Mutual Release (38 page)

The elevator doors opened onto a pitch-black suite. She frowned, worry pricking the edges of her brain. He wasn’t back yet? It was nearly nine o’clock. A match was struck, and the smell of sulfur and sizzle of a wick being lit made her jump. She took another step into the room.

By the time she’d made it to the central area of couches, end tables, and large television, there were about a half dozen fat candles burning, and her eyes had adjusted enough to see that the room’s furniture was gone. All that remained was the TV, the candles, and a two-person lounge chair, covered in what looked and felt like soft suede leather. A strip of black silk lay down the middle, separating the spaces. Evan stood on the other side, dressed in dark jeans and a tight grey t-shirt, his mouthwatering body highlighted – every muscle’s outline clear beneath the fabric.

“Go take a shower,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”

She stumbled past him, her brain on fire with anticipation. This was it. Finally, he was going to… She shivered under the hot water, cleaned up, and slathered on fragrance-free lotion, then stood wondering what the fuck she was supposed to wear. Weren’t there costumes or some sort of get-up for her? Leather and high heels and ropes? She giggled like a goofball and called out to him to ask.

“Just dress in what makes you comfortable. A robe, or jeans and a sweatshirt, whatever.”

She frowned, but tugged on silky pajama bottoms and camisole, then pulled all that off and shrugged into the robe before cursing under her breath, ditching the robe, and sliding into jeans and one of his plain gray tees. She fiddled with her hair, wondered about makeup, then got mad at herself for being so fucking girlie.

“You are beautiful.”

She screeched and turned, gripping the bath vanity top to keep from falling over. Her knees shook, her face burned. But he smiled, held out a hand, and she followed him back into the other room. He settled her on the funky but somehow comfortable lounge-bed thing, handed her a glass of water. “What? No wine or beer?”

“No. These encounters need to be alcohol-free until we get more comfortable with our reactions.”

“Oh, well, okay.” She sipped her water and watched as he hit the remote and settled onto the lounge next to her. She smiled up at him. “You think you can tame this?” She pointed to herself, gave him her best please–just-fuck-me-now-Evan smile.

He chuckled, leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. Then surprised her when he kept going, pressing his warm, full lips to her forehead, both cheeks, then covering her lips. She shifted, pulled him closer, and opened her mouth to him, relishing the way he seemed to take over. His kisses were calm, like everything about him. Urgent, but in their own controlled way, which ramped up her need so fast she gasped, making her back arch and one leg drape over his, trying to yank him on top of her.

“Oh hell, Evan,” she whispered, fisting her hands in his thick hair as he kept moving those lips down her neck, tugging her shirt up and cradling a bare breast in one hand. “Let’s just, you know, break the damn ice… once… I don’t think I can wait. Seriously.”

Her words seemed to flip a switch in him. He stopped, took his hand out from under her shirt and pulled away, but never breaking eye contact. “Sorry, I lost it there for a minute.” He flopped over onto his back, leaving her to stare at him, including the very impressive line of his erection under the dark denim. She licked her lips. “I need you to tell me what happened to you, Julie. All of it. Do not spare me a single detail. I have my reasons, and we can call this practicing your trust thing with me. Okay?” He turned his head and met her eyes. She blinked, looked away. “I insist on it.”

His words, his proximity, his obvious need to stop all this go-slow bullshit combined in her brain. She took a breath. “I lost my virginity to a rapist. His name was Bart. He was my mother’s husband at the time. He broke my hymen with two fingers, then held me down on a small desk in a claustrophobic restaurant office and… and…” She gulped, but no tears fell. “It’s kind of odd, really, now that I, um, actually am talking about it. He intimidated me, emotionally abused me into hiding it from my mother for months.”

“Tell me exactly what he did to you. All of it.” Evan’s voice was tight. She looked at him long enough to see his face was red, his jaw was clenched. Something felt suddenly very wrong about this. She sat, facing away from him.

