“I was just supposed to stop by quickly and pick up my things. I thought his roommates were there so that I would be safe. But they had gone home for the weekend.”
She looked at me then, eyes wide as saucers, and she watched carefully as she dropped the next bomb.
“He locked me in his apartment and raped me. He kept me there for the entire weekend, and he raped me repeatedly, Hawk. And when he was done—he said he’d tell me when we were done, not me—he tossed me out. He tossed me out like a bag of trash.”
She watched for my reaction, her eyes searching. And, fuck, I was so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.
“I was a mess, physically and mentally. And I needed to go to the ER to make sure nothing was broken. I’m not sure why I didn’t get the morning-after pill; maybe my record said I was on birth control? I didn’t tell them much. I couldn’t. Shit, outside of my therapist, you’re it. I booked the abortion within five minutes of the positive pregnancy test and was devastated when I miscarried. Because that abortion was the only thing I felt I controlled around the entire situation.”
I moved towards her, unable to keep the physical distance between us anymore.
“Can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Can I hold you?”
“You don’t think any less of me?”
“Why would that even cross your mind?”
“Well, there’s more. In the aftermath, he threatened me with photos from our time together. Videos of us in the act. Our sex life was colorful, and there were things he did that weekend that weren’t out of the norm for us. Things I had at one time consented to.”
“Ken, did you consent when he kidnapped you and raped you?”
“No. I know that. I knew that then. But I didn’t want to be dragged through the mud. He was respected at the school. And all he needed to do was to send off one of those photos or videos out there, and my credibility would be gone. Reputation? Gone.”
“Nothing came of the rape kit?” I wondered how that man hadn’t been caught when his DNA went into the database.
“I never pressed charges. And I guess there was no match.”
I wanted to know how she let herself trust men after that? How did she show up and date men and not carry that fear around with her?
“But to answer your question, no, I don’t think any less of you. I think more of you.”
“The answer is yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, you can hold me.”
I pulled her into my arms and scooted awkwardly until we were both spread out on the couch, her back pressed up against my torso. She leaned in to me, and we just stayed there.
“How do you even begin to trust again after what happened?”
She gave a wry laugh. “You act like I’ve found a way to do that. I’ve told my therapist and you. That’s it.”
“And you’ve been with men afterwards?” I asked before thinking. “Shit. Sorry, don’t answer that.”
“Hawk. Stop. I need your honest questions and reactions here. Don’t ask me only what you think is the correct thing. I can’t have you treating me like a victim. Yes. I have been with other men. At first, it was part self-destruction, but then it was how I regained myself. I always loved sex, and I wasn’t going to let him take that away from me.”
“You’re so?—”
“Don’t say strong, Hawk. That implies that women who can’t heal are weak. Everyone handles it differently. This is my story, and mine alone.”
We lay there quietly for a bit when I heard a little snore.She had fallen asleep. I shifted her in my arms and carried her to my room.
“Hey,” I said when she started to wake. “Do you need anything from your bag?”
