24

24
“I do not want the peace that passeth understanding. I want the understanding that bringeth peace.” Helen Keller

The weight of his body crushed her against the carpet. New Port filled her lungs, and he cast his ashy breath across her face as he ran his sticky, chapped lips against her mouth. She struggled beneath him, the rug beneath her a braising her wrists. With balled fists she beat against his chest. Hot tears rand down her face and mingled with his sweat. The aroma of wet dog filled her nose. Why did he always smell like a dog? His hands held her down—and then the other hands came. Running down the sides of her face and stopping at the sides of her mouth. The hands forced her mouth open—she never knew whose hands they were; she never saw his face. But that was because it wasn’t his face that was forced against her lips and down her throat.
Adrienne awoke to the sound of her own crying, to the damp of the sweat soaked sheets. She awoke to a soundly sleeping Deshawn, un-awakened by her tears. She gazed at him, breathing so steadily in the presence of her distress and knew that she could never tell him. She could never tell him what had happened so long ago but still haunted her dreams.
She rose from his bed and wandered into the living room. The futon against the far wall cast its shadow across the floor by the light of the street lamp coming in the window. She could still smell the New Port. Why was it that memory was so connected to scent? She walked away from the center of the room, distancing herself from the scent and the memory of the men who ruined her soul.
She stood by the side of his bed and watched him sleep. He was on his back, but she knew that he had started out on his stomach. He breathed deeply, almost like a snore, but not quite as loud. He knew that she was there—he had heard her crying. But he kept his eyes closed because he knew that it was important to her to think that he was still asleep. She crawled into the bed from the other side and snuggled up next to him underneath the blanket. Jackson reached over and took hold of her hand. He knew why she was there, just as he knew that he was the only man who didn’t have to ask why; he was the only man who could sleep in the same bed with her and only touch her hand. So he kept telling her.