Forbidden- Our Secret Love

by Elise Quinn Larson

  “By getting MacAllister to testify that you liked rough sex. He’ll admit he might’ve been a bit too rough that night, but you never told him to stop.”

  “So it’s hopeless, then? Ben gets away with it and I just go on as though nothing happened?”

  “I’m not saying it’s hopeless, but if you decide to report this and press charges, your chances of prevailing are slim. Elise, are you afraid of this guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you need to apply for a restraining order in Lane County Circuit Court. Do it right away, as soon as you get back to Eugene. If he violates the order, he could face jail time and a sizable fine.”

  “All right. I’ll do that. And I’ll decide whether or not to report the rape. I’m scared, Jason. I don’t know what to do.”

  “And I’ve scared you even more. But I thought you should know the facts before you decide. What does your family say?”

  “My parents and Trey will support me in whatever I decide. Johnny wants me to report right away—like two weeks ago.”

  “Of course he does. That’s Johnny, always fighting for truth and justice. I’m not saying he’s wrong; I’ve spent my life fighting those battles. But in this case, only you can decide if you want to fight or not. Don’t let Johnny pressure you into anything.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. He’s not your uncle.”

  Jason laughed. “And thank God for that. But he’s a good man, and he loves you, little Elise.”

  “I know. Thank you for talking to me.”

  “Any time. I mean that. Take care.”

  When the call ended, Johnny broke the silence. “Well?”

  “Jason said only seven out of every one thousand incidents of rape result in a felony conviction. It could take months or years, while Ben and his attorneys destroy my reputation.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this, Uncle Johnny. I just can’t.”

  “Larsons don’t run from a fight, Elise.”

  “One did. Your Elise. She looked at the odds of beating her cancer and decided not to fight it. She accepted the inevitable.”

  Johnny glared at me. “Do not compare your situation with Elise’s!” he retorted. “Elise was no coward. She chose not to fight because she had no chance of winning. You do.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. I’m not going to report the rape. Ben wins.”

  Johnny was not pleased. Not only was I refusing to fight—in direct opposition to his wishes—but I had dared to compare my cowardly self to his sainted wife.

  “When a bad guy wins,” he said, “everyone loses.”

  Chapter 6

  T rey and I left for Eugene the next day. I was worried about my apartment, since Ben still had a key. I also wanted to apply for a restraining order right away.

  Trey didn’t say much during the trip, and I wondered if he disapproved of my decision not to report the rape. Finally, as we got close to Eugene, I asked him how he felt about it.

  “It’s your decision,” he replied, “and I’ll go along with it. But I think my father is right. Ben should be locked up and prosecuted, held accountable for what he did. Otherwise he’ll be free to do it again, to some other woman.”

  “You think if I do nothing, I’m placing other women at risk?”

  “Yes. I doubt this is a one-time thing with Ben.”

  I hadn’t considered the possibility that Ben might rape again, but knowing Ben’s personality—his strong sense of power and entitlement—Trey was probably right. But if I changed my mind and started legal proceedings against Ben, my chances of winning were so slim that it seemed pointless.

  My apartment was just the way I’d left it the night of the rape—almost. As I’d suspected, Ben had been there the next morning and found me gone, along with most of my important possessions. Scrawled across the bathroom mirror—in large red letters—was the word BITCH!

  “That’s it,” Trey said. “You’re moving out of here. Now. And while you’re packing, I’ll call a locksmith to come and change the locks.”

  “But Ben is in Portland on Christmas break.”

  “Who knows how soon he’ll return or what he’ll do? We need to take care of this now. Call your roommate and tell her what’s going on. She can pick up a new key from you when she gets back to Eugene.”

  “Trey?”

  “What?”

  “Where will I go?”

  “To my apartment, of course. Looks like I just acquired a new roommate.”

  “Are you serious? You want me to live with you?”

  “Why not? We’re family, after all. You can’t live alone or with another woman. You need protection.”

  It did make sense. I felt safe with Trey, and his apartment would be a refuge. Surely Ben would never approach me there. So I called Jessie and told her I was moving out and the locks were being changed. She seemed surprised but asked no questions. I think she was relieved to be rid of Ben and me.

  While I packed, Trey dealt with the locksmith and cleaned the bathroom mirror after he took pictures of it “for evidence, if needed.”

  It took two trips, but we finally got all of my stuff moved from my apartment into his. Luckily, the rain held off until we were done, so nothing got wet (a minor miracle in Eugene in December). I unpacked while Trey fixed cheeseburgers for dinner.

  The rain, making up for lost time, steadily beat against the roof and windows while we ate. It seemed strange to be alone with a man, just quietly eating and talking, without having to worry about saying or doing something that might displease or anger him in some way. I never let down my guard with Ben, but with Trey I could relax and be myself. It was a liberating feeling. And I was actually hungry for a change.

  “You’re a good cook,” I remarked. “These cheeseburgers are delicious.”

  He shrugged. “They’re just cheeseburgers. Wait until you try my specialties.”

