“Iz? What’s happened? Have I done something to upset you? Because if I have, please tell me. You’re killing me here,” I say, my voice cracking with fear and impending heartbreak.
Her movements still, and I see her shudder a breath in.
This is it.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
This is where she’s ending it.
I feel sick, my insides churning.
She turns to face me, her eyes bloodshot and slightly puffy. I spring to my feet and pull her into me.
“Isabelle, please, what’s happened? Talk to me,” I plead. Her head tucks into my chest, and she draws in a shuddery breath.
“I’m scared, James,” she whispers.
My heart breaks. Have I scared her? What have I done? The very thought of her being scared of me shatters me into pieces. I step back, holding her by her upper arms, and lean down so I can look her in the eyes. I need to make sure I haven’t misheard. Her face crumples as she starts to sob and steps into my chest. If it’s me she’s scared of, she wouldn’t come to me for comfort, surely?
Isabelle’s sobbing slows as I stroke long, soft circles over her back. “What are you scared of sweetheart?” I ask tentatively, hoping to God it’s something I can fix.
“Can we snuggle and talk?” she asks, sounding so small and fragile. So different from the passionate queen I saw moments earlier. The confident, sexual woman, unafraid of asking for what she wants, taking control. At this moment, her damp hair trailing down her back and her large grey t-shirt make her look broken, and I realise I’d give everything I could to fix her.
Yes, Miss
We lay cuddled up, her head on my chest in the dark, the streetlights making shadows dance across the ceiling as Isabelle takes in slow, deep breaths. I can tell from the way her breathing still shudders slightly that she isn't asleep.
Her fingers trail over my chest absentmindedly. Not wanting to rush her, I lay there with her, holding her, wanting to do everything I can to make her feel safe enough to open up.
I lift my head and press a soft kiss to the top of her head, relishing in the smell of her shampoo.
“I was eighteen,” she starts, making my heart race in surprise. Her voice sounds emotionless and robotic, like she has somehow disconnected from her mind. “I had started seeing Matt, and things quickly became physical. The standard, run-of-the-mill, teenage fumbling until we lost our virginity to each other. Everything was going well. A couple of months in, he said he wanted to try tying my hands up. I was game for it; I had no reason not to trust him.”
I steady my breathing, feeling nausea crawl through me at the realisation of what she is about to tell me.
“It had started fine, until he began getting rougher, pushing my legs apart, grabbing me too hard. I asked for him to untie me, and he ignored me. Just pretended he didn't hear me…” her voice trails off into a whisper.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
She takes a deep breath, breathing out slowly, her lips pursed.
“I tried kicking him off me, but he laughed and made a comment about me wanting to play rough. He forced himself inside of me and raped me. I cried throughout, and when he finished, he untied me. I slapped him, and he slapped me back. Told me I didn't fight him off, that he thought it was part of the playing about. He made me feel stupid and downplayed everything. He hugged me and said he was sorry for not realising and promised it wouldn't happen again.”
Rage is already coursing through me, but I have to keep quiet.
She sighs and pauses for a second before starting again.
“Things were ok again for the next couple of times. Then one day, he tied me up, blindfolded me, and pushed a pair of his socks in my mouth. He raped me again, and when I tried to scream, he choked me until I passed out. I came round, and he had untied me and said he thought I had come from it so I must have enjoyed it. He made me feel stupid and dirty. I couldn't tell my parents; it would have broken their hearts.”
I have to fight to control myself as she says this. I wish I had known at the time. Remembering how happy she always seemed and how he had broken her down, how
Yes, Miss
withdrawn she had become. If I ever see him around, I will fucking kill him.
I bite my lip to stop from saying anything in case it breaks her flow. The fact she feels she can now tell me all this means everything to me.
She shudders another breath and continues. “He had me to the point I couldn't talk to anyone, and I doubted everything I thought had happened. The final time, he tied me up, kneeling with hands behind my back whilst he fucked my face, his hands around my throat, choking me until I started to pass out, stopping and then starting again. He went so rough I vomited over myself. He smacked me so hard he split my lip and told me I was disgusting. I had no recollection of getting home. Just crying on the bed, unable to speak properly because my throat was so sore.” Her voice sounds almost flat and monotonous, the trauma still clearly present.
