by Mya Robarts
I haven’t seen enough to know the difference, but isn’t that the way … soldiers … recruit … people?
Oh, no!
He didn’t act like a lover because he was acting like a … Gary’s words replay in my mind: he’s a soldier and a rapist.
Panic constricts the pit of my stomach. Did I lose my virginity … to rape?
“NO!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I fight against his hold. In earnest, unlike before.
He comes back to life and looks down at me before covering my mouth with his hand.
“Shh! Don’t be difficult,” he whispers.
His eyes bring back a painful flashback of that day. The soldiers, my mom. Almost the same blue eyes.
And exactly the same malice.
29
Consent
With all my strength, I try to push him off me. The mirror doesn’t reflect my attempts. Instead, I see three people who shouldn’t be here.
Rey’s mom died during childbirth. Angie Weaver died serving the troops, and Mom … Oh, Mom! Seeing these women means I’ve either lost my mind or I’m near death.
“Come with us. You prefer death over rape,” says Angie.
“And he recruited you,” says Cecilia Diaz.
I scream silently against Aleksey’s hand. I must wake up.
A different voice echoes in my ear. “Hey! Wake up!” I order my mind to obey the voice. Little by little, I gain control of my eyelids and open my eyes.
Divine leans over me, looking concerned. I’m gasping and shivering violently. I look down and am relieved to see that I’m wearing my hospital gown. The sheets are moist. That’s undeniable evidence that my arousal was real, but I can’t find any blood.
I need air to quicken this slow awakening. Fighting to control my unresponsive legs, I get up and search desperately for the door. I open it, making sure nobody sees me. The grogginess subsides as a cold breeze brushes my face.
“Where is he?”
Divine points to a colossal chair next to my bed. “Prince Aleksey? He was sitting here, but he left as soon as I arrived.”
“Was he dressed?”
She walks over and places her palm on my forehead. “What? Of course he was dressed.”
I close the door and stagger toward the chair. “Divine, this will sound weird, but did he look … different? Strange?”
She blinks in confusion. “Well, he was … flustered. Like I’d caught him doing something—Hey! What are you doing? You wanna move this chair? I’ll do it. Where do you want it?”
“Next to the mirror. I think I might’ve been … attacked.”
Her beautiful dark skin fills with goose bumps.
“Please turn around,” I say. “I need to see whether I still have—”
She lifts a hand to interrupt and turns her back to me.
Sitting in front of the mirror, I part my lips and take a look. Dad’s anatomy lessons pay off. The damned membrane is still there. Not that a hymen is proof of virginity, but there aren’t any signs of tearing, reddening or bruising in my intimate spots.
The whole thing was a dream, though one so vivid that I’m surprised to find no marks except some bruises on the back of my thigh where the drugs entered my body. My skin still tingles in certain places—the spots where Aleksey’s lips tortured and pleasured me.
I put my head between my knees as I struggle to organize my thoughts.
Why did I have such a dream? In my dream, I didn’t feel violated. A little scared, perhaps, but I was enjoying the thrill of it and internally gave my consent. I know I’m willing. More than willing if I want the guy. And I want Aleksey in a way I have never wanted anyone before.
The fact that Aleksey acted like a rapist turned what should have been a blissful dream into a nightmare. He would have taken me whether or not I had given him permission. I tell myself that if he were like that, he wouldn’t have stopped when I rejected him at the river. He even protected me from rapists. But that doesn’t mean he won’t do it, does it? What if he is just trying to make me trust him? I’ve heard stories about criminals enjoying the challenge more than the crime. What if Gary’s right?
This dream has reminded me of how little I know about Aleksey. How far we still have to walk on the path toward trust.
The worst thing is how much I … enjoyed it. I cover my burning face with my palms. I feel guilty and ashamed. Does this mean I subconsciously want to … want to …? No!
I rock back and forth on the chair. I can’t control my dreams, especially not with the drugs affecting my mind, but I hate how turned on I was.
