by Sarina Bowen
“God, no, but I want you to be completely used to my mouth tasting you, my hands touching you and my eyes seeing you before we do that,” he said. “There’s no rush.” Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.
“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt,” she said against the top of his head as he buried his face in her chest and rubbed her breasts.
Never in a million years would she have guessed that over only a few short months she would meet someone like Ian, learn to care for him, learn to trust him and learn to accept his touch. Only this huge man, whom she could barely fit her arms around as he snuggled against her, could accomplish all that in such a short time. They hadn’t completed the act, but for the first time it was a real possibility…even something she kind of looked forward to…someday.
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks, Courtney was on cloud nine as she adjusted to the idea of kissing Ian without fearing it would lead to something more…something she wouldn’t like. Her anxiety around him disappeared completely. Instead she imagined him kissing her and putting his big hands on her skin again…and maybe on her rounded belly. Could she really do that again? Try for another baby? If she had another miscarriage, and another period of grief, would Ian finally realize that she really did have too many issues for him to deal with? Would he leave and go in search of a normal girlfriend…like he should?
They hadn’t discussed what they wanted from each other now that they were talking and hanging out again and…other things. Courtney could only try to keep things in perspective. As great as things were between her and Ian she couldn’t hope that they would stay that way forever. Especially after she found out that he was nine years younger than her. The idea that she was what some might consider a cougar didn’t bother her. What did bother her was the idea that Ian might realize that having a family was more in reach if he dated someone closer to his own age.
Since they had started messing around, he hadn’t even brought up trying for another baby again. Though it was probably grade school stuff to him, the passionate kisses and touches they shared were all new to her. She was truly enjoying it. Though he hadn’t touched her as intimately as he had the day of his first exam…it was going to happen again. She could feel it coming. A tension was building between them that sometimes left her gasping for air.
As she made it in the front door of her house, her cell phone rang. She was surprised to see her aunt’s number on the display. It had been a while since they’d talked, which was Courtney’s fault. Talking was never easy, because along with an unrealistic fear of men, Courtney also had an unhealthy dose of guilt over not doing something to protect Aunt Corrine that day. Over the years the guilt had slowly eaten away at the relationship she had with the only relative she cared anything about. In her normal understanding way, Aunt Corrine only called when something was wrong or if there was something Courtney needed to know and Courtney did the same, which immediately put her on guard about this call.
“Aunt Corrine, how are you?” she asked upon answering the phone.
“I’m good, sweetie. How are you?”
“I’m good. Completely recovered and back to work,” she replied.
“I’m glad to hear things are getting better for you, and I hate to even bother you after the loss of the baby, but I thought you should know…there may be a detective calling you sometime soon,” she said quietly. “There are two men about to be released from prison who match the descriptions we gave that day. Apparently these men were convicted of a similar attack on another woman and sent to prison. There is a DNA match for one of them in my case. So the police want to go after both men if they can. There are some problems, though. They needed me to ID the second guy from some photos but I…it’s been so long, and I tried to put that whole thing behind me, so I couldn’t do it. A couple of the photos looked familiar, but I just couldn’t,” Corrine finished, nearly whispering.
Over the years, Courtney had tried to forget the faces she had seen clearly reflected in her dresser mirror from where she’d hid under the bed. The anger and hate that had emanated from those faces had almost made them appear like monsters to her as a child. How she had wished and prayed she could forget them. Now she would be asked not only to remember them, but also to point them out to others.
“I have to go now, Aunt Corrine, thanks for letting me know.”
After hanging up, Courtney managed to make it to the table and sit down before being assailed with memories of that horrible day. She had never understood that level of aggression and brutality, even after researching it in depth from different angles. The concept of being so angry at a complete stranger that you could…it was just unfathomable.
Those men hadn’t stopped at Aunt Corrine, though. It sounded like that wasn’t just a one-time lapse in personal control or good judgment. They were the types of sociopaths she was trained to counsel on how to keep themselves on a good path and get the help they needed. It was important to keep those men in a place where they couldn’t hurt anyone else: in jail. She knew that, but the steps that might be involved to keep them incarcerated made her nauseated. Aunt Corrine deserved justice, and as much as Courtney wanted to right the wrong of not providing aid back then, a part of her worried that she might again fail to help in any meaningful way. If Aunt Corrine couldn’t identify them, maybe Courtney wouldn’t be able to, either.
When she finally snapped out of her heavy thoughts it had grown dark and she hadn’t turned on any lights. She vaguely remembered hearing the doorbell and even her cell phone ringing at some point. What had seemed like minutes had actually been a couple of hours. Forcing herself out of the chair, she checked every door and window to ensure they were locked before finally making her way to bed.
