For the next month and a half, we tour through the US, plus a few Canadian stops. The G-TV segment was used on the tapings the next night, and this resulted in a fight between Shane and I. I ran out of the room, and met Mark by his bike. We rode off as Shane shouted at us. This began a feud, and a pay-per-view match.
Finally, we return to our town for a Smackdown show. After the tapings, we go to Rita's house for a late dinner. Rita tells me that she hasn't gotten any more anonymous calls, which eases what little sanity I have left. Hours later, we finally head to our house, Harley with us. Glad to be home again, I take a nice, hot shower, and fall asleep in Mark's arms as he watches TV.
The next morning, I awaken early. I notice Mark still sleeping, and quietly as possible, sneak down to the kitchen. I let Harley in, and feed her first. Just as I begin to place bacon in a frying pan, Mark walks in. "Morning," I say to him.
He comes over to me, and places a kiss on my forehead. "Morning," he replies, and walks over to the fridge. "Want something to drink?"
"Yeah," I answer, avoiding splattering myself with oil, "could you get me a glass of milk? Oh, and pull out the eggs and some jam."
I turn, and watch him bring out the milk jug and egg carton, set them on the counter, then go back into the fridge for the jam. "Jeeze, I just asked if she wants a drink, and she gives me a grocery list," he grumbles as he closes the fridge door.
I laugh, and respond, "Well, if you'd rather risk your life with burning oil, be my guest."
"No, I think I'll leave you to that," he replies, and chuckles as he pours milk into two glasses.
I shoo him out of the kitchen area. I pick up the dog dishes, shooing her out as well. I then grab the egg carton, and continue with the preparation of breakfast. After toasting bread, scrambling eggs, and frying bacon, I divide the food between us. Setting a plate before Mark, I say to him, "Your Majesty's breakfast."
He looks down at it, and up at me. "Thanks, but I'd rather you lay off the formal routines," he says, trying hard not to laugh.
"Yeah, right," I smugly reply, and sit down next to him. As we begin to eat, I ask, "What are you doing today?"
"Just gonna check up on the shop," he replies between bites. "I want to see how Ralph's managing. I might do a few tattoos as well. What about you?"
"I don't know," I answer after taking a sip of my milk, then teasingly reply, "I thought Rita and I could go to a club, pick up a few male strippers, and end up in a hotel room."
"You mean you haven't had enough of hotel rooms?" Mark asks, surprised. "I thought by now, you would have."
We laugh. "Actually, I think Rita and I are just gonna hang out. Maybe go to a movie." I tell him. "When you go to the shop, tell Ralph 'hi' for me, 'kay?"
"Sure," he says, and finishes his breakfast. I finish my own around the same time. I take our plates, and rinse them off under the faucet. "You made breakfast, I'll do dishes." Mark takes the pans I used from my hands. "Now, get! I don't need a meddling female in here." He playfully swings a pan in my direction, and I scoot out of the way.
As he cleans the dishes, I head upstairs to change and clean my navel piercing. "God, I hope this time, it heals right," I say into the mirror as I wash the soap off the hoop. I hear Mark come into the bedroom, and call out, "You sure you washed the dishes right? I hope you did, because if you didn't, I'll have to do something drastic."
I come out of the bathroom, and am met by Mark's stare. "Are there that many different ways to clean a plate?" he whines.
I put a finger to my chin, tapping it every few seconds. "I don't think so," I reply, and grin again. "Now I've got to figure out a reward."
Mark pulls a T-shirt over his head, and says, "You needn't think that hard; I'm easy to please."
I walk over to him, and find his arms quickly around me. "We're supposed to get out of the house today, remember?" I remind him.
"I know, but at least give me a little kiss," he replies.
"Gladly," I respond, and our mouths come together. Our tongues touch for a moment before I withdraw my lips. "If we continue meeting like this, we won't get anywhere."
"You're a tease," Mark says.
I laugh. "But of course! You wouldn't want just some ordinary woman, would you?" I tell him, and he shakes his head.
About fifteen minutes later, after Mark leaves for the Tattoo Studio, I call up Rita, and arrange to meet her at the movie theater. Once I park the truck, I walk into the ticket office, spotting Rita on the way in. "I was lucky to get a sitter," she says as we buy our tickets.
