Convicted
Page 198
“That’s ridiculous. Phil’s familiarizing himself with the security and obviously there was a guard at the gate. I’m a big girl.”
He didn’t argue; however, Tony’s posture revealed his displeasure with the way she was overseeing the staff. Claire wanted to say, if you lived here you could do it differently, but since you don’t, it’s my decision. Although the sentence was on the tip of her tongue, she reminded herself of the reason for her invitation and swallowed the words. Baiting him into an argument wasn’t her goal; nevertheless, she couldn’t help the slight bit of sarcasm as she motioned toward the kitchen and said, “Since there’s no one here to wait on you, help yourself to something to drink. The thing I want to show you is upstairs. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
Earlier in the week, her belongings had arrived from Everwood. She’d been through some of it, but she hadn’t opened all the boxes. What she wanted to show Tony was still packed away. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be brave enough to ask him to stay and see it, but on the drive home, she decided if she were to do it—it should happen before Nichol’s move.
Hurriedly, Claire searched box after box. Aware of her internal time clock, she didn’t want to make Tony wait too long. When she reached the bottom of the last box, Claire found what she’d sought. From the surface, they didn’t appear to be anything special—your garden variety spiral notebooks; however, both she and Tony had learned years ago that things weren’t always as they appeared. As she freed the notebooks from the other items, she felt Tony behind her.
He hadn’t touched her, but her increased pulse told her he was there. For the first time since the day of his divorce declaration, every fiber of her body surged with electricity. Without turning, she said, “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I knew where they were.”
Trying to remain unaffected by the familiar, yet recently unaccustomed feeling, Claire stood. When their eyes met, she fought to breathe—her lungs momentarily needing direction—inhaling took effort. Determined to stay strong, she looked directly into Tony’s black eyes as unbridled hunger consumed her. The intensity of the gaze staring back at her instantly reminded Claire of her captor—not the one who took her body—the one who took her heart. Pretending to remain aloof, she pressed forward and presented her notebooks. “Here they are.”
He tried to subdue the hunger boiling within him. As he watched her walk bravely toward him, he felt the intensity behind his eyes grow. Reaching for the notebooks, he asked, “What are these?”
“My compartments.”
Tony opened the top notebook. “Your compartments? What do you...?” His words trailed as he began to read—
I suppose I should start in the beginning—March 2010. No, that wasn’t when I was born. It was when I began to live. Most people think I’m crazy—maybe I am. You see I began to live, the day my life was taken away. Funny, I don’t remember how it happened. I do know now, it never could’ve been stopped. Anthony Rawlings wanted me. If I’ve learned one lesson in my life—and believe me, I’ve learned many—Anthony Rawlings always got what he wanted.
I can’t explain how it happened. I can’t explain how I fell deeply and madly in love with a man who did what Anthony did—but I did! These feelings have been discounted by multiple people: family, doctors, and counselors to name a few. They’ve told me, my love wasn’t and isn’t real. They say I’m a victim of abuse, and as such, I don’t understand the difference between love and applied behavior. How can that be true? If I don’t know my own feelings, how can anyone else?
These people haven’t lived my life. For the sake of my sanity, I need to know my feelings are and were real. I’ll always and forever, love and be in love with Anthony Rawlings!
It didn’t start that way. There was a time I both hated and feared him. When I say he took my life, I’m not being dramatic. One day I was Claire Nichols, a twenty-six-year-old, out of work meteorologist, working as a bartender to make ends meet, and the next day, I was his. He owned me. He bought my body, a commodity I never intended to sell, and while, with time, he earned my heart and soul, the transaction began with no transition and no introduction—just a brutal initiation.
I’ll never condone the things he did to me, nor will I deny them. They are a part of us, building blocks of our foundation. Some would argue that a foundation built on kidnapping, isolation, violence, and yes—even rape—would never stand. I must disagree. We lived through hell and came out the other side. Like the song says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I can’t imagine anyone having a stronger foundation than ours. It sustained us when the storms of life and vengeance threatened our very being. Not only did it make “us” stronger, it made each of us stronger. Most importantly—it made Nichol.
