With a little maneuvering, I pull back the sheet and gently place Madison down. The moment she feels the soft sheets beneath her she sighs and lets go of my neck, nuzzling into the pillow. She’s still in her gown, but after tonight, there’s no way I’m going to undress her, so I gently cover her with the sheet and comforter. She’s asleep within seconds.

I stand and watch her sleeping, mourning her broken appearance. The once-radiant, confident woman now looks like a shattered, scared child.

When I’m certain she’s sound asleep, I unfasten my tie and slip off my jacket and shoes. I wearily lower myself onto the floor beside her, using the bedside table as my support.

Here I’ll stay, keeping my promise, protecting her until she feels safe once again.

32

You’re Perfect to Me

DIXON

I awake, my body screaming at me for sleeping on the floor. I can’t remember when I fell asleep, but I do remember Madison was fairly settled when I passed out.

Looking at my watch, I see it’s a little past 6 a.m., and that Madison is gone. I jump up, my murky brain trying to play catch up as I frantically search the room for where she could be.

Just as I’m about to charge out the door, I hear the toilet flushing. Madison turns off the light as she exits the bathroom, giving me a small smile when she sees me standing in the middle of the room like a raving lunatic.

“I had to use the bathroom,” she explains. Tugging at the hem of my Yankees tee, she says, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

She smiles and shyly walks over to the bed, slipping under the covers, leaving me standing and staring like a fool.

“I’ll be back,” I quickly say, heading toward the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

Bracing my hands on the sink, I turn on the water to appear like I’m actually in here for a reason because I need a damn minute to compose myself. I process through the events of last night and know that, although Madison may not be comfortable discussing what happened, I have to at least try and get her to talk about it. From her response to whatever triggered her episode, I think it’s safe to assume she’s never had therapy to deal with the monsters in her closet—especially since she’s hiding in closets to escape her monsters.

Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I think I’ve exhausted my bathroom stay long enough and quietly close the bathroom door behind me as I exit.

Madison is sitting up, leaning against the headboard, obviously awaiting my arrival. When our eyes meet, she quickly looks away, biting her lip. I give her some time to regroup and hunt through my closet for a tee and a pair of sweats. Stripping off my shirt, I quickly slip on a T-shirt and try my best to put on my sweats without flashing her.

Once I’m dressed, I make my way over to the bed and stand at the end. I remain silent, waiting for Madison to speak.

“I’m sorry, Dixon,” she says after a minute of silence. “I’m so sorry I embarrassed you…’

I gesture with my hand for her to stop talking. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And you most definitely did not embarrass me. I was so worried about you,” I confess, while she lowers her eyes. “What happened?” I ask, making no attempt to move.

Madison shrugs and tugs at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, deciding to play twenty questions and hoping one of them will be the right one.

“No!” she yells, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “No, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then what happened?” I ask, imploring her to tell me.

Madison sighs before confessing, “I was talking to Rebecca and something she said…upset me,” she says, but I know talking to Rebecca was just a trigger to a deep-rooted problem.

“You know nothing that comes out of that woman’s mouth is credible, right?” I assert, crossing my arms across my chest. I hold my breath and pray that she hasn’t spilled the beans about Juliet.

“I know,” she replies with a nod. “But it brought up some bad memories,” she finally admits. “I obviously haven’t dealt with them as well as I thought I had. But last night,” she says, her eyes focusing on mine. “The breakdown, the tears, the near catatonic state…That’s something that hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“So this has happened before?” I gently press, still making no attempt to move. Her freak out at my apartment was so different compared to this.

“Yes.” Her mouth dips into a small frown.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Madison shakes her head violently.

I knew she would respond this way, but now that I’ve broached the topic, I can’t let it lie. “I promise I won’t psychoanalyze you. I just want to help. You need to talk about whatever happened to you, Madison. It’s eating away at your existence and before long, it’ll rule who you are.”

“I can’t,” she cries, drawing her knees up toward her, placing a barricade between us.

“Yes, you can,” I avow with a nod. “I know you can. The Madison I know is a survivor, a fighter, and I think it’s time you let go of your fear.”

Madison’s lip trembles, and she sniffs back her tears. “I can’t tell you…everything. I’m not ready. But I want to at least try. I want to be honest with you because you’re right; my past is ruling my future.”

“That’s okay. You tell me what you can. That’s the first step, which is always the hardest,” I say with a small smile.

Madison takes a deep breath and nods. “My dad left us when I was five. It was only me, my mother, and my brother, Dylan. My father was the breadwinner, so when he left us, my mother was forced to work two jobs to support my brother and me. She was never home, but it was no fault of hers. She was trying her best. My brother was nine, and well, he saw himself to be the man of the house. When Mom was at work, Dylan would look after me. I really looked up to him, I mean, he was my hero.”

Her use of past tense paints a picture of feelings she no longer feels. But I remain silent, allowing her to continue.

“I started developing early, much earlier than my friends. By the time I was ten, I had boobs as big as kids in the ninth grade. I guess I forgot my brother was a fourteen-year-old kid with raging hormones. I also forgot he had fourteen-year-old friends with raging hormones,” she adds. “I was never shy around Dylan, and never thought twice about walking around in just a towel after I showered. But why would I? I had been doing so since I was a kid. I was naïve.”

“One night, Dylan had his friends over and they were causing a commotion in his room. So I spied on them and caught them drooling over a booby blonde in a dirty magazine. I didn’t really understand what they were so excited about, but I knew if Dylan caught me spying, he would be mad. I quickly went to my room and got ready for bed, and that’s when Dylan came to tuck me in.”

She pauses and lowers her eyes, and I know what she’s about to say is going to tear out my heart.

“I was wearing my favorite Disney Princess nightie, which was two sizes too small, but I didn’t care. I loved that nightie because it made me feel like a princess, and I would fantasize that one day my Prince Charming would find me and sweep me off my feet. Dylan tucked me in and I remember a look of…arousal,” she whispers, “pass over his face when he accidentally brushed against my breasts. I didn’t think too much of it, but when it happened the next night and the night after that, I knew something…him…touching me was wrong.”