Page 56 of Give Me Peace

They told me earlier that the rich guy next door, the one who sold them this piece of land, throws a big party every year. Even though he’s almost a mile away, the view is unobstructed. Vibrant colors paint the night, one after another, and I can’t help but marvel how something so pretty is only achieved by setting it on fire. But then it’s over. A bang, an explosion of light, and all that’s left are ashes.

“Looky what I got.” I turn my head to find Kash waving around a sparkler, his hips swiveling as he attempts to dance while belting out The Star-Spangled Banner horrendously off key. “Oh, say does that…” Lochlan flinches at the crack in Kash’s voice, attempting to cover his ears.

“America is not proud, dude. That’s…horrific.” Havok ducks at the hurled sparkler Kash launches at him, setting off a fight that involves the twins going against Roan and Havok. Their weapon of choice is more sparking fire sticks, which seems about right for these men. They hop around the beach, cussing every time one of them gets burned, but I just close my eyes and listen to the chaos surrounding me.

It’s perfect.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Saylor

“Saylor? Are you with me?” Danielle’s voice interrupts my thoughts, drawing me back to the present. “You seem a little distracted today. Everything okay?”

That’s because I am distracted. I woke up this morning with Lochlan’s arm banded around my waist. The second I moved, he moved with me. As if his body was aware of mine, even in sleep. He’d tightened his hold, which did nothing for my overinflated bladder, and tugged me closer. I’d felt his arousal, hard and pressed against my ass. It made my head fuzzy and my stomach twist, but in a way I liked. My brain has been working overtime since my eyes opened, analyzing every interaction I’ve had with the guys over the past month. All the little things I’ve put off thinking about because I knew the moment I did, worry and indecision would swamp me.

“Sorry. I’m good, just have a lot on my mind.” I smile, but Danielle isn’t buying it. She’s made a career out of reading people and studying the way the mind works. I’m not fooling her or myself.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” I weigh my options. I could always bring up something completely different and hope she drops it, but Danielle is also the only other person I speak with and she might be able to help me work through the riot of emotions I’m experiencing.

“In cases like mine, do the women eventually want intimacy? Do they find normalcy?” I bite my lip nervously as I wait for Danielle to respond.

“I wish I could give you a straightforward, yes or no answer, Saylor, but that simply isn’t possible.” Her placating smile is slightly frustrating. “Like I’ve said before, there is no right or wrong way to move forward after experiencing something like you, and sadly many others, have. I can say that, based on the information I have, there are cases far worse than yours and those women are thriving. They’ve gone on to marry and have children, but that doesn’t mean it was an easy journey to get to that point.

“But there are also cases that aren’t nearly as traumatizing as yours and they struggle every day just to get out of bed. Everyone responds differently. The only thing I can suggests is that no matter what it is—school, job, relationships—make sure you’re doing it because you want to. Not because you think it will help you move on. Constantly check in with yourself and make sure you’re doing things for you.”

“Okay.” I nod, mulling over what she said, but it’s hard when I honestly don’t know what I want.

“Is there someone in particular that’s brought on this line of questioning?” Danielle asks, her eyes kind and free of judgement.

“No.” I shake my head because it’s not someone. It’s multiple someone’s, and though I might be sexually delayed, even I know it isn’t normal to have feelings for five men at the same time. It’s not just attraction, there’s more between us than that, but it’s definitely prominent. “I’m just not sure what’s normal and what isn’t. If there’s a certain amount of time that should pass before I entertain the idea of something…more.”

Danielle smiles knowingly. “Remember when I said that you should do what feels right? Well, that applies to this as well, Saylor. No one but you will know when you’re ready for something more. Trust yourself. I do think that whoever you take this step with, whenever that may be, you should talk about what happened beforehand. It could greatly reduce the chance of triggers for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I can feel how hot my face is from discussing such an intimate topic, but I’m glad I brought it up.

“Our time is up, but you know I’m just a phone call away. Day or night, Saylor.” Danielle smiles sweetly, helping to settle to my frazzled nerves.

