When Faults Collide (Faultlines Book 1) Page 11

  I giggled. “Can we make this thing,” I said motioning between the two of us before finishing, “Twitter official?”

  He threw his head back and laughed before leaning forward and feigning a serious expression. “Of course.”

  I giggled and then pulled out my phone and pulled him next to me for a selfie.

  We both grinned as I snapped a picture and quickly uploaded it.

  Asha Harris

  @AshaGirlRVA

  World, meet #MrGreenEyes. AKA @BlakeRVA The man who knocked rule one out of the park. #RuleBreaker #Worthlt

  He grinned at me, no longer playful, but it held a different emotion—one that I could see in his eyes. Adoration? Love, maybe? Deep caring, at least.

  He leaned in and gave me a soft kiss.

  “Thanks for sharing us with the world,” he said softly.

  I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, but I smiled back.

  He understood. Social media is a big deal to bloggers. I had quite literally just shared “us” with the world.

  We got out and made our way up the walkway. I sighed, nostalgically taking in the scene of the house I spent five years of my life in.

  The house was a two story colonial with white paneling and a rock walkway leading up to it. Various trees and bushes scattered throughout the front landscaping and led to a scene similar to something you may see in Southern Living magazine.

  It was traditional and had all of the classic touches that it would have had when it was built.

  I knocked twice and then opened the front door.

  “Marce? Dad?” I called out, as I took off my shoes and set them in the basket by the door.

  After my dad realized how much upset it caused that he roamed his home with shoes on, he conceded and allowed the basket by the door. It was a tradition they kept even though I no longer lived there.

  Blake followed suit, taking off his Converses and placing them in the basket. He wore slim fitting jeans and a black sweater. Simple, but fit him so well.

  Marcy came from the direction of the kitchen wearing a white apron, wiping flour on it as she made her way towards us, her arms outstretched for a hug.

  “Oh, Asha! Hi honey,” she said while enveloping me in a tight embrace.

  She pulled back and held her hand out for Blake, who took it graciously.

  “And you must be the young man who has captured our girl’s attention,” she said with a hint of playfulness in her eyes.

  He grinned, flashing that woman-killing dimple and answered, “Yes ma’am. Though to be fair, I think she captured mine first. Blake Daley.”

  She smiled, looking between us and then locked onto Blake again. “Marcy Harris.”

  She led us into the kitchen where we stood around the island while she poured us glasses of wine.

  We sipped the wine and made small talk. My dad was apparently signing some paperwork at the office, but promised to be home long before his guest was set to arrive.

  Well, there goes the “no working on Sunday” rule.

  I heard the front door open and peeked around the corner to find my dad standing in the foyer taking off his shoes.

  “Dad!” I said, running and practically knocking him over with my embrace.

  “Hi, baby girl,” he said, pushing me back and taking me in.

  “Where is this new beau that you brought over?” he whispered with a smirk.

  I slapped his arm playfully and led him into the kitchen, reminding him to behave himself.

  Blake leaned up from the island and held out his hand, which my dad took firmly.

  “Blake Daley, sir.”

  My dad sized him up and then responded, “Bill Harris.”

  We moved into the living room, sitting down to make small talk.

  It didn’t take long, however, for the uncomfortable questions to come up.

  “So, Blake, do your parents live in the area?” my dad asked with a smile.

  I put my hand on Blake’s knee reassuringly. We didn’t have to talk about this.

  “Dad—” I started before Blake interrupted.

  “No, it’s okay, Asha. Really. I’m not ashamed of where I come from.”

  My dad looked in between us and Marcy sipped her wine, eyeing us in interest.

  “I don’t know my dad, and my mother died when I was a kid. My foster parents, who are basically my parents, do live in the area, in Richmond.” Blake answered.

  Marcy’s eyes flashed with understanding, but of course, my dad wasn’t going to let it go after that.

  “I’m very sorry to hear about that. Asha’s mother died when she was young, too. How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  I glared at my dad with anger, prepared to speak up again before Blake answered.

  “My mother was a prostitute. One of her clients killed her. I was twelve,” Blake answered, his eyes locked onto my dad as he spoke.

  Marcy gasped and then her eyes darted between us even faster.

  My dad leaned back in his chair, rested his hands on his thighs, and cleared his throat. He was processing, and I’m sure he was curious if Blake was as damaged as me.

  “Oh...I’m very sorry to hear about that. What is it that you do for a living, son?” my dad asked.

  I was onto him. He was trying to gauge how far he’s removed himself from that lifestyle.

  “I own a music venue in Shockhoe Bottom. I started it after I finished my MBA from UVA,” Blake said proudly.

  My dad nodded and I saw a small smile appear on Marcy’s lips.

  “That’s good. Business. That’s something I know a little something about.” My dad said cheerily. He was obviously satisfied that Blake was not a thug. For that matter, he was probably thrilled he wasn’t an artist.

  Blake chuckled. “Yes sir, that’s what I understand. Your daughter speaks very highly of you.”

  My dad’s eyes met mine with love and we smiled at each other.

  Suddenly the doorbell rang.

