“Let’s sit,” she said. That would help slightly. She’d feel less exposed if she didn’t have to look at his face while talking about this. Also, her legs were wobbly.
They sat, his chair just a few feet from hers. His back muscles lengthened beneath his clothing as he leaned forward to flick a switch on the fire table. Flames danced from granite stones.
She’d just kissed him.
He’d kissed her back. Thoroughly. Expertly.
Earlier this very evening she’d told herself to exercise restraint! Yet she’d been the one who’d initiated the contact. Which had been a terrible decision . . . that had resulted in something addictively wonderful.
She knew why the ugly memories had intruded. Because that was the first kiss she’d experienced since . . .
The temperature was dropping, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to stay warm.
“I have throw blankets inside. Hang on a minute.” He disappeared into the house.
Her mind skittered in circles as she stared up at blinking stars.
When Jeremiah returned, he handed her a downy men’s jacket and a throw blanket that must have been knitted from angel fluff. She pulled on the jacket and inhaled the scent of his soap. Warmth cocooned her as she tucked the throw blanket over her legs.
He returned to his seat and thrust his long arms into what looked like a black snowboarder’s jacket. It had several zippers and pockets and a high neck that accented his profile.
Remy waited for him to say something. He didn’t. He was using the power of silence to coax her to speak.
After a time, she forced out the hardest sentence. “I was raped.”
She looked across at him just as he looked across at her.
His expression revealed sympathy and also a reassuring kind of constancy. That look said,Whatever you have to say, I won’t flinch from it.She hadn’t known what sort of response would give her the green light to continue. Turned out, this was it. Without saying a word, he’d helped her find stable footing.
She fixed her attention on the flames. “It happened six years ago. I was twenty-four. I’d graduated from TCU two years before that. I was living in Dallas, doing the career-girl thing, and happy with it.” She shifted, pulling the throw blanket under her chin. “Up until that point I’d led a fairly charmed life. I had a secure, loving family. Wonderful friends. My college years were great. I got the job I wanted. I enjoyed dating along the way. Never anything super serious but the boyfriends I did have were all decent guys. Nice guys. I expected that I’d meet my husband one day, that we’d marry, have kids. I had faith in that because my life up until that point had led me to believe that I could count on good things.”
She felt fondness toward the person she’d been, maybe in the same way that mothers felt fondness toward memories of their children when they were small.
“I met a guy named Gavin,” she continued. “He was good-looking, charming, intelligent, from a wealthy family. He’d been a Division One soccer star before going pro. He was playing for the Dallas team when I met him.”
She paused to collect herself. Even after all this time, she had a visceral reaction when recounting these events. Her muscles tightened defensively against the sensation of being trapped.
“Gavin and I went out a couple of times,” she said. “I was still trying to decide if I was interested in dating him or if friendship was a better fit. On paper, he was impressive. But, looking back, I think my instincts were warning me away. One night we had dinner with a group of his buddies and my friends. It was a long, loud dinner. Lots of laughter. We both had quite a bit to drink, him more than me. Afterward, we walked from the restaurant to my apartment. I didn’t think twice about inviting him up. I expected we’d hang out for a little while, then he’d call a taxi and go.”
Vitality flowed from Jeremiah. Which was perhaps why she’d never realized he could be so still when he wanted to be. He remained silent, but it wasn’t a hostile silence. It was a respectful one. She knew she had a supporter in that quiet.
“Gavin and I started making out,” she said. “I liked it for a short period of time. But when he tried to take things further, I’d had enough. I pushed against his chest, never thinking for a second that he wouldn’t immediately back away. Except he didn’t back away. So I pushed harder. I told him no. I told him to stop. I told him to get off of me. He wouldn’t. And the next thing I knew, he was holding me down.”
Remy had been over this many times. In therapy. Via journaling. Through two separate trips to trauma camp where she and other survivors practiced the experiential model of reliving the trauma, feeling the emotions, and filing them away. Remy wished speaking about this event was like riding a rollercoaster along a familiar track—rote. Instead, it stirred complex emotions every time.
“He pressed a hand over my mouth, and I started to panic. I’d never been assaulted before and was horrified. Shocked. Scrambling to comprehend what was happening. I went into fight mode, but his physical strength was much greater than mine.” She took a few seconds to inhale, exhale. “It was the single most terrifying and demeaning thing I’ve ever experienced. When he was finished, he kissed me on the cheek. He checked his phone, said he’d call me soon, and walked out humming.Humming. I was left there, broken and sobbing.”
“I hate him.” Jeremiah spoke with deadly calm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Once I had a hold of myself enough to find and dial my phone, I called my best friends. They rushed over to comfort me. They’re the ones who took me to the hospital. The staff there administered a rape kit exam.”
She rubbed a fingertip back and forth against the texture of the blanket. “The aftermath felt surreal, like I was separated from my body. My charmed life had ended. Suddenly, I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t recognize this circumstance. I—I didn’t know how to deal with this thing I was supposed to deal with. My friends and family and counselors helped. A lot. I pressed charges against Gavin.” Her words ebbed away.
“And?” he asked.
“I mentioned earlier that he was from a wealthy family, right? He had a team of attorneys. They put me and my morals on trial. They claimed that I was his girlfriend, that I was drunk, that I wanted sex, and liked it rough. It’s true that we’d gone out a few times and that I was tipsy. But I wasn’t his girlfriend, and I wasn’t drunk. The fact that it was consensual was absolutely false. Despite my testimony and the evidence, the jury found him not guilty.”
She drew the sounds of nature into herself. “That verdict made me feel like I'd been violated twice. I went to trial because I thought I was doing the right thing. But when they set him free, I had to wonder if going to trial had been the correct decision after all, because it sure seemed like I’d dragged myself and everyone who cared about me through something unbelievably painful for no reason.”