Divine’s hand on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts. “V-girl? You want me to call Dr. Velez?”
I shake my head. “I’ll take a bath.” Dad said baths are allowed, but Divine insists on acting like a nurse, and she enters Aleksey’s bathroom with me. After the bath, I finally feel awake.
Divine and I share complementary kinks, but we’re not friends. Sisters in arms … maybe. She’s an abuse survivor, so she might understand what’s going on. I explain to her my problems with deflowering and my guilt-inducing dream. Normally I wouldn’t discuss my intimate secrets, but the medications are messing with me.
“Kiddo, it’s not as if … you wanna get … raped. No woman wants that. You just had a rough sex fantasy. I have those fantasies, too.” She looks flushed. “In those, my man doesn’t ask, he takes me forcefully … and uses … and discards. My Joey turns them into a reality whenever he can. That, ironically, makes me feel in control. Rats! I’m horny just thinking about it.”
She changes the wet sheets. “I didn’t have any control when the soldiers … I was terrified, and it was painful as hell. I hated every second of it.” She inhales deeply and shakes her head as if trying to erase the memories. “I hate to think about it.”
I’m at a loss for words. I put my hand on her shoulder as if to say, I’m sorry they did that to you.
“For two years I bathed five times a day. Couldn’t get rid of their smell. It was on my mind all the time. I still have scars on my body and in my soul. Joey’s love helped a lot, but I’m still trying to recover the part of me that died when they—” Divine pats my hand, which is still on her shoulder. “When my man takes me roughly, I always feel in control. I have the power to stop him … but I never ask.”
She theatrically fans herself. “Rough sex is awesome when you’re doing it with the right person. The rougher, the better. Hmm!”
“Well, not for me. I prefer loving, sweet, delicate sex. Slow and with plenty of kisses.”
She blushes. “What do you know if you’re still intact?”
It’s funny how she’s completely shameless about showing her body to strangers, yet she still reddens when discussing sex.
“I may be inexperienced, but I know that I need a partner who cares for me, even if it’s only a little. Nothing of that use and discard business. And the boundaries should be well-drawn beforehand—what’s acceptable and what’s not,” I say.
“Then draw the lines! Set your limits.”
“How, if I hardly know the guy?” That’s why I went for the safest option first. I feel a pang of frustration thinking about my unfulfilled plans with the only man I trust one-hundred percent.
“Then keep those hormones in check until you find someone trustworthy. I trust my Joey with my life. Heck! You’ve seen us. He’s very harsh at times. How much … um … intimacy do you think we would have if each time he was like, ‘May I touch you there, please?’ ‘May I fill your mouth with my cum?’ Or, ‘May this finger enter your’—”
“Stop! I got it,” I say, suppressing a cringe. “The difference is that Joey knows he has your eternal permission. In my dream, the guy didn’t know or care if I was willing or not.”
She shows me the moist sheets. “You were willing.”
“How would he know that? He assumed. The fact that he continued even after I said ‘Get out of me’ is what scares me.” I raise my hand to stop her when she tries to argu
e. “I know it’s just a dream, but for all we know, that could be his style.” He’s said so before. I’m into perversions that are too advanced, kinky, and rough for you.
“I don’t know. In real life, the guy could’ve done harm long ago and—”
“Maybe he’s taking his time, and he’ll eventually take off the mask.” My knees shake, so I sit on the cot. “Can you tell me it’s one-hundred-percent impossible for him to prefer rough sex in real life?”
She shakes her head.
I sigh and look away. “If rough is what he’s into, I’d rather not have sex with him.”
Divine looks at Aleksey’s bed thoughtfully. “He looks like the rough-sex type, but I think he’d never hurt you. You should’ve seen him when he found you and thought you were dead. He looked as though the world had ended for him. I haven’t seen that kind of agony in a man before. It broke my heart to see him so sad. He must be in love with you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s impossible. Horny for me? Yes. In love? No. The guy barely knows me and at times can barely stand me. I don’t know him, either.” What do I really know about Aleksey’s moral code? If I had second thoughts just when Aleksey is really at it, would he stop if I asked?
