And the next one.
And the next one.
And the next one.
Each was a haunted, battered version of me, taken from a different angle.
In the very last one, I was on the floor with my legs spread out in front of me. My knees were pushed open as wide I could make them go. I was wincing from the pain of the position, but the camera I’d raised above my head in both hands had captured my determination to take the photo.
This photo wasn’t taken to document what Owen had done. This one I had taken for me. Fresh wounds mixed with old scars. A portrait of my life in pain. Proof that I had been beaten, but I wasn’t broken.
They couldn’t fucking break me.
My photos reminded me of my favorite painting by an unknown artist. It depicted a woman lying naked with a huge red scar running down the length of her body. Her mouth was open, like she was screaming. Just like her, my photos represented my abusers ill-fated attempt to cut me open and gut out my secrets. She’d been cut but not opened.
Just like me.
I looked at the line hung with square images of my battered body, my blackened eyes and my swollen mouth spread in a wince, and realized: all of this was a consequence.
I was a consequence.
These photos were just one side of my story. There was a cause behind the consequence. I imagined the moment one day when there would be similar photographs of that cause, of the man who made this misery for me.
That became my hope.
I took a photo folder from the cubby behind the safelight and placed my dry pictures inside. I spent extra time cleaning the dark room and putting away the chemicals so there wouldn’t any trace of my presence left behind.
As I walked away from the school grounds, an idea came to me. Maybe, the woman in the scar painting wasn’t screaming in pain. Maybe, she was laughing.
Maybe, she, too, was plotting her revenge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I STOOD ON THE VERY TOP of the Matlacha Pass on a day with no clouds. The only visible reminder of the nightmare from five weeks earlier when my life changed forever once again was a small, bright red scar on my lower lip. I found myself wanting to spend more time in the sun than I had in the past. I relished the feel of a sunburn now. It was just enough discomfort to remind me that I was still alive and to kill the numbness that threatened to take over every day that Jake was away.
I let myself sit in the blazing heat, my eyes closed and my face turned upward to the sky. I watched the colors move around and dance behind my eyelids while I imagined what it would be like when he returned.
I’d spent the last few weeks planning my tattoo sleeve and pinning cities on the map on Jake’s laptop of where I wanted him to take me. The day before, I’d even bought a sundress. It was green and strapless and stopped mid-thigh. I didn’t have the nerve to wear it in public. In addition to my scars, the bruises on my inner thighs hadn’t quite healed all the way. Wearing the dress had become my goal.
Maybe, I would wear it on the day Coral Pines disappeared in the rearview mirror of Jake’s bike.
I watched a tourist boy try to pull up a massive grouper that he wasn’t prepared for or even skilled enough to catch. The boy was a teenager and a very small one at that. I guessed he couldn’t have been more than fourteen. After more than twenty minutes of battling his catch, he finally reeled in the enormous fish just enough to break the surface of the water, exposing the full figure of what looked to be a forty pound catch. He didn’t have time to celebrate. The second the creature’s tail lifted off the top of the water, the tip of the boy’s rod broke from his pole, and his line snapped, sending him backwards on his ass to the sidewalk and the grouper back home to the river floor with a free meal of Spanish mackerel in its belly.
I imagined I was that boy. I had something so massive and wonderful just within reach. I was starting to believe my line was ready to snap just like his did.
I missed Jake.
It had been weeks since he left. I was starting to lose faith that he would come back to me. I tried to be strong, to believe in him in the same way he seemed to believe in me. I knew how he felt about Owen, even before he’d done what he had to me. I knew how strongly he’d react when he heard what had happened, but I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about me once he knew. As difficult as it was for me, I had to believe we could make it through. After all, he was the one who’d taught me to trust him with my pain. I just hoped that he would trust me with his.
I didn’t know how I would find the words, so I decided I’d speak through my pictures instead.
The moment the afternoon storm clouds chose to block out the sun before delivering their usual torrent, I felt him. Even before I saw him.
I was still on my bench but had just shifted my focus from the tourists to the weather when the awareness of him washed over me. My skin prickled with anticipation, and my heart fluttered in ways I wasn’t used to at all. I smoothed my hair with my hands as I stood and walked off the bridge, hoping that when I got back to the apartment, he would be there, and that the feeling wasn’t just some misguided intuition.
I had only taken a single step when I saw him. He stood at the bottom of the bridge in all his black leather glory.
“Because a reliable source said that he saw you go under the fucking bridge with Owen right after I left, and when he went to find Owen, that prick had your fucking underwear in his pocket and was bragging about how you finally gave it up to him.”
As soon as he said it, I lost all hope for what could have been. The accusing look in his eye. The cold, hard stare burning a hole right through me. The way I felt like a slut under his gaze, even though I hadn’t done a single thing to deserve such a look. What I believed Jake and I had didn’t really exist after all. His look told me that. He’d heard a fucking rumor from some ignorant asshole friend of Owen’s—like the rumors I hear every day—and he assumed it was true. He believed I was capable of betraying him so easily. I felt my walls going up. I was building it, brick by fucking brick. The old Abby was being put back into place. Part of me was heartbroken about it, but part of me couldn’t help but feel relieved. Deep inside, no matter how much faith I let myself have in Jake, somehow I’d known this moment would come eventually.
I just didn’t think it would’ve come so soon.
“So that’s what you really think of me?” I said in almost a whisper, sinking down to the curb of the sidewalk.
Pelicans dove behind us for live bait in the fisherman's buckets. Children laughed hysterically when they pulled up pin fish on their lines. People buzzed by on scooters, the inexperienced drivers spinning past us without so much as a glance in our direction. It was like we weren’t even there, like none of it was really happening. All around us, life was still going on. But inside, it felt as though my heart had just stopped. It stood as still as Jake did.