  “Which are?”

  “You’ll soon find out. I like to cook. I guess I got that from our grandmother.”

  “Good, because I sure didn’t. Ben always complained about my cooking.”

  That instantly broke the mellow mood. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to mention him.”

  Trey shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything you say or do. Not to me. Not ever. Just be yourself. My cousin and best friend.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for being here for me.”

  “I’ll always be here for you, Elise. Now I hope you’re ready for dessert, because I have some ice cream that’s to die for.”

  I laughed. “Dessert after every meal, right? Grandma’s tradition.”

  “She has a lot of traditions, but the dessert thing is one of my favorites.” And he dished up two heaping bowls of the best ice cream I’d ever tasted. Really.

  It was still raining the next morning when Trey took me to Lane County Circuit Court to apply for a restraining order against Ben. I had to complete a Petition for Restraining Order to Prevent Abuse, stating that the respondent and I had been involved in a sexually intimate relationship within the last two years. I declared that the respondent had caused me bodily injury and had caused me to engage in involuntary sexual relations by force.

  Then I had to describe all incidents of abuse, starting with the most recent incident. I also explained how I was in imminent danger of further abuse and how the respondent was a threat to my physical safety.

  The process took a long time and brought back memories of all the times Ben had hurt me. I felt ashamed that I’d let it go on until Ben thought he had a right to rape me. Uncle Johnny was right. I was a coward.

  Once the order was signed, it prohibited Ben from “intimidating, molesting, interfering with or menacing” me, and from contacting me in person or by any other means directly or through third parties. He was also prohibited from being or staying within two hundred feet of me. It sounded good on paper, but knowing Ben, I wasn’t sure how effective it would be.

  The petition
was approved and signed the following day. I hired a process server to serve the restraining order on Ben at his parents’ home in Portland. Then I held my breath and waited, wondering if he would contest the order and request a hearing. He had thirty days in which to respond.

  Winter term classes started ten days later, creating another problem for me. Ben and I had registered for two pre-law classes together, so I assumed he would enroll in different classes to abide by the terms of the restraining order. As the victim, I didn’t think I needed to change my schedule to accommodate Ben.

  I should have known better. When I walked into American Law and Families on Monday morning, there he was in the front row, less than two hundred feet from me in violation of the restraining order. He turned around as I stood in the back of the room in confusion, wondering what to do. As always, Ben took charge.

  “She can’t be here,” he told the professor. “She’ll get me in trouble if she stays, so get her out of here.”

  I shook my head. “No. He’s the one with restrictions, not me. He’s been ordered to stay away from me.”

  “Which I was doing, right, Elise? I was nowhere near you until you walked into this room, hoping I’d get slapped with violating that bogus order.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I think it is, you conniving bitch. Get out of here before I call campus security.”

  The professor stood there, open-mouthed, while students stared and whispered. Ben glared at me for a few moments before he reached for his cell phone.

  I fled.

  Trey was furious when I told him about it. “You can’t let him get away with this. He knew you’d be in that class. He deliberately violated the order to stay away from you. You must report it to the police.”

  “Then what?”

  “They’ll investigate. He could be arrested and charged with contempt of court.”

  “But Ben did have a point, you know. He was nowhere near me until I walked into that room.”

  “He knew you’d be there!”

  “There’s no proof of that. How can I prove he knew about my class schedule?”

  Trey paced around his living room in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, Elise! Do you intend to give in to him like you always have? Change your class schedule so he doesn’t get in trouble? I don’t understand you. First you refuse to report the rape. Now you refuse to report this violation. Either you’re protecting this guy because you care about him, or you’re scared to death of him. Which is it?”

  “I don’t care about him. I thought I did for a while, but not now. Not after what he did to me.”

  “So you’re scared.”

  “Yes, I’m scared. I’m a coward, Trey. Uncle Johnny said so, and he’s right. Ben hurt me! I’m afraid he’ll hurt me again. I can’t fight him physically or legally, because he’s too strong and his family has too much power.”

  “So you’ll give in. Again.”

  “I’ll change my class schedule and hope that works. We’ll see.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “I’ll leave Eugene and move home to Boise. Get far away from Ben.”

  “You’ll run.”

  “Yes. I’ll run.” But I didn’t want to. I was just five months from graduating and enrolling in law school. I didn’t want to give up on my goal because of Ben.

  Chapter 7

  T hings settled down after that. I changed my schedule to avoid any classes with Ben. He did not contest the restraining order, which surprised me. He didn’t attempt to contact me in person or by any other means. After a month of this, I started to relax—at least during the day.

  The nights were another matter. I had terrifying nightmares of being attacked by hideous creatures with giant claws and gaping mouths with fangs that dripped blood. I fought my assailants as hard as I could, but I could not get them off me. I woke up screaming, night after bloody night.

  Poor Trey. He heard my screams and came to my room to hold and comfort me while I trembled. He urged me to speak with a mental health therapist at the university’s counseling center, but I kept putting it off with one excuse or another. I didn’t want to think about the rape, much less talk about it with some stranger.