"I hope we don't get mobbed," I tell her as we wait in line for refreshments. "It's harder to go anywhere anymore." We get our popcorn and sodas, and head into the theater. The movie goes by quickly, and before I know it, we're heading out into the parking lot. "Tell Michael 'hi' for me, and I'll see you later for dinner," I tell her as we go our separate ways. She nods, and walks toward her car.
I drive home, singing along with the radio. I park in the garage just as it starts raining. "Oh, goodie," I say with sarcasm. I enter the house through the garage door. I'm in the house barely five minutes when the doorbell rings. I open the door, and gasp.
Standing on my front lawn is a man about sixty years old, with graying brown hair, and hard, cold, gray eyes, and is soaking wet from the oncoming rain. A man I previously thought I'd never see again. With a voice as cold as his eyes, he calls out, "Daddy's home!"
I try to swallow the urge to scream. "What are you doing here?" I demand, trying to sound cross instead of scared. "You're supposed to be locked up!"
The old man laughs. "That's not the kind of reception I expected from you," he replies. "In case you haven't been keeping up, I broke out a few months ago. The first thing I did was look for you. I called up a few of your past friends, and found out you moved away." He coughs, and stares a hole through my head through the rain. "I was watching TV one night, and saw this girl on there that resembled you. I kept watching those wrestling shows, seeing if you were her. Sure enough, I watch one night, and see you using your feminine skills on some poor punk, just like you did before."
I swallow hard, keeping myself from vomiting. "You had better get out of here," I say, my voice giving away my fear. "I've got a vicious dog in here, and I'll let it lose on you!"
He laughs again. "I highly doubt that, Jess," he says, then takes a step closer. "You haven't got the guts. You never did."
I want to slam the door, but I can't. I'm practically glued to the spot. Suddenly, I hear a motorcycle engine. "You don't want to mess with me," I warn him, my voice much stronger this time, and louder. "My boyfriend can and will make sure you pay for your unwanted appearance."
He laughs so hard, he begins a coughing spell, then replies, "You never could keep a boy for long. You took what you wanted, and ran. You haven't got anyone in there. I highly doubt you even want to get rid of me. Remember all the great times we had?"
I spot Mark out of the corner of my eye, and say, "I'm serious. If you don't get outta here, my boyfriend will pummel you without mercy. I'm pretty sure he'll kill you."
His eyes lock onto mine. "You're bluffin', girl," he replies. "I could always tell. What you've probably got is some vibrator or a blow up doll. Never could get your hands on a real one after me, could ya? So what are ya gonna do to me, huh? Point a blow up doll at me?" He laughs, but without the coughing spasm. "A boyfriend, ha! What is he, one of them dumb wrestlers?"
Mark quickly walks up behind him, and twists his arm around his old back. "You got something against wrestlers, old man?" Mark venomously says to him. He then tosses the older man across the yard. "Get off my property now, before I call the cops to come and haul your ass off of it, piece by piece!" The old man scrambles up to his feet, and almost sprints away. Mark turns back to me. "Are you okay?" he asks.
I nod, and rub my head. "I should've known he'd come for me," I say in a hushed tone.
Mark guides me into the house with his hand, and closes the door. "Who was he?" he asks next.
"My father," I reply, and feel the sting of hot tears pour out of my eyes.
Mark's arms come around me, almost crushing me into him. He sits down on a chair, pulling me onto his lap. I lay my head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. I sob long and hard, with Mark rubbing my back, and whispering comfort. Once I begin to settle down again, he asks, "Was he the one you feared was after you a while ago?" All I can do is nod. "He must've done something awful to you." I nod again.
The doorbell rings, startling us both. I shift as Mark stands up, then crouch down enough to hide, but still be able to see the door. Mark opens the door slowly. "Hi, Mark," comes a somewhat cheery response, and I knew it was Rita.
I stand up, wipe my eyes and face, and go over to the door. "Hi, Rita," I say to my friend, and see her carrying her daughter. "Let me take Kiara." I gently lift the baby from Rita's arms. "Come on in."
Rita enters, followed by Michael, who carries the baby's highchair. Mark takes the highchair, and sets it up by the table. Rita and I sit next to each other on the sofa. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she's studying me. "You've been crying," she states, matter-a-factly. She then glares at Mark. "What did you do to her?"
