by Ward, H. M.
He searches my eyes for a long time. We’re no longer touching. I wish we were. After a moment, Peter offers me the paper. “I didn’t read the whole thing. I don’t think I was meant to see it. I didn’t mean to…” he searches for the right word.
I take the paper and cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m fine now.” He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “Really, I’m okay. I’m over it. Almost. Well, most of the time. Today just threw me, that’s all.”
“Why? What happened?”
I shrug and remember the letter in my textbook. “Remember how I told you that my family was pissed when I left?” He nods. “Well, that’s true, but it was more than that.” I glance up at his face, debating whether or not to tell him. The way he looks at me makes the words dislodge from my throat. They’ve been stuck there for years.
Before I realize it, I’m telling him my story. “I left. As soon as I got my scholarship down here, I packed a bag and drove away. I never went back. I didn’t tell my family anything. I don’t use Facebook or Twitter. I picked the worst place I could imagine to make sure they didn’t find me. I did everything short of change my name. I thought it worked. No one found me. No one has called or said anything to me in four years...”
I slip the envelope out of my book and hold it between my fingers. “Until today. My brother sent me a letter. I got it right before class.” I’m saying too much. I shouldn’t tell him this, but I can’t stop.
Peter watches me as I speak. I haven’t told anyone any of this. No one here knows I was raped. No one knows anything. Shame flushes my face red and I look away from him. I hand Peter the envelope and sit down on top of my desk. My legs dangle down in front of me.
Peter takes the envelope and flips it over in his hands, before looking up at me. “What are you going to do?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Throw it out. Change my name.” I stare at my shoes.
“Will he hurt you?” Peter is looking at the envelope when I glance at him.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. Oh God, I don’t…” I stutter and rub my face with the heel of my hand. When I look up at Peter, I want to tell him. He makes me feel irrationally safe, as if nothing will hurt me.
“I never told anyone, besides my family.” I’m quiet for a moment, remembering too many things that I want to forget. “I knew him, the guy that…” raped me. I still can’t say it.
I suck in air as though there isn’t enough and look away from Peter. “We were dating. I wasn’t ready to have sex. He was. He took what he wanted. He said he’d do it again—that no one would believe me.
“I found my mom after the first time it happened. I told her. She told my dad. They did nothing. They said it was a date, that maybe I misunderstood or mislead him. My brother found out—I was dating his best friend—and said his friend would never do anything like that. They blamed me. All of them. They said it was my fault.” My gaze lifts and connects with Peter’s. “That was my senior year of high school.” I smile, but it’s angry. “You don’t even know the sickest part. My parents liked the guy that did this to me. After that, they tried to keep us together.”
“So, it didn’t stop?” Peter’s arms fold over his chest. His muscles bulge under his shirtsleeves.
I shake my head. “No,” my voice is a whisper. Memories slam into me. I see a flash of silver as though it’s really there. The story is so much darker. My fingers touch my throat, feeling the necklace that hides the scar. I can’t tell him that part. I refuse to relive it. I push the thoughts back. My voice is soft. I twist my hands in my lap. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get away from him. And I didn’t tell anyone else. My parents didn’t believe me, why would my friends?
“So I switched my college without telling anyone. I found this place and they gave me everything I needed. I ran away and haven’t looked back.”
Peter says nothing for a long time. “You’ve had a hard life and I made it harder.” His blue gaze pierces mine. “I’m sorry.”
I swat away his apology. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Peter shakes his head as he wraps his arms around his middle. “I led you on the night I first met you. I was going through some things, but I shouldn’t have. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have asked you to leave.”
“You didn’t.”
“It was the equivalent of kicking your ass out.” Peter sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Listen, it’s not an excuse, but you should know that it wasn’t you. About a year ago, something happened. I lost someone. I’m not over her.” His voice catches. Peter doesn’t look at me. “I tried to move on and I wasn’t—I couldn’t. That’s what happened the night we met. I couldn’t tell you, then. I’m not sure I can tell the whole story now—”
I slip off my desk and walk over to Peter. Placing my hand on his, I say, “Then don’t.” I hear the pain in his voice. “You have a friend here, you know. University guidelines be damned.”
Peter smirks and looks down into my face. “You care about me?”
“Maybe. A little bit.” I hold my fingers really close together and grin. He smiles. I love that smile. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I might like you—”
Peter cuts me off. “You like me?” Now Peter’s grinning so wide that his dimples show.
“Not like that.”
“No, you said it. University be damned. You like me. You like me, like me.” Peter waggles his eyebrows, smiling at full wattage.
“I did not!”
“I believe you did.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Call me whatever you want, beautiful, but I know you like me.” Peter walks behind his desk, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands behind his back.
“You’re so arrogant. What makes you think that I like you? Maybe I’m just being friendly.”
