Page 46 of His to Seduce
The way he’d touched my body. My hair. How I’d struggled and fought. How I’d cried and screamed, and no one had been there to help me. How his breath stank. How change from his job working in some run-down biker bar jangled as he’d undone his belt and whipped it through his belt loops.
The hair on his jaw and then the hair on his chest. The way it scraped against my bare skin when he pushed me to the floor and forced himself on top of me.
Vomit rose in my throat and I forced it down. Squeezing my eyes closed, I forced myself to remember the good parts.
The after parts.
When I’d gotten out, injured, blood running from my thigh, a knife still in my hand, his blood and mine mingled together dripping onto my dirt driveway while I screamed and screamed and screamed until my drunken neighbor stumbled out of his own trailer.
How I’d gotten away before he could completely damage me.
How my mom had become my biggest champion. I’d never seen fire fly from someone’s eyes, but I was certain that day, my mom had somehow managed it.
“Damn it,” I gasped in the shower, my tears mixing with the water as it pooled and swirled down the drain. “You’re okay. You got out. He didn’t hurt you.” Not too much, anyway.
To this day, Evan was still locked up in a jail cell, behind bars where he belonged. I wasn’t the first young girl he’d tried to rape…I was just the first to get away without him finishing.
“You’re safe,” I whispered, trying to pull to the front of my mind all the coping techniques I’d learned from years of therapy.
“He can’t hurt you and you’re safe.” I mumbled them repeatedly while the hot water burned my skin. I closed my eyes, remembering my lists, remembering the way Dr. Gryle always taught me to make three columns. What’s the worst that could happen? What’s the best? What’s the most likely?
He had taught me to trust. He had taught me to hope, in whatever shape I could. He had taught me how to claim my victory, to celebrate how I’d fought and survived, and he had taught me that I could move on from that horrific day. Twenty minutes that had seemed to last a lifetime, and over sixteen years later, I still struggled to believe him. When the nightmares took hold, they sometimes took days to shake away, sending me spiraling straight back to the aftermath, when I’d chopped my hair above my shoulders because I couldn’t bear to have anyone touch it again. When I’d started wearing sports bras and sweatshirts to hide my changing my body. It had taken me through most of high school to have the courage to let my hair grow back out and wear clothes that weren’t loose. It took four years of counseling for me to understand that by changing who I was, I was still allowing that monster to maintain some control over me.
Never again.
I had promised. Never again would I put myself in that position.
It had taken almost six months for me to even admit I was attracted to David. It had taken a night to succumb to temptation, to admit the way my body wanted his touch. It had taken a day for him to somehow get me to begin trusting him.
And it had taken one look, one moment, for him to burn that trust to ashes.
I’d let him in because I was riding high on the idea that I needed to do something more than just survive in life, that I needed to be brave, and I needed to figure out a way to get my slice of happiness.
I should have known better. I should have known that when girls like me, when people like me, reached outside their comfort zone, we got burned. It had happened enough times; why would David be any different?
Because he’s different.
Somewhere inside me, I had trusted that given the chance, David would make life way more exciting than anything I’d ever experienced.
What a bunch of bullshit.
I forced the weekend and my nightmare to the back of my mind. In the shower, I took off my soaking wet underclothes and turned the water down to a more reasonable temperature. I washed quickly and dried off, wrapping my hair in a towel.
The clock on my nightstand caught my attention, and I stared at it. Six o’clock? I’d slept for over four hours, and it felt like it had been minutes. My body was still slow, my eyes still dry and my head foggy.
I wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers, hide, and pretend that life could be rewound.
Forcing myself to my closet, I threw on clean clothes instead and went back to the bathroom.
As I saw my pile of hair ties, a shiver rolled down my spine. A rainbow of colors on David’s wrist sparked to my mind’s eye. He’d broken through every barrier I had without even realizing it. Gingerly, I reached out and ran my hand around the circled bands as if they could grow mouths and bite me.
For a moment, I debated. Wear them or not? Move forward or backward?
Heaving a sigh, I unwrapped the towel from my hair and picked up a band.
Moving forward could wait. I’d survived for over sixteen years by being careful. It worked for me. And when my world had just exploded more quickly than I’d ever thought possible…there were two things I needed.
My coping techniques…and my mom’s cookies.
