by Selena Kitt
‘Of course.’ I turn the open sign to closed and lock the door. ‘Come into the office.’ I lead the way out to the back of the shop into the office. ‘Have a seat.’ I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I can tell it must look strange, because it doesn’t feel right on my face. Somehow, I know what she’s going to tell me is nothing to smile about.
Her gaze dances around the room like that of a cornered, wounded animal.
‘It’s OK.’ I sit on the edge of the desk as my heart breaks for her. I know it’s not OK. It’s far from fucking OK. ‘Do you want a drink?’
She shakes her head. Tears spill from her eyes, splashing down her cheeks and onto the floor. ‘I found out where you worked from Theo’s friends. Theo said you went out with him for a couple of years, but he broke it off with you because you slept with someone else. He started rumours about you, and I believed him…until now. I wanted to ask if he’d ever…’ She trails off and stares at the ground, unable to get the words out.
Even hearing his name makes the anger bubble up inside, but I guess that’s a good thing. It’s way better than feeling scared.
‘My name’s Rebecca. I was…seeing him for six months.’ Her fingers shake in her lap.
My hands clench tightly at my sides. ‘Did he rape you, too?’ My heart races in anticipation of what she’s going to tell me. I hope I’m wrong. I pray with everything I have that I’m mistaken, that she’s here for some other reason entirely.
Her lower lip quivers. ‘Yes.’
I crouch down next to her, wrapping my arms round her. She rests her head on my shoulder and sobs like a child, her whole body heaving with the force of her distress and pain.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Anguish for her twists in my gut.
This is my fault. If I’d told someone, if I’d reported him, he wouldn’t have been able to do this to someone else.
‘Do you believe me?’ she whispers.
‘Yes. I believe you. He did it to me, too.’
Relief slides across her features. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she wails, her eyes silently pleading with me for help.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Last…night.’ She has difficulty getting the words out through her sniffs and sobs. ‘I… I haven’t…told anyone.’
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ I stroke her hair. ‘I didn’t tell anyone, either, and now he’s done it to you. He can’t keep doing this.’
‘I…don’t know if I can…report it. Who’s going to…believe me? You know…who his parents are.’ She sniffs.
‘I believe you.’ I cradle her head on my shoulder. ‘It’s not your fault, you know.’ I’ve been where she is and know she’s going to take the blame on herself, just as I did.
She lets out a strangled cry.
‘It’s not your fault, please believe me.’ I rub her back and hold her gaze, looking deep into her eyes so there can be no mistake. ‘It’s his fault. And I’m not letting him get away with it again. I’ll come with you. I’ll report him, too.’
She takes an almighty sniff. ‘I don’t think I can do it. I’m not that strong.’
I lean back, place my hand on her shoulders. ‘We have to tell, Rebecca. He’ll just carry on doing it if we don’t stop him.’
Her hopeless gaze stares back at me.
‘What do you think?’ I say. ‘I’ll be with you, every step of the way.’
Shaking, she wipes her runny nose on her shirtsleeve. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I know. But if we don’t, he’ll get away with it again, and I can’t let that happen.’
‘I don’t want him to get away with this, either,’ she whispers.
‘I don’t want to pressure you, Rebecca. This is your choice and yours alone, but if we both report what he did, we have more chance of people believing us.’
She looks away, thinking about it for a few minutes as we sit in silence. The only sound is her sniffs and snuffled breaths. When her gaze finally draws back to mine, I see something I wish I’d had inside when it happened to me.
Determination.
‘I want to report it,’ she says.
I squeeze her hand. ‘OK, that’s good, Rebecca. Can you wait here for a minute, and I’ll be back?’
She nods.
I slip out of the room, close the door, and go into the kitchen. I dial Ben’s number on my mobile phone as I pace up and down.
‘Grace? Are you OK?’ He picks up after a couple of rings.
Just hearing his voice is instantly soothing. ‘Ben, thank God.’
