last time I’d ever lay eyes on him ever again.

  Not too long after was when I fell into my Personal Great Depression, or PGD, as I’d like to call it. My mother didn’t know what the cause of it was; I wouldn’t tell her. For five months she sent me to numerous psychiatrists that told me the same, unoriginal things; “Do this; do that – You’ll get better.” You know, the typical stuff they tell depressed patients that are in danger of losing all reason to live. They even prescribed me with medication. It was supposed to help me relax and calm my nerves. But
I never took any of it. None of their advice mattered either. I was taking care of things on my own time in my own way.

  Even I know I’m lying to myself.

  I was barely eating, moving, sleeping. I couldn’t function properly. Besides forcing myself to attend class I rarely ever got out of the house, let alone my bedroom. All I did was breathe and even that was a struggle. For a very, very long time.

  I hadn’t only been raped, I lost someone I truly loved. That person betrayed me, tricked me. I gave him everything I was. I gave him my heart. And he ripped it to shreds. That, I believed, was the hardest part to handle.

  Remembering how I felt about him made my stomach lurch and my heart ache with betrayal. He was my world and without him I wouldn’t have been able to survive.

  Proving myself wrong, here I am. I made it – but just barely.

  About two months after my PGD calmed down some Tory took me to see a movie to help take my mind off of things. I’d told her many times I didn’t want to go but she’d insisted I “Get out and have fun with a friend.” Reluctantly, I went.

  We’d been waiting in a fairly long line for our tickets so I thought I wouldn’t have to talk to the young male employee handling the money. That was, until Tory said she had to use the restroom. I nearly pulled her arm out of its socket to prevent her from leaving me there. But she’d said she’d be back very quickly so I had no choice. I had to let her go.

  Lost in thought, the line moved much quicker while she was away. Or maybe I was just dreading my encounter with the man. Time always moved faster when I wasn’t looking forward to something. Once there was only an elderly couple buying their tickets in front of me, I almost bailed. My breathing accelerated, perspiration flowed, and my legs began to shake. I knew at that moment I was going to have to talk to him. Until that point I hadn’t conversed with a male in over five months. Even the psychiatrists I went to were all female, upon my request.

  I’d grabbed my cell phone trying to hold it steady as I texted Tory, asking when she’d be finished. A few seconds later she’d replied saying she’d be out in a minute. That didn’t help any because the couple in front of me was at the concession stand already. I guessed I hadn’t noticed – or maybe I was hoping it wasn’t time – until someone – an older woman? I wasn’t sure – tapped me on my shoulder and said, “You gonna move up lady?” I looked in front of me at the empty space big enough for my body to fit. It was my turn.

  I gulped dry air, my breath hitching and slowly progressed into position; appearing as though I were walking towards my death. At that moment I would have preferred that. I stood in front of the counter, staring at the ground until the man I was dreading to talk to cleared his throat and began, “Hi, may I help you?” in an annoyed tone. I’d lifted my head slowly meeting his gaze. When I opened my mouth to speak no words came out. My eyes couldn’t stray away from his – all they could see were the one pair of eyes I wished I’d never gazed into – my rapist’s. The man I’d been looking at obviously wasn’t him but my mind whizzed and whooshed around me in all directions as I realized I could probably never look at another man again; otherwise I’d see his eyes, his face, his everything within another man’s features. And that was something I couldn’t tolerate.

  Just then, Tory came running up to me and apologized to the man along with the people waiting semi-patiently in line. She pulled me away and we left. That was the one and only time Tory and I attempted to act like normal friends again. Without asking Tory usually gave me my space. I suppose we had developed a close enough relationship with one another over the years to have established some sort of silent dialogue in which she inferred when I wished to be alone or when I craved company. Whatever the case, Tory was there. Always.

  During my PGD, I blocked everything out – and was pretty good at it actually – until Tory tried convincing me otherwise. She tried her best to understand the predicament I was in. She had been the one to find me – body swollen and naked – on the floor in my room of this house. She helped me. That’s why she was the only one I confided in; the only one I depended on. And that’s how I knew it was her who helped me to get in here last night. It was slowly coming back to me now . . . .

  I had passed out on the beach, drenched in my own salty, warm tears. Tory helped me walk to the beach house and change into my cotton pajamas. As I recalled I had been crying for a while, while she rubbed my back and talked to me about all the craziness she’d witnessed at the party. That’s when I drifted off.

  A quiet but urgent knock came from the door. I was about to say something, when a deep voice as smooth as silk alleged, “Avalon?” The sound was rhythmic and delightful. “Avalon, are you in there?” This voice was a man’s voice. And I was freaking out. I spun around, arms immediately crossing against my chest – as if to protect my heart from anymore potential damage – or the possibility of having it fall out.

