Page 47 of Free to Dream
I hope high-end sports cars come with mirrors. Otherwise, I’m going to resemble an extra in a horror film walking into Molly Darcy’s. When I say as much to Caleb, he squeezes my shoulder. “You know we don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it,” he offers.
What do I want?
I need a drink. I want to dance. I have to stop living in the past and feel alive.
“I think this conversation definitely put some negatives on the date point scale, Harvard.”
When we reach the side of the Porsche, Caleb wraps me in his thick arms again. Dropping a kiss on the top of my head, he says, “Still keeping score, huh?” he teases lightly.
“I expect someone who looks like you would have some game. So far, all I’ve got is dinner and rehashing of my past which, for the record, makes me want to regurgitate said dinner.”
“Let’s not forget about our kiss, Cassidy,” his dark voice says. I love how he claims it as ours. His eyes gleam at mine through the darkness at the lake. “I would think a kiss that sweet would definitely put me ahead for the night.”
My heartbeat accelerates as I squirm a little, thinking of our kiss. My first kiss. Yeah, that definitely put him ahead.
He’s so close to my body, he can feel my body shift and he laughs. Yeah, I don’t think so. Reaching up, I see the surprise in his eyes a moment before I bring my lips to his.
This kiss is shorter, but ratchets up the adrenaline in my system. When I end it, his breathing is as uneven as mine. I turn around to open the car door. “Now we’re even. Time to re-up your date game, Lockwood.”
As the door closes behind me, I hear his low laugh. I quickly pull the visor down and thankfully find a mirror. I check out my makeup before reaching for my purse. It’s not as horrible as I thought. I briefly wonder as Caleb slides into the driver’s seat if my sisters put all the waterproof and sweat proof crap on me because they knew I was going to completely lose my shit, or because they figured it would get hot in the bar like they’d said. Either way, all I end up doing is touch up my gloss and dust my face with a touch of powder.
“Ready?” Caleb asks. After I buckle myself in, my eyes meet his and a small smile crosses my lips. After putting the car in gear, he reaches for my hand and we drive off into the cold, fall night.
As we make the quick trip from Lake Kenosia to Molly Darcy’s, we listen to The Fray’s “Over My Head.” It’s apt for my mood. I always wondered what it would feel like for someone outside of the family to know everything. Well, not everything, but to explain how I, Cassidy Freeman, came to be.
I think I’m still a bit heady with the idea that who I am, who I really am, was accepted. I know Jason accepted Phil, so there are people out there who aren’t completely judgmental. But with women, there is a stigma, a humiliation that keeps us silent with fear. Because even if we are young when rape happens to us, somehow, we ask for it.
No one does.
Ever.
I was lucky to have the right people help me work through my issues so I didn’t devolve into the animal I was bred to become. I cannot fathom what would have happened to my soul if Phil and I hadn’t ended up with Em and her aunt.
I’ve worked with Matt. I’ve read the books. I know I have a healthy dose of PTSD, mixed with OCD and anxiety. Throw in my self-abhorrence and it’s a Molotov cocktail waiting to explode within the confines of a relationship.
Over the last few years, I’ve realized part of me will always be that helpless girl, but I’ll never be her again. I’m stronger than the people who brutalized me, making what happened to me something that doesn’t dictate who I am day-to-day, that lives within me, but doesn’t define my life. I can put on a smiling face to the world and hide my past hell. As scared as I am about certain areas of my life, when I open that door to my past, I expected men to go running.
I may have been a victim, but I’m no longer anybody’s victim. I refuse to let myself be categorized, defined, or give up any more of my life by giving my past the power to control me.
Somehow, Caleb listened to what I had to say and saw that. He can’t possibly understand it, but by not walking away, he made me stronger. He held my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. And there I saw my pain reflected, but there was no revulsion. No disgust.
And that kiss.
Holy mother of God, that kiss.
Right now, I think I feel like people do when they’re told they’ve won the lottery; dizzy, out of sorts, and a bubble of happiness just ready to pop.
I’m a realist. Things may or may not work out with Caleb.
But forever, I will love him for this moment when I actually believe the words my family had been telling me for years about the woman I am.
Strong. Confident. Resilient. Beautiful.
As we park in Molly Darcy’s overflow lot, Caleb turns off the car and turns his body to face me. “How are you doing, Pixie?” he asks quietly.
Despite the use of his somewhat annoying and somewhat cute nickname for me, I give him an honest answer. “I’m processing. It’s not a story I tell, ever. I sure as hell never expected to tell it on my first date.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
