Franklin called me a nurse and she came over. She even offered me Vicodin. I turned her down and said that I would deal with the pain myself with a little bit of Advil for good measure.
I wish that I could go to the hospital or the police and make an actual report about what happened but it is too risky. I need to get him on my side. I need to find out more about him and about his involvement with my father and Tate Media before I make this case. If he thought that hurting me would put me in my place, he was wrong. It just made me angrier and more determined.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I get ready for dinner.
It takes me a long time to put on the dress and zip up the back. My ribs throb with each breath and I don't have much range of motion in my arms.
I put on a pair of high-heeled boots and cover my shoulders with a cloak. The black cocktail dress is a familiar one, my go-to item whenever I have to dress up.
I don't know if it's just me but I don’t like to wear fancy things. Sometimes, the thing that scares me the most about going to certain places and dealing with uncertain situations is wearing unfamiliar clothing. That’s why I chose this one for this occasion. I have been inside of it and I know what it’s like.
Just like on my wedding day, my hair, my makeup, and my dress will be my armor. It worked then. I just hope that this is enough to protect me now.
When I come downstairs, my heels make a loud clicking sound on the marble.
Franklin is standing in a three-piece suit in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He's tall, slim, and wide-shouldered.
He is beautiful on the outside but incredibly cold on the inside. He is what romance novels are made of but our relationship is nothing like that. Some people can be changed. He’s not one of them.
He's evil incarnate and he's damned. The only little thing left to do is to bury him underground and never put up a gravestone.
When I walk up to him, he turns around and pulls me in. He kisses me lightly on the cheek. Instead of pushing him away, I turn my other cheek toward him, presenting it for a kiss.
Franklin touches his lips to mine but only slightly, not pushing me to return the gesture. I don't.
I take a step back, cold and collected. I am here but if he wants me to be here in a good mood, he will have to do a lot more than that.
“I know that you're still angry with me,” he says, “So, let's have some food first.”
I follow him to the formal dining room where dinner is almost served. I sit next to him at the table that spans the entire wall. For a second, I'm tempted to take the seat at the far end but this is a safe place to talk and I want to take advantage.
The waiters serve wine and appetizers. I take a piece of bread from the bowl and bite into its delicious softness. I've been trying to avoid carbohydrates but tonight I need all the strength that I can muster.
We talk about the weather and his workout at the gym and nothing else in particular. I don't watch much Netflix or television and he doesn't read many books so we don't even have popular entertainment in common.
“I know that I should probably not bring this up,” he says, putting his fork down. “It feels like an elephant in the room.”
“What does?” I ask.
“All of that stuff that happened,” Franklin says without batting an eye.
“I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that,” I say after a long pause. I put a strawberry from my salad into my mouth and taste its explosive flavor.
“I just want you to know that I'm sorry.”
“You said the same thing when you smacked me,” I point out.
I know that I'm pushing my luck but I hope that we can have a real conversation here, not something topical and without substance.
“I know,” he says with a long face. “Sometimes, I just get so full of rage that I lose control of who I am. It's hard to explain.”
“I don't know what you want me to do.”
“I want you to forgive me.”
“Okay, I forgive you.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You're lying.”
“I don't know if I can forgive you, just like that. I mean, you're sorry now but what if it happens again?”
“It’s not going to,” he promises. “I'm sorry. I’m such an asshole.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “But I guess you're my asshole.”
He looks up at me and gives me a smile.
“You mean that?” he asks.
I shrug and look up at him after a moment.
“Please don't ever do that again,” I say.
“I won't, I promise.” He reaches over and grabs my hand.
He squeezes it tightly and a shiver of fear rushes through me. This is a different side of him but right around the corner, I know that a darker version is lurking.
I thought that I knew what would make him snap. I thought that I could control the monster but now I know that he can come out from anywhere, at any time, and the only thing I can do is steady myself. For now, I'm just grateful that he seems to be at peace. We have made amends and that's good enough.
17
Aurora
Later that evening, Franklin takes a call from work and disappears in the middle of dessert. I'm relieved. After happily finishing my tiramisu, I take a second slice to my room. There, I get out of my heels and into my sweats.
Just as I get into bed and settled in with a cup of tea and something mindless on my tablet, my phone goes off. I see that the camera that I had set up had started recording. I quickly turn off the notification so it never goes off in the future and wait.
I turn my attention back to Netflix but my curiosity gets the best of me. What is going on in there?
The camera is set up as a motion detector so it only records when someone is in the room. I click to the secret folder and, when the screen loads, my mouth drops open.
I see Franklin standing in his office, wearing nothing but a robe. There's a girl whose face is away from the camera. She is small, diminutive even, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. Her hair is in pigtails. Instead of waiting for her to leave and getting onto the massage table with a towel over his butt, the way that it's customary to do in legitimate spas, he just drops the robe and watches her.
I feel sick to my stomach. Physically ill, I rush over to the bathroom and dry heave but nothing comes out. After a moment, I glance at the phone again. Now, he's lying down on his stomach on the massage table.
I don't want to watch. I want to make it stop.
If I drop this phone and go over there right now and interrupt them, it will come to a stop. She won't get hurt but I also won't have much to show anyone. It will just be my statement against his and that's if the girl sides with me. If she doesn't, then I'll have nothing.
I don't know what to do. I don't want to be complicit in this. I want to help her. I don't know what's to come but I see the wreck coming. The train is coming around the bend, it has already derailed and it's about to crash right into her. I have to stop it but I can't make my body move.
I'm terrified. Franklin has already done a terrible thing to me and that was before he knew that I knew his secret.