  Marcy looked at her watch. “Oh, he’s early.”

  “Can I refill your glass for you, Blake?” I stood up and asked him, “Or do you want something else?”

  “What are you having?” he asked.

  “Not this,” I said with a giggle. “They keep the good beer in the garage.” I added in a whisper.

  He winked at me. “That sounds good.”

  I made my way through the kitchen as I heard Marcy go open the door.

  I was almost to the garage door when I heard the voices. I heard a British accent and my mind raced with recognition.

  “No way,” I whispered to myself. I shook my head. It wouldn’t be possible.

  Regardless, I set the wine glasses on the island rather forcefully and scurried out to the living room to see for myself.

  Sure enough, there he was.

  One of the many faces that greeted my nightmares.

  Lyle.

  In the flesh. Standing in my father’s living room.

  The same man who “visited” my mother. The same man who looked at me in such a predatory way. The same man.

  I gasped and shook my head. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked towards me.

  Blake’s eyes filled with confusion; my father’s eyes filled with worry; Marcy’s eyes looked at me questioningly.

  His eyes, however, locked onto mine with almost immediate recognition.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling my heart beat faster.

  “What are you doing here?!” I seethed.

  I started breathing faster, sucking in air like I was running out of breath.

  His eyes widened; he was clearly as shocked to see me as I was to see him. Then he looked at me as if he had figured it out.

  “Bill, you didn’t tell me you had brought over gifts from India,” he said, giving me a seductive once over.

  I grabbed my chest, my chest heaving from the breaths I was grasping for.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Lyle?
This is my daughter. Do you know each other?” I heard my dad demand.

  Blake stood next to me, rubbing my lower back, whispering in my ear.

  “Asha, what’s going on? You’re okay.” he whispered.

  “Your...daughter?” Lyle asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, my daughter. How do you know my daughter, Lyle?” my dad demanded, his voice firm.

  “I, uh—ahem—I was a friend of her mother,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “You son of a bitch,” my dad exclaimed.

  I heard what sounded like someone getting punched, but I couldn’t be sure. Everything was starting to get fuzzy, and I wasn’t able to focus.

  Blake moved around to stand in front of me.

  “Asha. Stay with me, baby. I’m right here. You’re right here. Everything is fine,” he said soothingly.

  That voice. Oh, I wanted to stay with that voice. I tried to fight off my plunge into the darkness, trying to stay in this moment, with the voice I loved so much.

  Tears rolled down my face. I felt my body slide to the floor, my breathing still heavy, gasping.

  I felt Marcy’s hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. We’re here. You’re okay.”

  “What’s going on?” Blake asked. “Is she having a panic attack?”

  I heard some commotion with my dad and Lyle, but couldn’t focus enough to hear what was being said.

  Marcy rubbed my back soothingly. I smelled her perfume, and it smelled nice.

  “No—well, yes, in a sense. She’s drifting into a flashback,” I heard Marcy say to Blake.

  My hands started shaking and I heard a sob rise in my throat. Blake lowered himself so he was sitting in front of me and pulled me into himself.

  He held me and began rocking me back and forth.

  That felt nice. I breathed in his scent and tried to shut out the memories that were taking over my mind.

  The memories. The darkness. I didn’t want them.

  Suddenly all I could see was Lyle on top of my mom, his body grinding up and down. I had come back from my walk early, I was only seven. Chandra was supposed to be watching me, but a client had come to see her. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I stood in the doorway and I saw them, heard them. My mother couldn’t see me, but Lyle turned and saw me. He winked at me but continued.

  “Chala jana!” (Go away!) I yelled at the memory.

  “Chala jana! Chala jana! Chala Jana!”

  I pushed Blake away. I backed up until I felt my back hit a wall and began rocking back and forth.

  I felt a hand reach out to touch me; it must have been Lyle’s, as his was the only hand I could see in my mind.

  I couldn’t see that it was Blake’s hand reaching; I had slipped too far away. I slapped it away and whimpered.

  “Chala Jana!” I screamed again.

  I heard a voice coming from somewhere off in the distance, but I couldn’t see it.

  “He’s gone baby girl. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t identify who it belonged to.

  I covered my ears with my hands, clenched my eyes closed, and continued to rock.

  This is safe; I am safe. This is safe; I am safe.

  Everything went dark. I’m not sure how long I stayed in the darkness.

  I could hear another voice, but it sounded different, like it was coming through a phone instead of from a person in front of me.

  “Katherine, did you hear me? She’s having a full break.”

  “Well, Bill, what do you expect? You brought one of her mother’s clients over to the house for dinner? How would you expect her to react to that?”

  “I obviously didn’t know.”

  “Ok, well, one of you is going to have to work to get her grounded. If you can bring her back, even if she goes into shock but no longer stuck in the memories, she will be fine. If you can’t do that you are going to need to take her to the hospital.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Blake. That was the last voice. Blake.

  Blake was nice. I liked Blake.

  I felt his hands on my face and felt him sitting directly in front of me.

  “Asha, baby. It’s Blake. I’m right here. You are right here. You are not there. You are here. You are safe,” he said soothingly.

