and let the drama begin...
Chapter Five- No One Will Ever Feel Like This Again
"I think the battery in my phone is dying," Belle told Brock, hoping he would get the hint that she wasn't in the mood to talk. He called her only five minutes after she left the interview, and they had been on the phone for almost a half hour, him talking about "business" and her pretending to care. All she really wanted to do was take a small detour through the park on the way to Kays apartment and catch a view of the twinkle lights around the bridge. That view at night was breathtaking and the night breeze was brisk, being that it was July and the weather in Chicago is always changing.
"Are you going to do the interview with Chicago Tribute tomorrow? It would be really great if you didn't skip out on this one," Brock said, sounding perturbed.
"I don't know. I told Patrick I'd help him with something. They've only been back for a week off of tour, and I should be spending time with them before they fly out to California," Belle said, yawning loudly and finishing off the Gatorade in her water bottle.
"I'm starting to think you aren't dedicated to this," He said, and when she didn't argue back he hung up. On any other day she would have called him back to apologize, but dealing with him was the last thing on her mind at that point. She had hardly seen the guys over the past week. If she had nothing going on they were busy, and vice versa.
She loved theater, and acting was great, but she never thought it would consume her.
She let the warm air enter her lungs, feeling the air deep in her chest. The air made her feel dizzy and her vision went blurred, so she sat down on the nearest bench and began to search through her iPod, settling on The Smiths and letting the music flow through threw the speakers. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her muscles were beginning to go flaccid. She closed her eyes against her will...
And that's when it happened.
She felt a warm clothed hand over her mouth and a thick arm around her waist. It took her by surprise. She tried to kick, but her limbs weren't functioning. It was like someone had paralyzed her body and she had no ability to fight back. She tried to scream, but the fabric of the glove around her mouth muffled any attempts.
She was quickly put on her stomach, with her face in the grass. She tried to stop the sobs; her body shook so hard she was sure the ground must have quaked.
"Please...please. I'll give you whatever you want. Please. Please just leave me-" And that was it.
"She was just found in Lasien Park, completely naked with a blanket wrapped around her. No sign of her clothes, no identification," The nurse explained to the 27-year old male detective and his female partner.
"Is she conscious?" The female asked, following the nurse through the hallway stopping at the room.
"Not yet. We drew blood, and we are waiting for her to tell us to do a toxicology screening,"
"What do you think, Kevin?"
The male detective looked up at his partner. "I think we have a classic serial rapist case," He said, opening the door and walking over to the bed.
He stopped when he saw the oddly familiar curly hair and took a deep breath as his eyes scanned the small body quickly.
He collapsed onto the chair next to the patient and put his head in his hands. His body began shaking and his partner immediately walked over to him to comfort him.
"You know her," The female detective said, more as an observation than a question.
After gaining a little composure his shook his head.
"It's my sister,"
this whole situation is turning me inside out... the panic, the depression, the lack of emotion. It's not that i don't feel anything; actually it's quite the contrary. i feel everything but it is this vat of emotions and I'm afraid that if i let one of them out it might cause a chain reaction... think "domino effect".
you know that song by duncan shiek? "i am barely breathing, i can't find big air"...ha, who thought in the mist of a catastrophe i would be rely on a shitty 90's pop song to convey my emotions?
i should not be writing a journal, it's positively personal and makes me crazy.
Patrick suggested i start this journal/diary thing, because i have been "emotionally constipated". i thought he was going to ask me to seek professional advice, but he knows me better than that.
Anabelle takes her eyes off of the composition notebook in front of her after hearing Hemingway bark from his spot next to her, announcing the arrival of the gang. Instead of meeting them with the usual hugs and kisses she got up from her bed, grabbed Hemingway, placed him outside of her door and shut it. They must have noticed the sound, because the voices got quieter. She sat back on the bed and pulled her blanket around her visibly slumped shoulders. 'If I don't write this now, I won't ever,' she tells herself turning back to the notebook. She takes a deep breath...
I remember waking up in the hospital. I slowly came to consciousness, first focusing at the I. V. hooked up to my arm.
I looked over to my left and saw my brother Kevin, looking very uneasy and disheveled. His blonde hair, although short and usually well groomed, was sticking out at all angles. His green eyes looked tired, and the bags underneath them were telling me he hasn't been sleeping much lately.
"What happened to me?" I asked in panic as Kevin sat rigidly in his chair.
"Belle, I have two people I want you to talk to," He said, rubbing my hand tenderly.
I looked to the other side of me and was met with two unfamiliar faces.
"This is Ally and Jeff. They're going to ask you some questions, okay?" He asked. I shook my head yes and took notice of them.
"We need to talk to you about what happened earlier," Ally said as Kevin stood up to go to the door and close it.
"You know what happened to me," I said, adjusting the bed into the sitting position.
"We have an idea. But we need to put the pieces together," The commotion in the hallway interrupted us.
"Kevin! Is she in there? Is she okay?" Patrick's voice was shaking and loud enough to wake the dead.
"Patrick, calm down!" Kevin screamed, grabbing him by the arm and ushering him into the room before shutting the door.
He walked briskly to the room. He stopped at my bed and hovered over me. The tears in his eyes were threatening to spill over the bottom of his eyelids.
"Are you okay?" Patrick asked with his voice shaking. He grabbed my hand and took a seat in the chair that Kevin had just vacated. I nodded my head as if to say yes, but in all reality I was just as clueless as he was.
The detectives introduced themselves to Patrick before turning to me with sympathetic looks.
"I will give you the facts as I know them. A passerby found you asleep on a pretty well lit bench in Lasien Park, and you were brought here wrapped only in a blanket. Right now the only evidence we have is the blanket.. However, there are other..." The male detective paused, trying to grasp the right words. "...Aspects of the situation we have not investigated,"
"What does that mean?" Patrick asked, quickly becoming agitated with the situation.