I put my arms around myself as if that will keep me whole. “How can I trust him with my body and be sure he’ll stop when … if … I say so?”
Divine sits next to me. “There’s always a risk with any man. I knew my first husband since childhood, and he forced me whenever he was drunk.”
Her words make me wince. “Any other man … I’d fight him and have a good chance of overpowering him if it came to that. Not Aleksey. Not the man who even the soldiers fear.”
I lie on the cot, and she half covers me with a sheet. “You always expect the worst from people, Velez. If the guy scares you, don’t have sex with him. But if it turns out he’s an honest man, you’ll regret that you missed your chance. You won’t find a better man for pleasure. A manly man who can do all sorts of tricks with his strength. He’d make you feel full and stretched. Hmm, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
I remember how he played with my body, manipulating it into different positions. He had sex with me aloft for a long time, and he never grew tired. Even in real life, a stud like him wouldn’t tire so easily. Now I understand why he said he doesn’t need a bed for sex.
Divine’s next words bring me abruptly back to reality. “I have an idea. The Priest is your friend, and it’s obvious you trust him. Why don’t you two hook up? Huh? You’re wincing. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
Not that kind of pain. In my desperation to feel safe, to have sex on my own terms, I’ve done things that I now regret.
I turn my back to Divine. “No, I’m not.” I’ve promised myself that I won’t think about Rey in that way anymore. He may be the only guy I trust who can control himself, but he isn’t an option.
“Thanks for your help, Divine. I’ll doze a little.”
This vivid hallucination has put everything in perspective. The sex wasn’t real, but my fear is. It’s not Aleksey’s fault; it’s not my fault. It’s just that Aleksey and I are not compatible.
And there’s nothing we can do about it.
30
Human touch vs. sexual touch
When I wake up, I’m not surprised to see that Divine is gone. My family is here, about to have a medicine lesson. Dad makes Azzy and Olmo check my blood pressure, temperature, and respiration rate. They’re supposed to take notes and compare their charts.
Olmo is gauging my blood pressure when a sound makes me turn my head. How could I not notice him sitting in a corner, lazily stroking Poncho’s head?
“Aah!” My skin heats up and I blush fiercely. I’m incredibly self-conscious to see Aleksey here after my orgasmic hallucination. My heart and breath speed up. The twins discuss the contrast in their charts, and Dad says that Olmo must have made a mistake. I hope that Aleksey, being such a skilled doctor doesn’t associate my symptoms with sexual arousal.
I try not to think about it, but a dream that gives a girl her first orgasm is bound to leave a mark. Maybe parts of the dream were real. I’d better ask him now that my family is present. I don’t think he’ll answer testily in front of them.
Aleksey dismisses my shy attempt to thank him and acts as though he hadn’t done it for me, earning an incredulous look from Azzy.
“Were you here when I woke up last time?” I ask.
He nods without looking at me, still scratching Poncho’s ears.
I try to sound casual. “Did you—call me a brat?”
Aleksey’s eyes meet mine with a malicious glint. Then he returns his gaze to his stroking hand. “I did. You were acting like one.”
“Yes!” exclaims Azzy enthusiastically, putting her fist into the air. “Lila is super stubborn.” She turns to look at Aleksey, who nods at her with a hint of amusement on his otherwise humorless face. “I’d call her a brat myself, but you saved me the trouble.”
I scowl. Look at her talking so breezily to this pervert! I envy her so much. Aleksey doesn’t intimidate her at all.
“Don’t call her a brat!” says Olmo defensively. “Lila isn’t a brat! She’s just as unreasonably pigheaded as a mule.”
“Um … thanks?” I say, shuffling under the bedspread.
Olmo smiles proudly. “You’re welcome, sis. I’ll always defend you.” He sticks out his tongue at Azalea.
Azzy laughs while adjusting my cot. “Keep defending her, bro!”