‘What’s going on? Is everything all right?’
‘I’m sorry to call you like this.’
‘I said I’d always be here for you and I meant it. If there’s something wrong, tell me.’
‘He’s done it again. Theo, he’s done it to someone else.’ I tell him about Rebecca.
‘Fucking bastard.’
‘I’m going to report it with her. I’m going to tell, too.’
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘I’ve never been more sure of anything. I’m not letting him get away with it. I don’t want him to do this to any more women.’ I think about everything she’ll go through now. The terror, the blame, the self-hate. How the Rebecca who was raped has gone now, died, and the unbelievably difficult journey she’ll face to even begin to find herself again. I’m so angry about it. So fucking angry I want to kill Theo. I run a hand across my forehead to try to rub away the tension. ‘I thought it was just me. I never thought he’d do this to anyone else. He never had any problem getting women. Why did he do it? Why?’
‘You shouldn’t feel guilty that you didn’t report him, and it’s not your fault he went on to do this to someone else. You know that, right?’
‘But maybe by not reporting it, I sent him a silent message that it was OK. That he could get away with it again.’ My breath shudders with fury and guilt.
‘No, Grace. Rapists have a set of ideas, beliefs, or motivations that are common in people who rape. Things like inadequacy, control, power, weakness, anger. They were there before he met you. You weren’t a trigger or responsible in any way, and neither was Rebecca. It’s not about sex for them; it’s about power, control, and dominance. Rape isn’t sex. It’s grievous assault where a penis just happens to be the weapon.’
I rub a hand over my face. Ben’s right. It’s not my fault. It never was, and I know so much better now. ‘God, I wish I’d met you sooner. Maybe I would’ve had the strength to report him if I’d spoken to someone when it happened.’
‘You did what was right for you at the time. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s self-preservation. Do you want me to help? Shall I go with you?’
‘I think right now she just needs a female. When she’s ready to talk, I’m going to recommend she speaks to someone.’
‘Go to the Rape Crisis Centre first. They’ll gather any evidence and do tests, then they’ll arrange for the police to talk to you both.’
‘OK.’
‘If you need me, just call me, all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Grace…I just want to say…you’re the strongest, most amazing woman I know.’
The afternoon flies by at the centre. I hold Rebecca’s hand as they give her an examination, take swabs, scrape under fingernails, photograph bruises, and gather other evidence. The staff is fantastic—sympathetic, kind, caring. They take time to explain exactly what they’re doing and what other services they can offer for rape survivors, helping to ease some of Rebecca’s anxiety and trauma. They tell her that rape is notoriously underreported and how brave she is.
Two police officers arrive at the centre to take our statements, but I don’t fall apart as I did when I told Ben my story all those months ago. Strangely, I don’t shed a single tear. It’s strangely cathartic to finally get it out there where it belongs. Like the more times I tell it, the stronger I feel. The more I realize I am a survivor. I went through something horrific, tragic, but it didn’t break me
. I’m putting the blame firmly on him and not me. I’m not ashamed or dirty anymore. I don’t hate myself. I’m fighting back the way I know how to now.
I’d be lying if I said what stretches in front of us is going to be easy. Ben told me retelling a rape is sometimes the same as going through it again in real time, but nothing is going to stop me doing this.
At seven-thirty p.m., I drive Rebecca to her parents’ house. She hasn’t told them anything yet, and she’s silent on the drive back. I know the turmoil of emotions raging through her, so I don’t press her to talk about things.
I turn off the engine and swing round to face her. ‘Do you want me to be there when you tell them?’
‘No. I need to do this on my own.’ She looks down at her fingers resting in her lap and picks at her nails. ‘Thank you, though. I don’t think I could’ve gone through all that today without you.’
‘You’re very welcome. If you need me for anything, just call, OK?’
She reaches for the door handle then pauses, turning back to me. ‘You seem really strong and put together. How did you get through it all?’