He didn’t argue; however, Tony’s posture revealed his displeasure with the way she was overseeing the staff. Claire wanted to say, if you lived here you could do it differently, but since you don’t, it’s my decision. Although the sentence was on the tip of her tongue, she reminded herself of the reason for her invitation and swallowed the words. Baiting him into an argument wasn’t her goal; nevertheless, she couldn’t help the slight bit of sarcasm as she motioned toward the kitchen and said, “Since there’s no one here to wait on you, help yourself to something to drink. The thing I want to show you is upstairs. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
Earlier in the week, her belongings had arrived from Everwood. She’d been through some of it, but she hadn’t opened all the boxes. What she wanted to show Tony was still packed away. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be brave enough to ask him to stay and see it, but on the drive home, she decided if she were to do it—it should happen before Nichol’s move.
Hurriedly, Claire searched box after box. Aware of her internal time clock, she didn’t want to make Tony wait too long. When she reached the bottom of the last box, Claire found what she’d sought. From the surface, they didn’t appear to be anything special—your garden variety spiral notebooks; however, both she and Tony had learned years ago that things weren’t always as they appeared. As she freed the notebooks from the other items, she felt Tony behind her.
He hadn’t touched her, but her increased pulse told her he was there. For the first time since the day of his divorce declaration, every fiber of her body surged with electricity. Without turning, she said, “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I knew where they were.”
Trying to remain unaffected by the familiar, yet recently unaccustomed feeling, Claire stood. When their eyes met, she fought to breathe—her lungs momentarily needing direction—inhaling took effort. Determined to stay strong, she looked directly into Tony’s black eyes as unbridled hunger consumed her. The intensity of the gaze staring back at her instantly reminded Claire of her captor—not the one who took her body—the one who took her heart. Pretending to remain aloof, she pressed forward and presented her notebooks. “Here they are.”
He tried to subdue the hunger boiling within him. As he watched her walk bravely toward him, he felt the intensity behind his eyes grow. Reaching for the notebooks, he asked, “What are these?”
“My compartments.”
Tony opened the top notebook. “Your compartments? What do you...?” His words trailed as he began to read—
I suppose I should start in the beginning—March 2010. No, that wasn’t when I was born. It was when I began to live. Most people think I’m crazy—maybe I am. You see I began to live, the day my life was taken away. Funny, I don’t remember how it happened. I do know now, it never could’ve been stopped. Anthony Rawlings wanted me. If I’ve learned one lesson in my life—and believe me, I’ve learned many—Anthony Rawlings always got what he wanted.
I can’t explain how it happened. I can’t explain how I fell deeply and madly in love with a man who did what Anthony did—but I did! These feelings have been discounted by multiple people: family, doctors, and counselors to name a few. They’ve told me, my love wasn’t and isn’t real. They say I’m a victim of abuse, and as such, I don’t understand the difference between love and applied behavior. How can that be true? If I don’t know my own feelings, how can anyone else?
These people haven’t lived my life. For the sake of my sanity, I need to know my feelings are and were real. I’ll always and forever, love and be in love with Anthony Rawlings!
It didn’t start that way. There was a time I both hated and feared him. When I say he took my life, I’m not being dramatic. One day I was Claire Nichols, a twenty-six-year-old, out of work meteorologist, working as a bartender to make ends meet, and the next day, I was his. He owned me. He bought my body, a commodity I never intended to sell, and while, with time, he earned my heart and soul, the transaction began with no transition and no introduction—just a brutal initiation.
I’ll never condone the things he did to me, nor will I deny them. They are a part of us, building blocks of our foundation. Some would argue that a foundation built on kidnapping, isolation, violence, and yes—even rape—would never stand. I must disagree. We lived through hell and came out the other side. Like the song says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I can’t imagine anyone having a stronger foundation than ours. It sustained us when the storms of life and vengeance threatened our very being. Not only did it make “us” stronger, it made each of us stronger. Most importantly—it made Nichol.