"We have reason to believe that you were raped. We are going to have to do a brief exam, to see if there is any evidence," Ally said softly.
Kevin stood there unmoving. He had already been informed of this, I assumed.
Patrick gasped and his hand went instantly to his mouth. He looked down at me; I could clearly see the emotions through his eyes: concern, anger, disbelief, shock. It was all there.
I however, was emotionless. I felt as if my soul had been sucked from my body.
After taking the "exam", which consisted of a very uncomfortable pelvic exam and what seemed like a half hour of probing, the doctors concluded there was evidence of rape, but no fluids were found.
I closed my eyes tightly. Maybe I could sleep through this. I heard Patrick gasp but I wasn't concerned. I just wanted to get away from this. All of it.
Kevin kept trying to comfort me. "Don't feel hopeless, okay? I'm going to find out whatever I can. We have reason to believe it was premeditated, and if that's the case then there will be evidence found. When the results from the toxicology screening come in we will know more, I promise." I tried to focus on the situation and solution but my mind kept reeling back to the fact that there was no logic to this. I felt dirty, and all I wanted to do was take a shower and sleep.
Before leaving the hospital Ally told me she would continue to look for the "predator".
I immediately thought of a lion. At least the lion leaves the gazelle for dead.
I hated what he had done to me. I was scared of my own skin. I didn't recognize myself.
I have stopped eating and sleeping. My normally tan complexion is turning porcelain white. My eyes are much darker than I remember them being, and I knew Patrick would be the first to confront me about all of the above.
"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Patrick asked, talking nervously as we sat in my bedroom late last night.
"No, I'm fine," I said, fidgeting with the hem of my hoody.
"You aren't fine. If you were you would be heated and poignant. You would show some kind of emotion. I haven't seen you like this since..."He paused, sitting on the foot of the bed, staring at me. "...the night i found you passed out on our bathroom floor. Remember that belle? Because I'll never forget seeing you like that. When you keep everything in it triggers your anorexia..." He said in a whisper.
"Don't tell me how to take care of myself, Patrick." I said, all of the sudden feeling very trapped. "I'm sad, is that what you want to hear? I was violated by someone I don't even know, for no fucking reason! It's disturbing. I'm so sick of feeling nothing, Patrick. I can't..." And with that I collapsed into his comforting hug. He rubbed my back soothingly and I cried for the first time since the accident.
"You will be okay, I promise," He said in a tone just below a whisper. "I'm going to take care of you," He said, and I felt safe for the moment.
but life has a way of of tearing me away from that comfort. i haven't had time to think about the movie, and it has been my main focus for a little over 5 months now. am i giving that up to depression?
i have been avoiding Brock like the plague. he knows what happened, and he hasn't pressed for anything from me. where does this leave me with my career? surely i can't hide from everyone forever.
or can i?
The soft knock on her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts.
She looked over to the clock which proudly read 3:00 A.M.
"Come in," She said softly, closing the notebook in front of her and pulling her knees to her chest.
"Am I interrupting you?" Pete asked with his voice low and hoarse.
"Nah, I was just writing," She told him, hugging her legs closer to her body and motioning for him to take a seat. He sat awkwardly at the edge of the bed, looking around timidly.
"What were you writing?" He said, only seemed half-interested in the topic.
"A journal," She said flatly.
A brief silence fell on the room.
"What's on your mind, Pete?" She didn't have to ask, but it was a formality.
"I wanted to talk about things. You want to go to the 'Pick Me Up'?" There was distress evident in his voice.
They drove the short trip in utter silence, and after ordering their usual Belle decided to break the silence.
"What's wrong?" She asked. There was no sense in trying to escape the inevitable.
She noticed his eyes looked tired and his usually well-groomed hair was at all angles.
"What happened to you?" He asked keeping his eyes focused on the table. "Patrick won't say anything, but I know he's vexed. He said that if you wanted to talk about it, you would tell me. I just wish you'd open up to somebody, Tinkerbelle," He finished, finally making eye contact.
"It's not like you to pry for answers," Belle told him matter-of-factly.
"It's not like you to keep me uninformed," He retorted.
"You have a lot on your plate right now, Pete. My problems aren't going to help you."
"Remember the night I sat in the hospital after my atavan incident? I didn't want to talk about it, Belle. I was trying to sulk and be pissed at the world and you wouldn't let me." He said, using nostalgia as a weapon.
She sat there for a minute folding and unfolding a napkin in her hands.
"I don't want you to feel sorry for me, or to be angry. I just want you to listen. I need that," She said, stirring her cup of coffee with a spoon.
"Okay," He replied solely.
"I'm so tired of feeling sorry for myself," Belle said in a whisper. He immediately found her hand and began rubbing a soothing pattern along the back of it with his thumb.
He sat there, focusing attentively on her. She sighed and began telling him what had happened to her. He listened intently and kept his eyes on hers, being sure that she couldn't omit any details. His hand held tightly to hers as she finished and when she looked up his face was contorted due to the fact that he was deep in thought. He didn't judge, and he wasn't erratic.
"So, this definitely makes your all time top five 'best depressing conversations' list, doesn't it?" She asked Pete with a smile on her face.
"So, we're playing the 'top five best' game? You know it's my favorite pastime," He said, lighting up the mood with wistfulness. They sat there for another hour trying to lighten their moods and their heavy hearts.
/Authors Note: Are you getting sick of my notes yet? Anyway, thanks to everyone who reads. thanks more to those of you who review. this chapter is my baby, so please let me know what you think.../