“Mmm hmmm,” he says shuffling through some papers after he sits down. When Peter looks up at me, he adds, “You were very friendly, although I would have called being topless and in my lap something else.” My jaw drops open. Peter grins. “Oh good. I was afraid that kind of friendliness was your typical MO. By the look on your face, I’m thinking that’s not the case.” Peter glances up at me. I sense the hesitancy in his voice. He wonders if he should tease me about it, but I’m glad he is. It finally throws the whole damn situation out in the open.
“I was trying something new that night. You seemed to enjoy it.” Heat flushes my face and I can’t hide my wicked grin.
He winks at me. “I did.”
“Jerk.”
“Sexy.”
“Ass.”
“Beautiful.”
“Agh!” I say, and stomp my foot.
Peter laughs. “Temper tantrum? Really, Miss Colleli?” Peter cocks his head to the side and looks at me. He’s jotting something on a piece of paper and stashing his lesson plans back in his satchel.
“You infuriate me.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Peter picks up his things and adds, “Come on.”
“Where?” I feel light and happy, like I might break my face if I keep smiling this much. Peter brings out the best in me. The teasing has been going on for a while, but there hasn’t been any mention of our sort of naked night before today. I don’t know how he did it, but Peter chased away my demons. I feel as though I can handle things again, and I’m genuinely curious about where he wants to go.
“You owe me dinner and a glass of wine. I’m driving.” Peter walks toward the door and looks back at me. I want to go, but we shouldn’t. I hesitate. Peter gives a wry smile. “What happened to damning the university? Are you really all bark and no bite?”
“I’ll bite you,” I mutter under my breath and grab my stuff.
Peter grins. “You should. I’m very sweet, or so I hear—like candy.”
“You probably painted yourself in chocolate.”
“That’d work, but no. I’ve got this naturally sweet thing going on.” He grins
at me.
“You’ve got this naturally annoying thing going on. Have you been holding back for the past few weeks or what?”
“You’ve barely said two words to me since I took over for Tadwick. I thought you’d castrate me with the letter opener.”
I choke on my spit and hack up a lung, before saying, “You did not think that!”
Peter shrugs and holds out his hand to the door, indicating that we should go. “What about the class?”
“There are directions on the desk. I’ll come back later and pick up the papers.”
“What about the University? Seriously, Peter, I don’t want you to lose your job.”
“I won’t. I can have dinner with my students. It’s not forbidden.” Peter’s serious for a moment. “I’ll tell you what happened the other night. I owe it to you.”
He doesn’t owe me anything, but I want to hear his story. I want to know what’s wrong with him. I want to know what kind of guy doesn’t have sex with a girl that’s already in his lap. There’s something about Peter, something dark that’s always just beneath the surface. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. Maybe his life has sucked like mine.
Nodding slowly, I follow him out of the room.
CHAPTER 13
We go back to the same the restaurant as the night we met. It’s fairly empty tonight. Between it being a weekday and the time, hardly anyone is here. The waiter seats us at the back of the room, on the far side of fireplace. I can’t see the rest of the room from my seat. It helps me relax a little bit. Millie would never let me hear the end of it if she knew where I was.
Peter settles into his chair and we both order drinks. Peter sips some of the amber liquid from his glass, then says, “About the night we met—”
I’m mid sip when he speaks. I shake my head and swallow my wine. “Peter, don’t. Really. That’s not why I came.” I don’t need to rehash that night.
“Then, why did you come?” Peter’s serious, as if he doesn’t know.
“Because I’m hungry…and maybe because I like you. I thought we already established this?” I smile at him, expecting Peter to go back to his light-hearted self.
Peter watches me as I raise the glass back to my lips. “You’re amazing.”
“I know, right?” I grin at him. “I can hold a wine glass. Wahoo!” I hold up the glass by the stem and twirl it between my thumb and finger. The liquid inside swirls, but doesn’t spill.
Peter smiles at me. The corners of his eyes crinkle when he does it, amused. “That’s not what I meant, but your glass holding technique is impeccable.”
I laugh. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about Peter, something that puts me at ease. It’s like I’ve known him forever, as if I could say anything and he’d understand. It makes no sense.
Our salads come out. The waiter puts them in front of us and then leaves. The food looks delicious.
Lifting my fork, I say, “I didn’t get to eat here last time. I sort of freaked out, and attacked the waiter.”
Peter holds a piece of lettuce on his fork and pauses. “No way.”
“Way. My date had happy hands. I was trying to tolerate it, but I freaked out. It resulted in me jumping out of the booth like the place was on fire. I collided with that guy over there.” The same waiter is standing on the other side of the room at the bar. “His tray fell over in slow motion. I’m pretty sure he’s spitting in my food as they make it.”
Peter’s smile fades. “Why were you trying to tolerate a guy touching you?”
I shrug and stab my salad. “Because I want to be normal. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of messed up.”
Peter gives me a somber look. “Actually, I did notice that you’re kind of abnormal. For one, you have abnormally large eyes. They sparkle way too much. And that mouth of yours—well, let’s just say that it’s obviously defective.” Peter smirks and picks up his fork.
“Shut up.” I smile at him and shake my head.