"Mark didn't do anything," I reply, coming to his defense. I prop Kiara against my torso with my arms around her. "I had a surprise visit from my father."
Rita gasps. "I thought the bastard was locked away," she says.
I nod, and respond, "So did I, but I wasn't home five minutes from the movie when the doorbell rings. I open the door, and on the front lawn was my old man." Shaking the oncoming memories off, I hand Kiara gingerly to Rita, and stand up. "I'm going to start dinner." I walk over to the kitchen.
Feeling followed, I turn around to see Rita behind me. "Let me help," she says.
I nod, and say, "Could you get the whole chicken in the fridge?" Rita nods, and goes into the fridge.
Throughout the time it takes to cook our dinner, Rita and I discuss how horrible it had been back in the old days. Most of the time, we had to shoo the men out of the way. Finally, the dinner is done, and we have Mark and Michael set the table for us. When we bring out the salad, the stuffing, and the chicken, they marvel at it all. "It looks too good to eat," Michael comments as he holds the chair out for Rita.
Mark pushes my chair in, and says, "I don't care if it looks too good to eat; I'm too hungry to let it go to waste." I laugh at his oversized appetite. The rest of the dinner proceeds with more jokes and lots of eating. Kiara even eats more than her usual amount. Whenever the event of my father's appearance comes up, I keep my mouth shut for fear of vomiting.
Many hours later, after a dessert of pie and a few drinks, Rita, Michael, and Kiara leave. After their car pulls away from the curb, I turn back, and head into the house. "Do you think that scare you gave him will keep him away?" I ask Mark as I close the front door. I walk over to where he sits on the sofa.
"I hope so," he replies. "I'm afraid to leave you here alone again." Mark pulls me onto his lap. "Don't know what I'd do if he came here again."
I lean my head against him. "As long as you don't spill too much blood on the cement," I say, closing my eyes. "It's impossible to wash off."
Mark chuckles. "Okay, I promise not to," he says, and kisses the top of my head.
I hesitate in saying what I've been thinking. I sit up again, and look into his eyes. "Mark, I've been thinking," I tell him. "Today's events make me feel like I need to stay here, make sure that the house doesn't get robbed. I don't think I'll be going on the next tour."
Mark replies, "But I wouldn't be able to save you if he comes back." I plead with my eyes, and he sighs. "If that's what you want, okay, but I'm gonna call you every night I'm away." I nod, and he adds, "I want you to be able to defend yourself should he show up again. Starting tomorrow, I'm gonna teach you some defensive moves."
I nod again, and reply, "At least I'll have a good teacher." Mark laughs, and hugs me closer to him.
********
Throughout the week, as Mark promised, he teaches me various defensive moves. Once, when he tells me to pretend he's the attacker, I punch him so hard, his nose starts bleeding. No matter how many times I tell him I'm sorry, he says that it's all right, and that I had done it right.
Before I realize it, it's Sunday night; Mark would be leaving the next morning. I come up from the basement, carrying a load of folded laundry in a blue basket, and I overhear Mark's phone conversation with Vince. "I'm sorry it's such late notice," he says into the phone. "It's just that she's still pretty shook up, and doesn't want to go far from home." A long pause follows. "As soon as possible, I hope. Despite her past dislike of wrestling, I think she enjoys being a part of it." Another pause ensues. "I'll tell her, and she'll probably want me to tell you thanks for understanding." He looks up, and sees me standing in the doorway to the basement. "Right. See you tomorrow. Uh-huh. 'Bye." He hangs up the phone.
"What was that about?" I ask as I shut the door to the basement, although I already knew.
"I got in contact with Vince to tell him that you wouldn't be with us on this tour," he explains. "He says he's disappointed that you're not gonna be with us, but he understands you're need to be home."
"I'm glad he does," I say, and go upstairs to put the laundry away.
As I kneel next to the dresser to put clothes away, I hear Mark come into the room. "I'm still not really sure whether to leave you alone or not," he sighs.
"Mark, you've already taught me how to defend myself," I reply, placing some of his clothing in his suitcase. "Besides, if I can make you bleed, I shouldn't have much of a problem." I stand up and turn to him. "What other things do you want to take with you?"
