Page 92 of Contention

The weekend passes in a relative haze of alcohol. The sickly sort that numbs the noise, but crushes the soul. Kara finds that drinking alone makes her feel better, the way it drowns out all her worries and self-doubt once she hits a certain point in the bottle. She doesn’t like the side effect of her brief respite. She wakes up feeling weak and ill, takes pain pills, then starts all over again when she’s thinking too clearly once more.

An old habit that she falls into far too easily. Unhealthy, oh so unhealthy, she knows but can’t bring herself to stop whenever the sun gets low in the sky. She’s tortured by thoughts of her father, the constant fear in the back of her head that he’s going to appear on her doorstep, winning smile and dangerous eyes, black as the pits of hell.

She dreams of him often, hears his voice in her thoughts.

Alongside her old mental wounds, a new one has come into being, festering. A bleeding gash in her heart, attached to the name ‘Nicholas Havenwood-Calais’.

Why him, out of everyone? Why can’t she just get him out of her system? Every time she thinks she’s ready to forget Nick’s face, she’s got herself pulled right back in. A sick obsession that makes her feel dirty afterward.

It’s like poisoning herself. He’s like suicide.

She knows he’s not good for her, but she can’t stop wanting him.

Why can’t she stop thinking about his hands, rough on her body, his stony features, or the way his cologne makes her melt inside? How terrifying he is when he slips into his vicious, predatory alter-ego, how no matter how she struggles, she’ll never win. He’ll always take what he wants.

He wants her body. Sure. But, does he wanther?

The very fear that he’s been entertaining himself with someone else over the weekend practically makes her sick, makes her want to dig her fingernails into her own wrists. How can she feel this way? About someone as horrible as him?

It’s sheer madness. Jealousy isn’t an emotion she enjoys feeling. She damn well shouldn’t feel it about a man that pretended to ra-

No.

She can’t think of it that way. Whenever she thinks of that word, that horrid, final word, she drinks all the more. Kara doesn’t want to acknowledge that there is something wrong inside her, that her need for a painful outlet, some sort of control for all her miserable internal suffering, is blasphemous.

Women with healthy minds don’t enjoy being with men who bruise them and get off on violence towards them. Except her, it seems. Good old mentally twisted Kara.

Thanks, Dad. You made it seem normal.

She canalmostforget and forgive the hazy blow job in Nick’s limo, because he’d thought her to be any regular whore he’d hired for a night out. The very idea of touching him should make her feel ill, but it doesn’t. She can’t, however, get over what happened in the parking garage.

If she hadn’t figured out it was him, it would have been rape. Perhaps he wouldn’t have let it get that far without telling her, but the horror of it still remains, the disgustingness of how her body still responded to the act, despite her terror.

Her shame is killing her inside, but she can’t help but want more from him. Is this what addiction feels like? No one has ever gone straight to the dark side with her before, none of her boyfriends or lovers had been into it. Now that she’s found someone as twisted up as she is…why now does she crave affirmation of…caring?

Kara can’t stop hoping that maybe she can have the outlet for her pain, yet somehow have a normal relationship with him as well. Is it even possible?

Then, she remembers Dietrich Bittinger and his pretty green eyes, the way he’d gleefully told her there was no other way that Nicholas Havenwood-Calais would be able to have a sexual relationship with her, except through violence.

She doesn’t want to believe it’s true.

Almost exactly a week later, Kara gets an unexpected text from him while she’s finalizing documents for court, ducking and dodging angry calls from Debra Mills. She’s left a voicemail for Ray Wellis, but hasn’t been able to catch him the past few days. Kara can only assume he’s out on a stakeout, or perhaps he’s finally been given some days off. Either way, she’s shocked when Nick’s name finally pops up on her phone screen.

Are you free tonight?

Her heart nearly pops out of her chest in sheer excitement, just the fact that he’s reached out to her at all. Then comes the irritation, at herself, at him. It sure took him long enough. Then comes the shame, rememberinglast time.

You shouldn’t see him again. It isn’t right,a voice in her head says, perhaps the voice of reason that she chooses to ignore.You aren’t doing alright.

She tells herself that it’s only the situation with her father setting her on edge. A lie.

Staring at his text, she forces herself to not respond. Let him stew over it. Let him wait for once. She can’t let him think she’s been dying to hear from him. That would expand his ego far too much. It’s a physical pain to ignore him for an hour more, her fingers itching to reply. Wait, wait, wait…then it happens.

He texts again, just a simple question mark. Kara grins with delight. He wanted to hear from her badly enough that he sent a follow-up text. Her interest is hidden…his has been exposed.

Score one for Kara.

Feeling bolstered, she presses dial and calls him, feeling her chest tighten when he answers, the husky sound of his voice like water in the desert to her. “Kara,” he says. “Something you’d like to say other than a yes or a no?”

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