Today was one of those days.
I feel like Jameson can see into my soul and all the rot that takes up residence there rent free. He sighs and removes his hand from his pockets and places them on each side of my arms, running them up and down as if he is trying to warm me up from a chill.
He smiles coyly at me. “How are you holding up?”
I shrug, and he keeps running his hands up and down my arms. Now I do feel chilled. It elicits goose bumps on my arms from where his touch leaves and then returns. I involuntarily step closer as if I am being pulled by an invisible thread that tethers his heart to mine.
“It was a lot to take in.”
He searches my eyes for the truth. “Was he okay when we left the room?”
My voice cracks at first, and then I clear my throat. “Not really. He has been through a lot. It was heartbreaking.” I press my cheek up against his chest. The sound of his heart thumps louder. The rhythm is strong and soothing to my rising anxiety.
He places his chin on the top of my head, and my arms feel cold when his hand leaves them to rub circles on my back. I feel like I’m shivering yet burning up as he stokes a flame that needs just a bit more fuel to fully combust.
“I wish I could save him the way that he saved me.”
I hear him start to say something and then stop.
I lift my head from his chest and look up at him. Jameson gulps and then looks away. “Did you want to say something?”
He turns back and nods. “I want to know everything about you, Evie. I want to know the good and the bad. I want to be there for you and be someone you can trust and rely on.”
Now it's my turn to gulp back the lump that forms in my throat as the intrusive memories try to resurface. All the memories I have been attempting to suppress rise along with my stomach bile. I fight the nausea, and it makes me flinch as if it just happened yesterday.
I pull away from him and he tenses, thinking he did something wrong, that maybe he pushed me too far, but he doesn't realize how much he has already helped me.
I tug at his hand and pull him toward the couch. “Come on. Let’s talk about this while I’m sitting on the couch. I need to be a bit more comfortable for what you want to know about me.”
We walk over to the couch and sit side by side. Jameson turns his knees angled in toward me, and I do the same to give him my full attention.
“You know, I loved art. I wanted to be an artist. That is until everything happened and I could only see the ugly in the world. I refused to make anything that was as dark as all the emotions that shredded my heart and the depravity of what I thought in my head. I wouldn't give it a name or face, so I stopped painting and drawing.”
He takes my hand in his. “Take your time, babe.”
I clear my throat and continue. “When I was fifteen, I had to stay after school to finish up a project I was doing for art class. We didn’t live that far from school, so I thought I would just walk home. I took a shortcut through the center of town and through an alley. I was almost through it when two men came out of nowhere.”
I can sense Jameson getting angry, but I ignore it and continue. “One grabbed me from behind, and the other stepped so close he sandwiched me between them. I bit one of the guy's hands when he clasped it over my mouth and nose. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to pass out, and I was in self-preservation mode. Maybe not thinking clearly, but at that point what was the right choice here? Getting raped? He called me a bitch for it. I screamed before the other one slapped me so hard across the face, my vision blurred.” I wince, remembering the sting of that slap and the tingle that spread across my body at the violation my body felt afterward.
“He… ugh.” I pause, looking away from Jameson as I get through the next part. He runs his thumb across the top of my hand to soothe the emotions running through me. I’m finally calm enough to finish.
“He said, ‘I’ll give you something to scream about’ as he cupped his hand hard in between my legs as he mimicked thrusting his erection on my leg.”
I feel Jameson tense and I spare a glance at him. He nudges me with his hand on my leg to continue. I tense, remembering the feeling, and he removes his hand from my leg and holds both my hands in his. It is as if he can sense my discomfort and tries to lessen my burden.
This feels so intimate and stifling, but I know that he is only trying to provide me with comfort, and I know that I can get through this. I can do this for him. “I didn’t hear anything, but more like I felt his presence. Then something landed on my shirt. Something warm and wet, and when I looked down, there was blood on the front of my shirt.
“I was pushed forward and almost tripped over the dead guy who just had his hands on my most intimate parts a moment ago. He was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. His life gone. I saw a young man walking toward me, and the assaulterwho held me against him along with his dead accomplice started running to get away. He tripped, and I turned to look up at my guardian angel of death before he put a bullet in his head and killed the second assaulter.”
“I heard sirens, and the young man that just saved me from an unknown fate comes up to me and tells me I am going to be alright. The sirens get closer; I look over to the police running my way. I turn back to thank him, but he is gone.”
Jameson pulls me into a hug. “That was Mateo?”
I nod. “I just didn’t know it then.”
Jameson looks at me quizzically, but encourages me to go on with my recounting of events that night.
“Later on, when Emma met Julian, I was hit and left unconscious in another alley. You think I would have learned my lesson about alleys, but I was with Emma, and she wanted to get some food from our favorite street truck after her shift at the coffee shop… I mean, it was still daylight out,” I stammer, still trying to comprehend how I let this happen to me again, as if the excuses I make have anything to do with the ordeal being my fault. I didn’t ask for any of that.