"You mean, besides you?" he counters, and I smile. "I'll pack my own stuff." Mark then takes my hands into his. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'm gonna miss you, too," I tell him, coming into his embrace. Grinning, I take his hand again, and begin to lead him toward the bathroom. Mark wraps his arms around my front, and kisses my neck as we walk. I lean my head forward to let his kisses go from one side to the other. We enter the bathroom, and Mark kicks the door shut.
********
The next morning, I cling to Mark, like I'm afraid he'll disappear if I let him go. Rita and Michael come over; Michael told Mark he'd take him to the airport. It isn't long before it's time for him to leave. I hug him tightly, burying my face into his T-shirt. "Call me, 'kay?" I ask through my tears.
He hugs me tighter, and replies, "Every night, Jess."
Michael calls out from the car, "Hey, Mark, if you want to catch your plane, we should leave now."
Mark whispers into my ear, "I love you, Jess."
"I love you, too, Mark," I whisper back. I pull back from his embrace, and we kiss for the zillionth time today. Finally, Mark pulls away, and walks down the porch steps. Rita puts his hands comfortingly on my shoulders as I watch him get into the car, and the car pulls away from the curb. I burst into tears again, and Rita leads me into the house.
"Want me to stay over?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No, it's all right," I reply as my sobs subside. "I'll be fine. You've got stuff to do. I'll call later, okay?"
She nods, and picks up Kiara and the diaper bag. She comes over, gives me a quick hug, and walks out the door.
I look around, and realize it's the first time in almost a year that I've really been alone in this house. I let Harley into the house. "Well, Harley," I say to the excited dog, "looks like it's just you and me." Patting my thigh, Harley follows me down to the basement. There, I work my ass off on the gym equipment, hoping that Mark would have a safe flight, and arrive in one piece. Hoping that my father wouldn't show up during his tour.
********
For nearly two months, everything goes smoothly. In fact, Ms. Zellia comes over for a final inspection. She says that the state wants this thing over, and declares me clean. Of course, she tells me right out that she still thinks I'm sin personified. Afterward, Rita and I celebrate, and almost get too carried away.
Just as he promised, Mark calls every night. I tell him not to, that I know he's mostly tired and hurt when he calls, but he won't let a night go by without a little conversation between us. When I tell him about the final inspection, he playfully replies that we can now officially get high, and trash the place.
Soon, though not soon enough for me, the day of Mark's return comes. Excited as soon as I awaken, I set to cleaning the place up a bit. The day is long, and as impatient as I've become in the last few weeks, it's almost suffocating.
Around three in the afternoon, I'm nervously pacing around the living room, wondering what's taking him so long. Suddenly, the doorbell rings, and I jump. "Now why would he ring the doorbell?" I ask myself as I stumble around the coffee table toward the door. I open the door, grinning. Once the door is fully open, my grin falls rapidly off my lips.
Standing before me is my father, grinning devilishly. "Hiya, darling," he slowly drawls. "Heard that punk of your's was out of town, and figured I'd drop by to keep you company."
Stuck to the spot as usual, I can't move. "Get outta here," I reply with a surprisingly even tone.
He quickly grabs my free arm, and pushes himself and me inside the house. "I don't think so, little missy," he replies coldly, and slams the door. "Just because you own this house doesn't mean you can tell your old man what to do."
I twist my arm free, and swing for a punch. He catches my wrist, and twists my arm behind my back, then does the same to the other. "Looks like you've gotten a little bit braver, haven't you?" he snidely remarks. "Guess that boy of your's has been a bad influence on you."
I struggle under his grip. "Damn you, let me go!" I scream in desperation. Harley begins barking fiercely behind the glass door, trying her hardest to scare him away.
He laughs a horrid laugh, and replies, "All in due time, my pretty. First, let's do a little catching up…"
He trails off as his face buries into my neck, nuzzling harshly. As I'm about to scream my pathetic head off, his dry, cold lips begin touching my flesh with untamed passion and scorching roughness. I can do nothing, for as he does this, he presses his body onto my arms that he holds in place.
Thoroughly disgusted, I try to shake his advances off, saying, "You've made quite a mistake, you know. My boyfriend can and will kill you!"
