After twenty-five minutes of waiting and Peyton nearly peeing on herself, we forge our way back through loud clusters of slurred conversation and grinding hips to find our table. Matt and Caleb appear to be scanning the crowd.
“We were just getting ready to send out a search party,” Matt jokes, seemingly back to his old self, and it makes me smile. When does he not make me smile? Maybe it’s his face that makes me smile. Or maybe it’s just him.
I eye the number of shot glasses on the table. “Are there more people joining us?”
“No,” Caleb answers with a grin, “they’re for us. Surely you can handle it, Franny.”
His words knock me back and take me to a place I never want to go again.
“Shhh, Franny, you can do it. You’re a brave little girl…you can handle it and I’ll help you.”
My muscles tense up and my back stiffens. “Don’t call me that,” I say sharply.
“Come on, Franny. Show us what you got.”
“Lift up your nightgown and show me your belly, Franny, and remember, Scooby Doo is waiting for you when we’re done and he loves you just like Daddy does.”
My chest constricts and the walls are closing in, the pungent odor of cigarettes and sweat attacks my nose, the door to my room shutting, the click of the lock vibrating loudly in my ears as I scoot back on my bed to get away from him.
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, my fingernails digging for skin in my palm, and I barely register the pain I’m inflicting upon myself. I’ve grown too accustomed to it.
“Fran?”
Matt’s talking but he suddenly sounds very far away. Or maybe it’s me who’s far away. The instinct to run is too strong now and I have to get out of here. Springing up from the booth, I barrel through the crowd and even though they’re calling after me, I don’t stop. I just keep running. I only wish I knew where I was going.
After all these years, I hate that my father still has this kind of power over me. I remember the words from my therapist. ‘He only holds the power as long as you bestow it upon him.’ Easier said than done. I manage to hold it together pretty well on most days, but then out of nowhere, the triggers come, and I’m that weak, frightened seven-year old girl who only wants to please her daddy and be loved—no matter what the cost. I just never realized it would cost this much.
I’m bumping into a maze of drunken bodies when a hand grabs my arm.
“Fran, wait,” Matt says, but I can’t look at him.
“Matt, just leave me alone. I want to be left alone!” I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip is too strong.
“Fran, please don’t shut me out,” he pleads, “talk to me dammit!”
I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his stare. “Why does it matter to you?”
“I don’t know, Fran, but it does.” His voice lowers and he steps closer. “It matters a lot.”
My eyes crawl up to his, begging him to listen. “Please…I need you to leave me alone.”
He drops his hand in defeat and lets me go…and I keep going.
There’s a door toward the back of the bar and I anxiously will my feet to move as quickly as possible to get to it. I knock once and when there’s no response, turn the knob to thankfully find a room that’s empty. There are cardboard boxes labeled with black marker against the wall and it appears to be some kind of storage area, but nonetheless I’m grateful for the solitude. I quickly close the door behind me, sliding back against it and landing on the floor…and that’s when the flood gates open. Tears fall mercilessly down my cheeks and I let them have their way with me, the feelings too overwhelming, the mountain too tall to climb. I blow out a quivery breath and try to steady myself before closing my eyes and banging my head against the door over and over, attempting to anesthetize the searing pain and the years of horrific memories.
“Shhhh…princess,” Daddy said as he held the paring knife in one hand and tucked a strand of thick, frizzy black hair behind my ear. “Remember, this is our special thing we do together.” He smiled but his eyes weren’t happy like Mommy’s. “I’ve got your favorite band-aids all picked out.”
Tears slid down my cheeks but Daddy didn’t care. As he lifted up my favorite nightgown, the one with the cupcakes on it, I felt my tiny body start to shake. I stared up at the stars on my ceiling and wished I could fly to the moon right then and sit amongst them. Where’s Mommy? I thought to myself. Then I felt it. That first bit of pain that always came when Daddy was in my room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited. The pain came back…again, and again, and again.
“Mommy….” I sobbed quietly. “I want Mommy.”
“Shhh…Franny. Mommy’s not here and Mommy will never love you like I do.” He patted my head and when I looked down at my belly, I saw red. Always red. I hate the color red…and I hate Daddy.
More tears come and after a while, I don’t even feel them anymore, a numbness settling in as if my limbs are asleep, the burning sensation dulled in my chest. A familiar voice pulls me from my grief.
“Fran, I know you’re in there and I want you to let me in,” Matt says in a hushed tone and I don’t answer in hopes he’ll just go away.
“I’m not leaving so I guess I’ll just plant myself here until you decide to let me in.”
There’s a loud thump and I can tell he’s mirroring my position on the other side of the door. For whatever reason, Peyton’s voice pops into my head. ‘Even I can see he’s not shallow. He’s a good guy, Fran.’ In my heart I know she’s right, but I just don’t want to see the look of horror in his eyes, followed by pity when he sees how damaged I am, when he sees all of my broken pieces.
With a resigned sigh, I push myself to a standing position, wiping the wetness from my lashes and cheeks before clicking the lock. Backing up a few steps, I wait for the inevitable to finally happen…for Matt to see who I really am.
He walks through the door, a somber expression covering his face, worry lines crinkling his eyes. “Thank you for letting me in,” he says with so much relief that it nearly breaks me knowing I ran from him. “Now that you have, I want to know if you’re okay and I want you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve been crying, and before you say anything, I’ve seen you go through so many different emotions this past week, so don’t tell me it’s nothing and try to sweep it under the rug.”
“It’s not nothing,” I reply, trying to swallow the nausea crawling up my throat at the thought of revealing my darkest secret.
“What happened out there, Fran?” He keeps his distance but his voice is soft, his hands remain at his sides.
“My dad used to call me Franny,” I mutter, and I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he interrupts me.
“God, Fran, you must miss him so much.”
I shake my head back and forth in a violent fashion and know I must look like a crazy person, which is fitting considering what I’m about to say. “I don’t miss him. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I don’t understand,” he says, his brows knitting together, his arms now crossing his chest.
Everyone has a defining moment and this is mine. I’ve never willingly showed a man my scars, even with Kyle, he stumbled upon them. But now, here with Matt, it’s as if I’m standing on the precipice, about to hurl myself over the edge. The fear is crippling, all of my life’s insecurities culminating to form a tight, uncomfortable ball in my throat that strangles me from the inside out.
I never thought this would be the way Matt would first see me naked, but I suppose it’s better he know now. Before I lose my nerve, and with my heart pounding fiercely inside my chest and beads of sweat dotting my upper lip, I lower my hand to the belt and slowly pull it loose until it unravels and my dress is parted down the middle. With one last look at Matt—his eyes narrowing, the lines of confusion burrowing deeper into his face—I push the fabric apart.