Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

“You’re incorrigible.” I narrow my eyes at the man I’ve deemed worthy of my most treasured insult. Incorrigible. It’s a damn good word. The man in question is Dean Asher—my sister’s prick of a fiancé.

Fifteen goddamn years is the amount of time I’ve been subjected to Dean’s teasing, ridicule, and bad attitude.

So, now I have the divine privilege of being Dean’s sister-in-law in four short weeks. Vomit.

I gulped, my eyes filling with tears as my father pulled me away. I never did feel the way the water splashed at my ankles. I never felt the seaweed tickle my toes. My father promised we’d go back the next day, but we never did. To this day, I still haven’t been back. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I don’t know if there is a sense of dramatic irony in the fact that I’ve been taken captive with the one person in the world I hate most, or if there is a semblance of relief in the realization that I am not alone in this.

“I guess you’re the lucky one.” “The lucky one? I’m chained to a fucking wall in a psychopath’s basement. At least you hold some kind of value. I’m a dead man.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to die down here with you of all people. The Powers That Be must really hate me.” “Seriously?” Dean is quick to bite back. “We’re probably going to be gutted and sodomized, and you’re holding onto a high school grudge? Jesus, Cora.”

“Tessie Evans and her clown of a stepbrother said the same dumb shit to me,”

“Their flesh is compost out in my barn. Their bones make good chew toys for the dogs.” I scream. I scream and scream and scream, blinded by tears, shaking with terror.

“Look at me, Cora. Keep your eyes on me. Listen to my voice,” Dean orders, doing everything he can to maintain my attention. To distract me from the fact that I’m being defiled right before his eyes. “We’re going to get out of here, you hear me? I’m going to get us out of here. Just focus on me. I’m the only thing that’s real right now. It’s just you and me, Cora. Focus, okay? Look at me… focus on my voice…”

I think I’m underwater, sinking, drowning, fading away… I think the ocean has finally found me. I think I like it here.

I can’t help but mull over Dean’s words as I’m guided through the small house with olive green carpet and outdated walls. Believe it or not, Cora, I do fucking care about you.

Dean talks me through it like he did last time. Look at me, Cora. Focus on me. Nothing else is real. It’s only me and you. I sink underwater once more and let myself drown.

“He’s not that bad, Cora. Just give him a chance. He’s a decent guy.” I used to laugh in Mandy’s face because Dean never showed me his “decent” side. I never understood why. “Because it’s fun.” “It’s harmless, and it’s us.” “You give it right back to me, Corabelle.”

Dean sings me to sleep every night, and it’s the only thing I look forward to. Take a sad song and make it better.

“I had a thing for you first.” What? I choke on nothing. I start coughing and sputtering, and I have to force my eyes away from him. “What are you talking about?”

“You would have gotten them both,”

“You would have adopted both dogs because your heart is too big for only one.”

“I didn’t think you ever noticed my heart.” It’s a heavy declaration, and I hate that it’s true. Dean’s weary face grows even wearier as he absorbs my words. “It’s impossible not to notice, Cora.”

“You don’t feel like my enemy anymore,” I finish. You feel like my lifeline.

“Did you kill my sister?” she demands of Dean. “I didn’t know she was allergic to cornstarch!” All of a sudden, a hot mouth descends upon mine, and it’s not Brandon’s. I’ve memorized the feel of Brandon’s lips, chapped and rough with a thin upper lip. No, these are full and soft and taste like mint and bourbon. Dean is giving me CPR.

Literally weed my pants 😂

“Remember the day Blizzard got hit by a car? Remember what I said to you?” Dean continues. I sniffle, my chin to my knees, as I lie sideways on the ground. “You said if she dies, I can always get another dog.” “Not that part.” Dean’s sigh travels over to me and I hear him adjust his chains. “I told you her heart was still beating. As long as it was beating, she was okay.” I do remember that.

me. “It’s still beating,” he whispers, his words a soft kiss against my lips. “As long as it’s beating, you’re okay.”

I hold onto him. He’s still my lifeline. He’s still all I have. We’re in this together.

We are bound, chained, tied—to our trauma and to each other. We’re in this together. And yet, I’ve never felt more alone.

Mandy scoots backwards, dropping her chin to her chest as the rejection manifests into anger. “I figured after weeks of celibacy, you’d be all over me.”

WTAF MANDY

“You were only down there for three weeks, Dean,” Mandy continues, still avoiding my eyes. “I thought you would… you know, bounce back by now.” Only three weeks.

HOLY SHIT, I would've ripped her face off

It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she.

She thinks I’m an idiot, and I let her think it. I get a rise out of the incredulous look in her eyes when I say or do something stupid. It’s part of our game.

She’s staring at the gift inside, but I’m staring at her. I’m watching the emotions climb up her chest, then her neck, landing in her throat and releasing with a squeaky sigh. Her red-tipped fingers graze the heart pendant attached to a gold chain.

“Open it. It’s a locket.” Cora blinks, surprised. I can see her fingers tremble as she unclasps the two pieces of gold and fixes her eyes to the inner contents. Still Beating.

But then Cora throws herself into my lap, her arms around my neck, and I feel her tears slip underneath my shirt collar. “Thank you,” she whispers in a ragged breath. “It’s perfect.”

I’m here, and I see her—every scar, every flaw, every broken, hollow piece. And I understand.

She doesn’t try to hide from me. She knows I’ve seen her far more stripped down than this. But it’s her eyes that do me in. They look glassy and lifeless and utterly haunted. “Corabelle…”

“It’s obvious he just wants to screw the damaged local celebrity.”

DEAN DEAN DEAN ARE YOU INSANE

“Is that what you think of me, Dean?”

The flickering light I’ve carried with me since the day this all began, the hope of better days, the glimmer of promise that someday, one day, everything will be bright again, extinguishes right then and there. I feel cold and dark and empty. And so very alone.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “Always.” She can pretend to hate me. If it diminishes even a fraction of her pain, she can fucking pretend all she wants. But I know it’s love… it has to be, because if this isn’t love… Then I’m certain it does not exist.

“You’re mine, Corabelle,” I breathe out, claiming her, branding her, marking her as my own.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she says, whispery, laced with lust. “You know I am. You’ve always known it.”

I’m scared I’ll lose everything—my sister, my parents, myself. I’m scared I’ll drown. It’s safer here at shore.

Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark. And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.

It’s still beating. You’re still okay. And I still love you. - Dean

“You look amazing, Cora,” he breathes out, his eyes scanning over my healthy curves, shorter hair, and settling on the renewed sparkle in my eyes. “I didn’t even recognize you when I walked in.”

“I promised myself I’d be good tonight, but I feel like you might make a liar out of me.” His low, gravelly voice tickles my ear, sending the butterflies in my belly into overdrive. In fact, they may have exploded. My stomach is now a butterfly graveyard.

“Corabelle… that was me fighting for you. That was me fighting for your healing, your joy, your smile, your laughter… your beautiful, broken spirit. I never stopped fighting for you and I never will.”

Dean and I take a sip of our respective coffees. Then we simultaneously spit it out. Everywhere. I start gagging as Dean wipes at his shirt. We both look at each other accusingly, our eyes brimming with blame, when both children break out into hysterical laughter beside us. “Gotcha!” they shout, doubling over in a fit of giggles.

She knows every single word to Hey Jude, and I can’t help but wonder if the song helps her cope with the darkness like it did for me.

“You have that look in your eyes,” he whispers against my hair. My arms snake around his midsection, clinging tight. “What look?” “Like you’re falling in love with me all over again.”