He chuckles evilly. "I don't think so," he replies, and puts my imprisoned hands on his hardened member. "You see, once this is spent, you won't have a need for that toy of your's." He moves my hands to my waist area again, and brings his disgusting lips to the back of my neck.
'What am I gonna do now?' I ask myself. I try to picture Mark, trying his hardest to coach me through all situations. Suddenly, the thought hits me. 'Duh…why didn't I think of that earlier?' Quickly, I kick behind me, making sure to hit him in his enlarged organ. He releases me, bending over to grab at the groin area. I slam my fists into his lower back, and he ends up on his knees. I then race into the basement, hoping he'd follow in pursuit.
My little prayer is answered when the older man clomps down the basement stairs, groaning and saying, "Girl, that was a big mistake."
I hide in the darkest corner of the basement, by the water heater, with a ten-pound dumbbell in hand. Slowing my breathing, I wait until I see him pass me. Once he does, I creep quietly from my hiding place, and slam the dumbbell into the back of his head. His body crumples to the floor, and I drop my weapon, smiling smugly. I grab his arm, and drag him up into a chair. I search the house quickly until I come up with a long piece of rope, then return to the basement to tied the bastard up.
Once finished, I go back upstairs, and lock the basement door; thank God it only locks from the outside. I suddenly realize I'm crying; I had been through the whole ordeal, I think. I stumble across the rug in front of the basement door trying to get to the phone. When I do pick up the receiver, I quickly punch in Rita's number. Michael picks up, and says, "Hello?"
"Michael, it's Jess," I tell him, feeling more tears sliding down my face.
Michael's voice changes from a normal tone to concern as he asks, "Jess? What's wrong? What's happened?"
I'm basically sobbing into the phone now. "He-he came back, and was touching me, and I-I fought him," I explain, then take a deep breath, steadying myself. "He's knocked out cold now, and tied up in the basement. Michael, could you call the police for me?"
"Sure, of course I will!" he responds.
"And could you make them move it? I don't want the bastard here when Mark gets home, 'cause I just know Mark will take drastic measures." I ask of him.
Michael replies, "Right. I'll call them right away, and Rita and I will be over there in a few minutes."
"Thank you," I say. "See you in a few. 'Bye." Michael says good-bye to me, and we hang up.
Just as he had said, he and Rita come over within five minutes. When I open the door, Rita throws her arms around me. "Rita," I say to her, "really, I'm okay now."
She pulls back to look at me, and replies, "You were always a bad liar, Jess. Don't try to cover up. I know damn well you're not okay." I laugh slightly, and sit back down on the sofa.
Barely a minute later, the doorbell rings again, and a voice calls out, "It's the police. Open up!"
I jump up to let them in, and lead them to the basement. "I tied him in a chair down here," I tell them as I unlock the door.
They go down the basement, and come back up with my angry father in handcuffs. "I will get that pretty little head of your's, girlie girl!" he threatens as the police lead him outside. "You're not too old to put over my knee, you know!" The police push him out the door, and into a squad car.
A female officer asks me, "What happened exactly?"
I tell her of when he showed up two months before, and everything that happened today, watching her record it all in her notebook. "He should be locked up for what he's done to me," I say to her. "He told me he broke out, so maybe he's on a wanted list or something?"
She glances up at me when I said he broke out. "Would this man we just arrested happened to be Joe Curtis?" she asks me with curiosity. I nod, and she begins to write in her notebook. "Would you testify against Mr. Curtis? Press charges?"
I nod enthusiastically, and reply, "If it keeps him locked up, I will."
"Good," she says. "I'll call you with the trial information by Wednesday." She leaves with the other officers, and I close the door.
I turn to my friends. "Thanks for being here, and for calling the cops for me," I say to them. "The only test left is telling Mark." I sigh heavily, and plop down into the sofa. "What if he gets angry with me? Mark tried so hard to teach me to defend myself properly, and I didn't have the sense to do so before he-he-" The angry, acid-like burning of bile creeps into my throat, and I'm barely able to make it to the half-bathroom next to the kitchen. Once I'm done vomiting my guts raw, I clean myself up, and return to my worried friends. "I think you should go," I tell them. "I'll be fine now. I promise." I hug Rita and Michael as they stand to leave. I watch their car pull away from the porch steps.