Peter grins at me and waves his fork around as he speaks. “Being normal is overrated. Normal gets you what—the dolt husband with the 2.5 kids and the house with the dog? You seriously want that? I mean, one of those kids is going to be really funny looking, by the way, all cut in half like that. Who wants half a kid?”
I smile, but it fades quickly. I’m talking to Peter as if I know him, as if I’ve always known him. I don’t worry about what he’ll think. He won my respect and most of my trust in the classroom earlier. He didn’t judge me. He didn’t blame me. I haven’t had a friend like that before, well, not a guy. Most of the time, I keep my mouth shut around guys. I don’t want them to know me or what happened. I don’t want to deal with it. Somehow Peter has helped me deal with it, and the emotions that were crippling me earlier have vanished. I don’t know how he does it.
“I don’t really know what I want anymore. I used to. But that wasn’t what I meant by normal. Ever since it happened,” I swallow hard and pause way too long. “Let’s just say I have issues. I can’t get close to anyone. I kind of thought that if I forced it, that things would get better.” I don’t look at him. I tried to force myself to have sex with him the night we met. He’s hot and nice to touch, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Peter’s face pinches together. He doesn’t understand. “You thought if you slept with someone that you didn’t really like that you’d get over what happened to you?”
I flick my eyes up. “Well, when you say it, it sounds stupid.”
Peter’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open. “It is stupid.”
“Wow, that was blunt.” I poke my salad and shove it into my mouth.
“Sometimes blunt is better. So tell me, after you let this guy defile you, what happens next? You let him do it again?”
I stare at him. Good question, although it makes me wiggle in my seat. I stare at my salad for too long, but I feel Peter’s eyes on me. His gaze is so intense. I shake it off. Peter starts eating again.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I thought it would help erase things. You know, push the memories that suck further back in my mind. There hasn’t been anyone since him. I thought it would help.”
Peter stops eating. His eyes are too wide. He looks at me strangely. His voice is low. “Is that what you were doing with me?” I don’t answer. Peter smiles at me and shakes his head. He pushes the salad away and leans back in his chair. “Okay, I’m going to level with you.” He presses his lips together into a thin line and then lets out a huff of air. His hands are on the table. His index finger is tapping the table top, nervously. “I was doing the same thing.”
I tilt my head and say, “Yeah, right.”
He smiles crookedly at me. “I’m not what they’d call balanced.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Everyone. My mom, dad, sister, cousins, and other people who know me. I accepted this job and took off. They think I’m going to fall apart, especially after what happened.” He lifts the amber liquid to his lips and drinks the rest in a single swig.
Peter sets the glass down. His eyes don’t focus on me or anything else. It’s like he’s lost in a memory. “We—me and Gina—were in New York, seeing the stuff for Christmas. We went to Radio City and then to dinner. Afterward, it was late. She was ready to leave, but I wanted to go to Rockefeller Center. I wanted to get down on one knee under the tree and ask her to marry me.”
He smiles. It nearly breaks my heart. I know that smile. It’s a memory that’s tainted, something that should have been happy but didn’t turn out that way. I feel the weight of his story, the way he can barely say the words. He coughs and his eyes flick to mine. “I talked her into going. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to ask her. I didn’t want to come back the next day. I wanted to do it at night, when the tree was lit. Gina loved Christmastime. I knew she’d love it.
“So, we get there and the place is pretty empty. It’s late. While Gina was looking at the tree, I pulled out the ring. There
were some people on the other side of the tree, but they couldn’t see us. I kneeled and held up the ring.” He breathes hard. The lines in his forehead crease. I can see the pain of this memory playing out across his face as if it’s happening now. I want him to stop. Saying the words sounds like it’s breaking him. I want to reach out and take his hand, but I’m frozen.
Peter looks up at me. His smile twists. “You’re better at this than me. I’ve had a year to deal with this, but I still can’t even say it.”
“Peter…” I say his name and touch his hand. I catch his eye. “This really hot guy just told me a great piece of advice—it’s stupid to rush things when you aren’t ready.”
He laughs once, hard. It makes his chest shake. Peter looks down at my hand. “That guy’s usually an ass, or so I hear.” He glances up at me from under dark lashes.
The corners of my mouth turn up slowly. “You heard right. He is an ass, a totally sweet, thoughtful ass. The best kind of ass really.” I’m laughing lightly as I say it.
“Ah, your attempt at flattery is wasted.”
I take my wine glass in my hand. “It’s not flattery if it’s true. You’re a good man. Healing takes time. It’s not the same for everyone. It doesn’t happen at the same rate.”
“Tell that to my family.”
“Screw your family. They don’t understand this—whatever happened to you guys. You do. You understand what happened and what it did to you. Talk about it when you’re ready. Move on when you’re ready.” I finish my wine and put my glass down.
“It’s easier to give advice than it is to take it, huh?” Peter watches me for a moment. His eyes sweep over my face, and rest on our hands. Mine palm is still on his. “So?”
I look where he’s gazing and flinch. “Sorry.” I try to pull my hand away, but Peter takes it and holds on.