“What part didn’t you get, Evan? Rape? Fingers? Taking my virginity?” She glared at him over her shoulder.

“No, I mean, did he pretend to… did he try and… oh, hell.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

But a raw kernel of anger had taken seed in her brain. She looked away from him again and the words poured out of her like so much evil, poisonous smoke. “Let’s see, he was fond of blowing his wad between my tits. I had these impressive D-cups by then. He was a little obsessed by them. He’d make me lie on the desk and he’d jack around on himself to get hard or whatever, then I had to scoot down so he could come all up on my neck. He liked me to suck on him but could never come that way, he claimed. And, of course, the all-American doggie-style rape. That way was the worst. I don’t know, the angle or something. And the edge of the desk would bruise my hip bones. And he took forever, loved to pound, you know, whatever. But he used condoms, every time, so ya can’t really be too mad, I guess.

“And I let him. I let him scare me, call me his little slutty girl, and threaten to tell my mom I’d seduced him. Finally, when he tried to ass-rape me, I ran away. A girl’s got to have some boundaries, after all.” She stood up, teeth chattering and brain boiling with emotions she couldn’t even name. “I
let
him, Evan. So I am that girl. I am that slutty whore my mom insisted I was. I get it. Thanks for making me relive it all so I can make sure I know it was my fault for not making him stop.”

By the time she reached the end of her speech her voice was high, screechy, and her head pounded. The room closed in. The waxy candle stench made her want to retch. Her eyes burned, and she’d swear she could smell him, that fucking disgusting cologne coiled in her nose. She gripped her elbows and sank to the floor, deep in the nightmare with no way to escape.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she muttered when she sensed him hovering over her. “I mean it. I’m not worth your effort.” Dragging her fingers through her hair as her throat closed up and the room went black, she tried to get a breath but the more she tried to gulp fresh air, the more fetid it got all around her. Pinpoints of pain made her focus. Her foot ached, her hips were sore, her neck creaked, but a burning, searing, indescribable agony was centered between her legs. Where she’d had such excitement, such sweet, tingly anticipation, now hurt so bad it was as if someone was stabbing her there with a knife. Or a grown man was raping her, repeatedly, without bothering to stop and make sure she was properly lubricated, or no longer a virgin.

Acknowledging the whole aftermath of the conversation with her mother was a little fuzzy, she remembered a few things with crystal clarity. The woman who’d given birth to her had screamed and called her a slutty, skanky whore for “stealing” Bart from her. Amy’s lawyer father had helped her get declared as an emancipated minor after taking her to the police department to file charges. That enabled her to apply for and get social services, including food stamps and Medicaid. And also lead to the final scene with her mother, in the police department when she’d stood with Bart, who had the unbelievable gall to deny it all. She shook her head, dispelling another, even scarier buried memory. Shivering, teeth chattering, with the pain nearly splitting her in two, she sat, knees pulled up to her chest, and relived every wretched moment – reaching for the elusive scene her brain would not let her access.

When he touched her shoulder, she jerked away, not even aware where she was anymore or why she even cared about anyone. Eyes dry but her throat burning with unshed tears, she rocked, and realized the strange moaning noise was coming from her throat. “Go away, Evan. I mean it,” she ground out. “I will never forgive you for making me relive this. You… y-y-you don’t understand.”

He knelt down, but she refused to look at him. His hand on her arm was warm, soothing, but she couldn’t settle; the usual calm he inspired would not break through the total freak-out she was having, no matter how many times she told herself to get a grip.

“Julie,” he said, his lips near her ear. But even that made her want to jump out of her skin and run screaming down the street. “Listen to me. You don’t have to look at me, but you must listen.”

She shook her head, buried her face in her knees, wondering if she could ever get back to that amazing place where she’d been – where Evan was here for her and she was happy. But he kept talking, in his low, monotone voice and finally his words broke through her web of agony.