  Trey was wonderful during this time: supportive, kind and considerate. I’d loved him all my life, ever since we were very small and formed a defensive team against Quinn, who liked to tease and bedevil us. Trey was always more than a cousin. He was my friend.

  And now he was also my roommate, cooking delicious dinners (he hadn’t been kidding about his specialties!), making sure I was comfortable and safe, helping me cope with my fears and night terrors. We ate, studied, talked and even laughed together sometimes. Gradually, as the weeks passed, I started to think of Trey as more than a cousin, a friend or a roommate. When he looked at me in a certain way or held me close in the middle of the night, I started to think of him as a man. A very attractive man.

  I knew this was wrong. We were first cousins, with the same grandmother. We could never be romantically or sexually involved in any way. Our family—and society in general—would not approve. And marriage between first cousins was illegal in Oregon and Idaho.

  I was ashamed that such thoughts had ever entered my head. So to counteract them, I encouraged Trey to spend time with his girlfriend, Kelly Schuller. I assured him I’d be perfectly fine when they ran the Hayward Field track together or went out for dinner or spent time at her apartment, doing what lovers do.

  Kelly was tall, slim, blonde and beautiful, with an outgoing personality that complemented Trey’s quieter nature. Kelly was pleasant to me and didn’t seem to question or resent my living with him—probably because I was his cousin. I liked her and was not jealous of the time she spent with Trey (well, maybe just a little bit).

  Trey and I decided not to go home for spring break in March. I wanted to spend the week perfecting my application essay for law school, and Trey was doing research for his English literature dissertation on Shakespeare’s contemporaries. Kelly flew home to Chicago, leaving the two of us to our work and quiet pleasures.

  It was a pleasant week in every way. The rain actually let up enough for us to spend time on the large balcony, where we could look down on Hayward Field just half a block away. We sometimes ate lunch on the balcony if the weather was warm enough.

  We often talked about our family during these lunches, sharing the news from our phone calls home. Everyone was doing well: Quinn was in Ontario for a few weeks, basking in the adoration of the local NFL fans; Granddad Quinn and our grandmother were on a month-long tour of France and Spain; CJ’s drawings were garnering great reviews (and sales) at a major art show in Seattle; Johnny’s construction firm got the winning bid for a major construction project.

  I often accompanied Trey to Hayward Field in the morning to watch him run the track; he was a magnificent runner and a joy to watch. As a graduate student, he was no longer on the Ducks team, but people always gathered to watch their famous track and field champion.

  We also took long walks on those early spring days, enjoying the colorful beauty of emerging blossoms like Johnny and Elise in the first months of their marriage. They’d been so happy then, so ignorant of impending tragedy. So unafraid of the future.

  I’d conquered much of my own fear in the three months since the rape. I occasionally saw Ben from a distance on campus. He was always surrounded by friends, talking and laughing in that loud, boisterous way of his. If he ever noticed me, he gave no indication of it. He appeared to be abiding by the prohibitions of the restraining order. I was surprised but relieved, certain I’d made the right decision by not reporting the rape. Ben was in the past, my future looked bright, and I was getting stronger every day. Even my nightmares were starting to fade.

  I completed and submitted my application for the J.D. Program at the University of Oregon’s School of Law on the last day of spring break. With a Law School Admission Test (LSAT) score of 160, a 3.8 GPA and strong letters of recommendation from
two of my pre-law professors, I was almost certain to be admitted for fall term and planned to specialize in criminal practice. I confidently expected a positive response to my application.

  Four weeks later, I was shocked to receive a letter from the law school admissions committee stating my application had been rejected. No reason was given. Knowing my qualifications were excellent and certain a mistake had been made, I wrote to the committee to request reconsideration.

  When I was rejected a second time two weeks later, again with no explanation, I asked my pre-law advisor for help. She was mystified by the rejections and agreed to approach a member of the committee for clarification. When she called me to her office a week later, I was both hopeful and apprehensive.

  “Elise,” she said. “Please be seated.”

  I sat, not at all encouraged by the look on her face. I clenched my hands together and took a deep breath.

  “The committee member I spoke with agreed that your scores and qualifications are excellent, but . . .”

  I waited, holding my breath.

  She sighed. “Does the name MacAllister ring a bell with you?”

  My breath whooshed out of me as though I’d been struck. Ring a bell? The name rang every alarm in my body. I was so stunned I could barely speak.

  “Yes,” I said. “It does. I dated Ben MacAllister last year. What does he have to do with this?”

  “I don’t know if he’s directly involved, but are you aware that his family owns MacAllister & MacAllister, a large law firm in Portland?”

  I nodded.

  “The firm’s owners—Ben’s father and grandfather—are the largest donors to our School of Law, giving over one million dollars to the Oregon Law Fund each year to support our programs. I’m sure you can appreciate the importance of these gifts, as well as the university’s desire to maintain an amicable relationship with the MacAllisters.”