  The door creaked open. My breath caught in my throat as I stood still, unable to move, to breathe. Who I saw was, well, beautiful.

  He was standing in the entrance; silky smooth tousled dark brown hair and creamy light skin. His blue eyes glistened like the clear ocean outside. I thought his figure would appear in the stunning blue of his eyes but he never showed – something completely and unfathomably unexpected.

  “Are you Avalon?” His voice was deep but not too deep. It was just the right pitch to make me want to hear him say my name over and over again.

  I was speechless. I could have sworn I was introducing myself but my mouth wouldn’t – couldn’t – move. He stared at me with amusement.

  My mouth went dry. “Y-yes,” I stammered. I didn’t give him eye contact again for fear of seeing my rapist in his eyes, although he hadn’t shown before. Still it was never too late to take precautions.

  “Tory let me in. She had me searching all over the house for you,” he said, taking a few steps so that his whole body was in the room. “She wanted me to give this to you.” In his large hand he held a small tube of shimmering pink lip-gloss. “She picked this up at a drugstore this morning and figured you’d like it.” And then, unfortunately, it got awkward. His presence, I mean. We stood there – him, looking so relaxed, hip leaning against the doorpost, and me, numb from head to toe – for about thirty more seconds without moving or saying a single word. Until he finally spoke that is. “Should I place this down somewhere or would you like to take it from me?” His question was followed by what I believed to be a nervous chuckle.

  “Uh,” my voice shook, “you can put it down over there.” I nodded my head, motioning toward a small mahogany desk next to him. He placed the lip-gloss down and took a step back, his eyes fixated on me.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked a moment later.

  “No, it’s fine.” I wasn’t sure why I was talking – even looking – at him. I was out of my element – the one I’d felt comfortable, safe in for almost a year. Why was this guy – a total and complete stranger – the exception to my fear of men? Or any male contact at all for that matter? This didn’t make sense. After noticing he hadn’t left I added, “Can I help you with something?”

  He grinned a sultry smile and bared white teeth. My eyes drifted to his mistakenly. His eyes lit up as if they were smiling at me as well. No him anywhere I could see. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He took a few graceful steps toward me. “I’m Jensen.” He extended his hand for me to shake but my arms were locked across my chest. He slowly put his hand down and into the pocket of his faded jeans uncomfortably.

  I can’t figure this guy out. What does he want?

  I forced a smile. “So what are you still doing here?”

  Did that sound rude?

  “It’s summer break. Doing the usual – relaxing, working – that sort of thing.” His blue eyes were like crystals; I couldn’t look away. Something uneasy moved through my body, a sensation I couldn’t place. Besides this guy looking too amazing for his own good he seemed incredibly calm for just meeting me. In my past experiences with men t
hey would either be bouncing off the walls, talking a mile a minute or cracking up every three seconds from being so nervous. But this guy was different, I could see that already.

  “No, I meant, what are you still doing in my doorway?” I paused. “Actually, how do you know Tory? She never mentioned you before.” Suspicion consumed me and I felt my body tense . . . against my better judgment? No. In my head all men were created equal: Liars.

  “We were friends for a couple years,” Jensen replied in a chipper tone without skipping a beat. “Drifted apart then we ran into each other on the beach a few days ago. She said I should stop by sometime. So here I am.” His white smile broadened. “We were downstairs talking for a while when she told me she bought you the lip-gloss. She asked if I wouldn’t mind bringing it up to you while she took take care of a few things. So I did. And now I’m standing here probably sounding like a complete and utter moron.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

  Well that explains it.

  My stance loosened and I let my hands fall to my sides. Was I contradicting my own thoughts – the thoughts that had kept me going all this year? I wasn’t going to throw it all away for some random guy standing in my doorway, was I? Because that was what was going to happen if I didn’t think this man was like the rest: horrible, scary, mean, abusive, demanding, egotistical, a liar. He had to have at least one of those traits, right? I mean, we were all human and weren’t perfect.

  Ha. I guess I just proved my point.

  Despite my efforts to control where my eyes looked I couldn’t help but notice his muscles bulging out of his teal v-neck t-shirt which really made his wide eyes pop. His skin looked overly smooth – no imperfections of a blemish or scar while his dark brown hair was a bit unkempt, the light from the window giving it a golden-red hue.

  “Oh,” I said, forcing a chuckle, “okay.”

  “Plus, I couldn’t deny it even if I wanted to – I had to meet you.”