“I am sorry this happened to you. And if you tell me who this guy is, even give me part of his name and where I can find him, I will go there, cut his dick off with a pair of rusty scissors and feed it to him one small bite at a time. Do you hear me?” He ran his hand down her hair. “No girl should ever have to think that being attacked is her fault. I want to fix it. I
can
fix it, at least here.” He touched her neck, rubbed gently, bringing a small measure of relaxation to her. But she gripped her legs tighter.

“Please, just leave me alone. Please…”

But he stood, pulled her up, and she let him. She shook so hard her teeth were chattering, but she was not about to fade, didn’t want or need him to hold her up. She couldn’t rely on him. It was stupid to count on a man for anything. He held her hand and kept tugging her until she was folded in his arms, his whole self encompassing her, keeping her safe.

“No.” She shook her head but pressed her face into his shirt. “I can’t. I won’t let you do this to me.”

“Shh…” he soothed, kissing her hair. “C’mon. Let’s sit. I want to tell you a story.”

“I can’t take this, Evan. I’m sorry. I’m not the woman you think I am. I’m…”

He drew her down to the lounge, sat and pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. She kept her lips shut to him but finally let him part them, accepted him, but her arms stayed at her sides. They were too heavy to lift. The entire secretive burden of her whole life pressed down on her, made her feel dull and lifeless, even as she responded to his tender caress. He sat back up, brushed her hair off her face. She allowed herself a few seconds to feel cherished and protected by this incredible man. Then shoved that fantasy out of her exhausted brain.

They sat side-by-side, thighs touching. “Story, remember? My turn.” He smiled, turning her core to jelly again and pressed her back onto the lounge before walking around to sit on the other side. “I have – had – a twin, a sister. Her name was Olivia. We were obviously fraternal twins but looked so much alike when we were toddlers everyone took us for identical. We were inseparable.” He propped on his elbow and kept running his fingers through her hair, picking up strands of it and looking at it as if admiring spun gold. She sniffled but lay still, the sensation of being crushed by gravity, by the weight of her own bullshit of lies rendering her immobile.

Evan’s eyes were dark, serious. His brow furrowed in a way she’d only seen once. It made her want to press her finger there, to smooth it away. “We hit teenage years and grew apart, as you might expect. She was a dancer. Hit the ballet floor when she was seven and never looked back.” He smiled, ran his thumb over her lips. She just lay there, listening. “Then one day, when we were about a third of the way through our senior year of high school, my mother became the guardian of the son of her good friend. The boy’s mother had died of cancer and his father never acknowledged him. So we got a new family member, from England. His name was Damian.”

Evan took a long shuddering breath. Julie narrowed her eyes. She could pick up on the anxiety coursing through him as if she were experiencing it herself. The black smoke filling the space between her ears for the last hour or so began to clear. She put a hand on his leg. He stared at it, seeming to break out of a daze, then looked at her, surprise clear in his eyes.

“So, Damian sort of took over our lives. He was – is – good-looking, charming, with that Brit accent all the girls love. My mom and dad were totally enthralled by him and his stories of life in London. And he was a class-A adult ass-kisser. That guy knew how to work the grownups, from my parents to the principal of the high school. He could be holding a lit joint behind his back with one hand and convincing any adult questioning him that he was busy feeding the homeless or in the middle of finding a cure for cancer. They all fell for it, every fucking time.”

He gritted his teeth. Julie sat up, touched his jaw where she could see him clenching it. Her fingertips barely grazed his skin, but he shivered and gripped her hand, clutched it to his chest.

“Olivia was fragile, in her way. Her ego was easily bruised, but she was the most devoted athlete I’ve ever known. Her sport was ballet, but it was just as hard as anything I ever did, and I was captain of two varsity sports. She had this audition that year, about two weeks after Damian moved in actually, for some New York ballet school. She worked her ass off, lost a ton of weight she couldn’t afford to lose, and then, just like that, she met Damian and everything changed.”