  I am here; I am safe.

  My breathing steadied.

  “That’s right baby. You are here. You are safe. I am right here. I’m with you.”

  I am here; I am safe.

  My heart stopped beating so fast.

  “Can you see me baby? I’m right here. Nobody else can get you. I am here. You are here. You are safe.”

  I am here; I am safe.

  Slowly, my vision began to focus.

  Through the fog I could see fierce emerald looking at me.

  Blake.

  He smiled at me. “Hi, baby.”

  He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

  Suddenly, the realization of what just happened—and the memory of Lyle, and the fact that the vile man was just standing in front of me—hit me, and I began to shake. My lip trembled and I felt tears flowing down my face.

  Blake pulled me into his chest and I sobbed openly and freely into his sweater.

  “She’s okay, Katherine. She came back,” I heard my dad say.

  “She isn’t in shock?” Katherine asked, her voice coming through the speaker phone.

  “No, she’s upset and shaking, but not in shock.” I heard Marcy say, and I detected something different in her voice... surprise maybe.

  “Okay. Tell her to call me first thing in the morning. Don’t let her drive and she doesn’t need to be alone tonight,” Katherine instructed.

  “I understand,” my dad said.

  They disconnected their call, but I continued holding onto Blake and sobbing into him.

  He sat with me on the floor and continued to hold me into an embrace for well over an hour, long after my sobs stopped.

  Finally, he stood up and I moved to sitting cross-legged, staring off in the distance, and hugged myself. I couldn’t bring myself to look my family in the face.

  “I’m going to take Asha home, if that’s okay, Mr. Harris,” Blake said to my dad.

  “You will drive, and stay with her all night?” Marcy asked him.

  “Yes ma’am. I won’t leave. I’ll take tomorrow off and stay home with her tomorrow, too. I’ll make sure she calls Katherine.”

  “I—thank you,Blake. Thank you for being there for my daughter,” I heard my dad say, his voice dripping with emotion.

  I heard my dad sniff. “She’s been through...so much.” His voice cracked. “I’m happy she has you. Thank you.”

  “Sir, your daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me. Believe me when I say that I am much more grateful for her.”

  Marcy sniffed. “Well, take our girl home before we all end up crying.” She laughed nervously.

  Blake sat down in front of me again and put his hand on my chin, drawing my face up so that our eyes met again.

  “Asha, I’m going to take us home. Do you think you can get up and walk with me, or do you want me to carry you?”

  I shook my head. I could walk. I held out my hand so he could help me stand.

  I stood, walked silently to my dad and Marcy, and hugged them both.

  Blake and Marcy hugged, then he shook hands with my dad.

  He led me out towards the car with his hand on my lower back. He opened the passenger door and I climbed in.

  I had never been the passenger of my own car before.

  I buckled up and then ran my finger tip over the door. The feel of the leather felt both hard and soft on my fingertips at the same time.

  Blake got in and started the car. Susie Oh played softly through the speakers and he reached down and held my hand.

  He then leaned over and kissed my cheek.

  We drove in silence the whole way back to Richmond.

  We didn’t ne
ed to speak. His presence, and his hand which never left mine, was all that I needed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Weeks went by and fall slowly transformed into winter. The leaves had all fallen and been swept away by wind and soft thin layers of snow covered the streets.

  Something shifted in us that day at my dad’s house. When we came home there was no conversation about where our relationship was, what we meant to each other, or how fast or slow to go.

  Blake never left my side. He had basically moved in without moving his stuff, though his things were slowly starting to make an appearance on my side of the wall.

  We spent every moment together that we could. We slept in the same bed every night. Never having sex, but together all the same.

  He had seen me have one of my worst episodes in years and he didn’t run away. In fact, it seemed to make him care more. It was as if he suddenly felt the need to protect me.

  Truthfully, I had made myself have so much control over my life for the last ten years that allowing him to do that, to take care of me...it was healing. It forced me to let him in, to trust him. Not completely—not yet—but we were getting there.

  Blake also appeared to have a newfound trust in me. I didn’t think that was possible, because he had been so open with me from the start, but those tiny walls in his heart began to come down and he was able to verbalize things with me.

  It was slow, but we both began to tell each other stories about our childhoods: about our mothers; about growing up in a brothel, and in his case, in a brothel that doubled as a crack house. Though we were worlds apart, literally oceans between us, our childhoods had not been so different.

  In America people live in this bubble where everyone is free and the depravity that exists in other, less fortunate countries does not happen here. At the very least, they don’t understand how common it is.

  Blake’s mother had been in foster care herself; she ran away when she was just fourteen. She had been picked up by a pimp at a bus station who promised her roses and sunshine and happy endings, but who really just delivered her into a world of trafficking. It started out with just “his friends” and then built up into full-time prostitution. She had Blake when she was only sixteen.

  Blake only knows her background so vividly because for a very brief time when his mom was seventeen, she was taken back into foster care. A social worker had been able to get her to open up, so all of her history was in her file, which was then shared with Blake when he ended up in foster care.