I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. ‘I cried a lot. I died inside. I was angry. I hated myself. I felt guilty, ashamed. I had nightmares. I carried on with my life on autopilot, trying to pretend to the world that I was OK. Getting through the endless days was so hard, but the nights were the worst.’ I open my eyes and face her. ‘I wanted help. I knew I needed to talk about it. I wanted to move on, I just didn’t know how to. And then I met an amazing counsellor, Rebecca. You may not be ready to see someone about this yet, but when you are, talk to someone who can help.’ I reach out and squeeze her hand. ‘If I can get through this, you can, too.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Ben
I pace up and down in my tiny flat after she calls me. Hearing her voice…God, I’ve missed her so much.
I’m wired. I can’t sit still as I imagine what Grace and Rebecca are going through. It takes every piece of strength I have to stay here instead of finding Theo and dishing out my own justice. But I’ve learnt my lesson from the past. I can’t even think about doing that.
It can go two ways for Grace. Either retelling her story will knock her back down again, or it will be another part of the recovery process. Only time will tell, and all I can do is be here for her. If she’ll let me.
I feel helpless, just waiting like this. By the time it gets dark, I can’t wait any longer. I have to see her.
I walk to her flat and find it in darkness when I knock on the door. She doesn’t answer, so I sit on the top step and wait for her. Half an hour later, her car pulls into the car park.
I stand up as she gets out of the car. She looks up at me and her face crumples with relief at the sight of me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. Maybe she’s just completely exhausted.
She hurries up the steps and falls into my arms. I bury my lips in her hair, inhaling vanilla. I wrap her close against me and it’s like I’ve come home again after a long, tiring journey. I never want to let her go again.
‘How did it go?’ I ask urgently.
‘No one should have to do that.’ She says into my chest, her arms holding onto my waist like she can’t bear to let me go. We stand like that in silence, clinging to each other.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask eventually.
She sniffs, steps out of my arms, and unlocks her door. ‘Come in.’ She takes my hand and leads me to the sofa.
I sit next to her and she leans her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her and wait for her to tell me what happened.
‘I thought it would be harder than it was, making a statement to the police. It’s worse for Rebecca. At least I’ve had time to work through things.’
‘Sometimes the fear of doing something is actually worse than the doing part.’ A thought flashes into my head that I should listen to my own advice, but I push it away. Now isn’t the right time.
It will never be the right time. I know now I can never tell her the truth about me. These empty weeks without her have been too much. I couldn’t face forever.
‘It feels…weird,’ she says. ‘I know I have to go through with this. For Rebecca and myself, and any other women out there that he might do the same to. But I actually want to. I want to see this through to the end. Being in a courtroom and telling strangers what happened is going to freak me out, probably, but I think it will be the end of my journey, you know? It will be closure.’
I kiss the top of her head. Tears of pride for her burn in my eyes. ‘In the beginning, I told you that you were stronger than you thought, and you didn’t believe me. Now you know it, too.’
‘I’ve missed you so much.’ She twists around and looks up at me, tears spilling down her cheeks.
‘Not as much as I’ve missed you.’ I wipe her face with my fingertips.
‘But I don’t deserve you, Ben. You don’t want someone damaged like me. You should be able to have a real relationship.’
‘I told you before, I’m not going anywhere. I just want to protect you and love you like you deserve to be loved. I want to make you so safe and secure you never want to leave. Whatever happens, we can handle it together.’ I frame her face in my hands and kiss her with tenderness.
‘Will you stay the night?’ she asks. ‘Even if I’m not capable of giving myself to you completely, I really want you here with me.’
‘I’ll stay forever if you want.’ I pull her tighter, our hearts beating so close together I can’t tell whether the vibration in my chest is coming from her or me, and it’s like we’re one.