“I know. See you next week.” I wave, clicking the end call button. Like every time before, a wave of relief floods over me that I made it through another session without being forced to talk about things I’d rather forget about altogether. I’m not sure if it’s my perception of therapy that’s skewed or if I just have an exceptional psychologist, either way I’m grateful it’s Danielle I spend an hour chatting with every week.

My throat is dry, so I pop open the drawer Lochlan pulled a water from the first time he set me up in his office. Realizing I chose the wrong one, I go to close it. Just before it shuts, something catches my eye. I slowly tug the handle to reveal the contents once again. My brain can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, but dread washes over me, making my movements stiff. Carefully, I pull out the stack of papers and lay them on the desk.

A picture of a girl, her face eerily similar to my own, stares back at me. It’s printed on regular computer paper, so the definition isn’t the best, but I can make out her features pretty clearly. Her name and birth date are listed below.

Anna Beth Parker – March 11, 2002

I place it to the side and look to the next one. My hand goes straight to my mouth at the gruesome scene I’m met with. It’s the same girl—Anna Beth—but her body is lifeless, laid on a steel autopsy table. There are visible bruises and lacerations on her face and neck; I can only imagine what’s hidden beneath the cloth covering the rest of her. At the bottom of the page, it lists her cause of death: asphyxia due to strangulation. Beyond that, a torrent of other injuries is cited. Ones that make my own pale in comparison.

I shove it away, the next piece of paper the same as the first, only the name is different. Looking closely, I can see there are differences between her and the first girl, but they both hold a scary resemblance to me. Her name is Kenzie Rivers, born August 2, 1999. I turn it over, knowing what I’ll find next, but unable to stop myself from looking.

Her body is covered like Anna Beth’s, with similar striations. Same cause of death. It’s the other injuries I fixate on. Bile rises in my throat as my eyes scan the list rapidly. Blunt force trauma to the head resulting in a skull fracture, a stab wound to the lower abdomen, rape. Oh God, was she strangled before or after these things were done to her? I push the image away and close my eyes tightly. I never should’ve gone through Lochlan’s desk. These must be cases the guys are currently working. They’ve spent so much time hovering and worrying over me; I doubt they’ve had much time for work. It’s been easy to forget what they do.

After a few deep breaths, I pry my eyes back open. My nose scrunches as I stare at a postcard from North Dakota. I find it odd that it’d be mixed in with the papers I just stumbled across, knowing how organized and precise Lochlan is. I pick it up, finding another beneath it, slightly smaller with Iowa emblazoned across the front. Weird. I flip the one in my hand but drop it almost instantly. I jump from the chair, nearly making it flip in my haste. I can hardly draw in a breath as I read and reread the words written. The card is addressed to me. My name.

This isn’t what I think it is; it can’t be. They’d tell me. But the proof is right in front of me. I check the one from Iowa, finding it just as creepy and confusing. Tears blur my eyes, making it difficult to find the trash can before I empty my stomach. I tug on the bottom drawer, blindly searching for a water. Twisting it open, I rinse my mouth, using the ruined bin to spit it back out in. I pull myself up on shaky legs, a hollow pit forming in my stomach. Gathering the papers, I glance at the time. My sessions with Danielle are only an hour long. It’s a miracle someone hasn’t come to check on me.

There are so many things I’m feeling right now, but I harness the anger and hurt fighting for dominance and fling the door open. I can hear their low voices echoing down the hall. I normally find that comforting, but all I feel is trepidation as my feet carry me closer and closer to a truth I’m not sure I’m ready for. My free hand is shaking as I come to a stop at the edge of the main room, the other clutching the papers so tightly they’re beginning to crease. All five of them are lost in their own world, talking and smiling, but I watch them. Searching for any clue that they’re hiding something from me.

Havok is relaxed on the couch, looking completely at ease. His legs are spread wide, his favorite pair of boots on his feet. Lochlan is scrolling through his phone, likely checking his emails since I’ve had his computer, as he juggles a conversation with Roan at the same time. Krew is laying on one side of the sectional, an arm thrown across his face as Kash lays on the floor below him, mumbling around a sucker. There’s not one thing about any of them that hints they’re keeping secrets. Kash is the first to spot me, as usual.