I’m not much of a smiler, but the twins’ joking exchanges never fail to make me grin.
The feeling of being observed makes me look at Aleksey again. I catch him staring at me. He looks away before I can react, so my attention turns to Poncho. He seems at ease in Aleksey’s room, placidly accepting his petting. I haven’t seen my dog since that night, and now I love him more than ever because he saved me and the others. I blow him a kiss, and he wags his tail. I force my dad to promise that he’ll spoil Poncho with extra food.
Poncho’s the reason I don’t drown in nervousness when my family retires, leaving me alone with the brooding general. My dog won’t let him get too passionate without my consent.
Silence extends between us. Aleksey looks angry and doesn’t make any attempt at conversation. I wish he’d play the bass and end this uncomfortable silence, but with so many injured soldiers in the clinic, he won’t. I wish he were at least writing in his journal and not sitting there, trying to avoid looking at me. Maybe we can bond only through voyeurism and alcohol.
He wanted me to sleep here; it was part of his deal to save Olmo, but as the time to go to bed approaches, I feel like an intruder.
“Sleep in my bed,” he says curtly.
I shiver. I was ready, even eager, for that before the dream, but now it feels wrong. Aleksey notices my discomfort and quickly adds, “I mean that you’ll be more comfortable there. I can sleep somewhere else—for tonight.”
What does he mean somewhere else? A visitant’s bed? I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“No, don’t go. This cot is fine,” I say, patting the mattress. “I’ll sleep here.”
“No. Your bed is unacceptable. Sleep in mine. I’ll go if you want,” he says brusquely.
I scowl. I think there’s another reason for his insistence. “You really want to sleep somewhere else, don’t you? If I weren’t here, you’d go anyway. Guess what? Whether or not you’re here, I’ll sleep on this cot.”
He steps angrily toward me. “I’ll put it like this, Lila. You’ll sleep in my bed. You can go to bed meekly, or I’ll drag you to it.” His voice is so authoritative that before I know it, I’ve slid under his bedspread.
The bed may look huge, but it’s only the equivalent of a soldier’s single. There will barely be space for the two of us.
He sits on the opposite side with his back turned to me. “Now that you’re in the bed, the question is, will you be more comfortable if I stay or if I sleep elsewhere?”
/> “What do you prefer?”
“I asked you first,” he says impatiently.
“That depends …” I begin, blushing. He looks at me as if waiting for me to elaborate. “Where would you sleep? The canteen?”
“No. I have a bed at the Accord headquarters.” He continues looking at me questioningly. “Why?”
My lips remain sealed while I look down. How can I tell him that I don’t want him to go to a place full of eager visitants? I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous because I’m not even sure that I am.
Aleksey seems to find the answer in my long silence. “You don’t want me to go to the canteen, do you?”
My reddening face shows my affirmative answer. Something flickers in his blue eyes, and his face loses a bit of its customary hardness. It seems as though the thought of me being jealous has moved him.
“I wouldn’t go to the canteen,” he says in a less harsh tone. “Unless my men caused any problem there, I’d stay at the Accord headquarters.” He gathers things as if packing to spend the night out. Perhaps he prefers the Accord headquarters to my company after all. “You’re healing. You must get the whole bed to yourself.”
I realize at this moment that Gary lied about Aleksey. He can’t be a rapist if he’s so willing to give me space. My initial reluctance to share a bed with him disappears.
He’s almost at the door, his back to me when my longing voice deceives me. “Stay.”
Aleksey stops. He doesn’t turn or say anything. Damn! I beat myself for asking. He’ll probably leave anyway, but by now he knows that I want to spend the night with him more than I should.
I fiddle with the sheets, looking down. “Never mind, you … you need to go somewhere to sleep comfortably … call it a night … wake up early. Forget it.”
But Aleksey closes the door and walks toward me again. He starts getting ready for bed.
I’m going to spend the night in a man’s bed for the first time in my life. For some reason, this feels even more intimate than the dream.