I don’t think I’ve slept all night. I’ve spent pretty much the whole time staring at her, not quite believing I’m lying in her bed. She’s hardly stirred, sleeping soundly with no nightmares to haunt her. I’ve got pins and needles in my arm where she’s snuggled up against me under the duvet, her head pressed into the crook of my shoulder, but who gives a shit? I don’t want to move. Don’t even want to breathe. Just want to stay like this forever with her wrapped in my arms. It’s like she was made to be just here, as if we’re a perfect fit for each other.
I sweep my gaze over her face, memorizing every perfect feature. The arch of her eyebrows, the button nose, the long eyelashes fanning against the creamy skin of her cheeks.
So what if we don’t go any further? So what if I don’t make love to her? I can wait. I just love holding her, inhaling her vanilla scent, staring at her beauty.
Grace’s eyelids flutter open, and she looks up at me with a cute grin. ‘Morning.’
I lift myself up on one elbow and lean over her. ‘Morning.’
Her fingers feather across my face. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. But I just wish that we could…I mean, I could…’ she trails off, biting her lip. ‘I don’t want you to regret this. Being with me if I can’t—’
I press a finger to her mouth. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t even think about it. Like I said, we’ve got all the time in the world for what comes next. And in the meantime, we can have lots of fun not having sex.’
She rubs her thumb along my bottom lip. I let out a groan.
‘What do you see in me?’ Her eyebrows knit together in a confused frown.
‘You’re so perfect. So beautiful. You’re funny. Kind.’ I run gentle kisses along the side of her neck, behind her ear in between each word. ‘Cute. Sexy. Courageous. Strong. Resilient.’
She sucks in a breath and watches me with half-closed eyes. It’s incredibly sexy. ‘Really? You see all that?’
‘Yes, and more. Much more. And I’m going to spend all my time proving it to you,’ I whisper against her collarbone. ‘Is this OK?’ I caress the soft skin of her neck.
‘Yes.’ Her voice is hoarse. ‘It’s never been like this for me before.’ She strokes down my abs, stopping when she reaches the top of my boxers and stroking back up again. ‘I feel things with you I can’t even begin to explain.’
‘Don’t
think about before.’ I lace my fingers through hers. ‘The only thing important is the here and now.’
She nestles into my chest, and I suddenly remember to check the time. It’s Sunday, and I’m going to be late to teach my self-defence class, even though I don’t want to be parted from her for a second.
‘Do you want to come along to the class or meet me afterwards?’ I say.
She stretches and kisses me. ‘I’ll meet you outside afterwards.’
‘OK, what do you feel like doing?’
‘I want to create another new memory. I want to do something I’ve never done before. And, according to my counsellor, I should do something fun every day. I think I should take his advice, since he seems to know what he’s talking about.’
‘How about roller-skating?’
She laughs. ‘No, my balance is rubbish.’
‘So, ice-skating’s out, too, then, huh?’
‘Yep.’
‘Bowling?’
She grins at me. ‘That sounds perfect. But you’ll have to teach me how.’
‘I think I can manage that. Wouldn’t want your counsellor to get annoyed with me. He might kick my arse.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Grace
We’re queuing at the reception in the bowling alley when I check out the shoes people have to wear. ‘Do we really have to wear those?’ I ask Ben. ‘They’ll make me look like Goofy.’
‘No, Goofy’s no where near as cute as you.’ He squeezes my hand.
We manage to get a free lane, and I sit on a bench, tying up the shoelaces. Ben sits next to me, his warm thigh pressing into mine.
I stretch my leg out. ‘See, what did I tell you? Goofy.’
He chuckles and stands, holding out his hand. ‘Come on.’
We walk to the lane and he sets up the computer, adding our names to it. ‘I bet you’re really good at this, aren’t you?’ I ask.
‘Passable. I haven’t played in a long time.’
‘OK, so show me what to do.’ I shout over the deafening noise of balls clattering down the lanes and pins crashing. I stand with a hand on my hip as he selects a ball out of the ball return machine, puts his thumb and first two fingers in it, and tests the weight.