Sighing, I sit down on the top step, and try to imagine what Mark's reaction would be. "He'd be furious," I say aloud. "He'll fly into an uncontrollable rage, and want to tear into my father." I chuckle. "I don't even think of him as my father anymore. Just some sick, old man." Tears threaten to overcome me, but I manage to stop them. "Rita's father was the only REAL father I had."
Just then, a white taxicab pulls up to the curb in front of the house. I stand on the second step as I watch the back door open, and Mark step out. The cab driver steps out of the driver's side, and opens the trunk, pulling out Mark's suitcase and wrestling bag. The driver brings it to the porch, sets it down, and goes back to his cab. Mark rounds the cab, and meets the driver on the way. He pays the fee, then steps up onto the concrete sidewalk. Mark looks up at me.
He walks toward me with a slight limp; not enough to be noticed by a stranger, but noticeable by me. He winces once, but continues on his way to the porch, slowly, but surely. When he reaches the porch, he stands on the bottom porch step, holds out his arms, and says, "Don't I get a hug?"
The threatening tears finally spill over as I bury my face into the crook of his neck and shoulder connection. I cling to him tighter than I ever did before, crying my eyes out. Mark holds me just as tight. After much crying, I whisper into his neck, "He-he came back today, Mark."
Mark immediately pulls me away from him, his hands clamped around my upper arms. "He what?!" he fumes. "Where is he?! What did he do?! When I get my hands on that bastard, I swear I'll-"
"Mark," I interrupt him, "he's gone. He's in police custody now." I tell him the whole story, every little detail.
After the account, Mark wraps his arms around me again, and kisses the top of my head. "I'm coming with you to that trial," he tells me. "I want to see him get what he deserves, and he'll get it; I promise you that. If the justice system doesn't, I will." He unfolds himself from me, and picks up his suitcase. "C'mon, let's go inside. I'm starving." I pick up his bag, and help him into the house. "Looks like you've been working out," he comments.
I nod, and reply, "Just about every day." I place the bag next to the door to deal with later, and wonder into the kitchen to start dinner.
********
The woman officer calls me on Wednesday, as she had said. "The trial is set for Saturday, at noon," she tells me. "A lawyer will be assigned to you."
"All right, I'll be there," I respond. After a few more instructions from her, we hang up. I grab my black address book, flipping through it. The phone rings again, startling me. "Hello?" I say cautiously when I put it to my ear.
"Jess, hi!" comes Vince's voice. "How are you?"
"Better, thanks," I reply, sighing with relief. "I was just gonna call you."
Vince says, "Really. Let me get what I have to say out first. This Saturday's house show in New Orleans has been canceled, so everyone gets the weekend off. I just wanted to let you know that so you didn't show up at an empty arena. Now, what was it that you were gonna call about?"
"Actually, it was about the Saturday show," I tell him. "I have to go to a trial, and I wouldn't have been able to go."
"Trial? What did you do?" he asks, concerned.
I laugh a little, and reply, "I didn't do anything. I'm testifying as a major witness. It's kind of hard to explain, so I'm not gonna try. I'll tell Mark about the cancellation." We say our good-byes, and hang up.
Mark comes in from the garage, oils streaks all over his face, and covering his hands. "I found out what the problem was," he says, rubbing his arm over his forehead. "There's a hole in the hose, and the fluid's been leaking out from there. I can only fix it with a new hose, and I'd have to special-order it. Basically, you haven't got a vehicle for a while."
I nod, and say, "That's all right with me. Vince just called, and said the Saturday show was canceled., but he didn't say why."
"Did that officer call you yet?" he asks.
"Yeah. Trial's at noon on Saturday." I tell him.
Mark comes over to me, and takes my head in his hands. "It'll be over soon, so don't worry too much," he says.
I nod, then take his wrists in my hands. "Look at this!" I exclaim. "Your hands are all dirty, and you touched me with them! Don't you know how hard it is to keep this face clean and beautiful?" Mark cracks a smile, and laughs. "Don't laugh at me, I'm serious." I grin back, and lead him to the kitchen sink to wash up.
********