A fitful night of sleep was followed by an unproductive day. She released her class early because she just couldn’t focus. Emotionally, she felt like she had been sent back to the starting line of the horrible incident. Her fear, anxiety and shock were back in full force. All the classes, training and years of experience in handling trauma and highly emotional situations—and yet she was still unprepared to handle this.
When she got home she noticed a message on her cell phone from the very detective she was both fearing and hoping could provide closure after all these years. Again, she somehow lost track of time as she stared at the display on her cell phone, trying to make her fingers touch the button to call the detective. She watched a call come in from Ian and then a later one from Jess, neither of which she could bring herself to answer. At some point she again checked all the doors and windows and went to bed.
The following morning she knew she had to snap out of the funk she was in and do what must be done. After showering and getting ready for work she sat down at the table with cell phone in hand and finally managed to call Detective Baker. He asked her to meet him in his office the next day to talk about the case.
Why couldn’t life be so simple that if an individual committed such a horrible act they would change colors, grow horns or otherwise identify themselves? The authorities could then arrest the criminal and put them in jail, or in this case keep them there, because their guilt would already be defined by the changes in the way the immoral person looked.
As she sat, trying to get her emotions under control since she had class in a little more than hour, her cell phone rang. Seeing Ian’s number on the screen, anger sliced through her. Didn’t he realize she couldn’t talk to him at the moment? She didn’t want to have to explain why she was going crazy with pain so intense it was as if she had just witnessed the sweetest woman on earth being attacked moments ago rather than years ago. Damn him for not just leaving her alone to begin with…
She needed time to get ahold of herself. She couldn’t deal with him or Jess right now.
Answering the phone angrily, she said, “Ian, will you please stop calling me? I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m not interested in a relationship with you or
having a baby with you, so you are wasting your time where I’m concerned. Please give me some space and stop calling me every ten minutes. I have a lot going on right now, and I can’t spend every waking moment with you. I can’t take you being needy. I’m sorry.”
The first tear trickled down her cheek after she finished her tirade against the undeserving man. She, too, was apparently capable of lashing out in anger. Maybe not physically like those men had done to Aunt Corrine, but she knew her words had cut Ian deeply. If appearances matched behavior, she should also change to indicate that she, too, was someone to steer clear of. Emotionally off balance and wounded beyond repair—that was what her appearance should reveal. She could hear the damage she had just done to Ian in his silence.
“I don’t know what is going on with you, Courtney, but regardless of whether or not we are in a relationship or dealing with anything having to do with babies—as a friend I’m allowed to worry about you, and I’m allowed to care. If that upsets you, then I’m sorry. But I’m not an emotional punching bag for your personal use. I adore you, but these mind games have got to stop. You’re either letting me be a part of your life—all the parts of your life—or you’re not. Either way, I am done riding the roller coaster that’s called ‘Chasing Courtney.’”
He paused as if trying to collect himself while more silent-but-scorching-hot tears made their way down her cheeks. “I want to be there for you, but this pushing-me-away shit when you obviously need a friend is even more unhealthy than any phobia you have of sex or men. As a therapist, you should be really good at opening up and talking about what is going on with you, instead of being a professional at striking out at anyone that gets close to you. I’m a big man. I can take a punch from just about anyone. But you don’t fight fair, and I can’t lose another match with you. I’m tired of you beating up my heart. No more.”
Then the line disconnected.
Chapter Ten
The following day Courtney realized that she should have called Ian back and apologized the minute he hung up. She hadn’t and now she would have to face this unspeakable day alone. After contemplating calling Jess, Courtney had also discarded that thought. It wasn’t fair to put Jess in the middle. Besides, of the two of them, Ian deserved Jess’s friendship more than she did. He was simply a better friend to have.
His words to her yesterday had settled in her chest like a cold where the cough, though painful, made you feel a little better—until it was time to cough again. Even now the words hurt to the point of causing physical discomfort. This was exactly why she should have stuck to her convictions and let him go when he’d first confessed he was interested in her romantically. Her inability to cope with the past wasn’t fair to Ian—he was right about that. After replaying what he’d said in her mind she at least knew he would move on from whatever feelings he thought he had for her. He would eventually find someone emotionally ready for such a wonderful man.
Sometimes having to live with the past made her angry. Ian had given her small glimpses into what a normal life could be like. The thought of coming home to a husband and children instead of an empty house designed to keep her safe inside and any possible danger out. To hug a man, to kiss him…to make love with him without fear or anxiety. Memories of Ian’s humor, his crystal eyes, his kisses and the feel of his hands on her reminded her that it was time to cough again.
Following the directions the detective provided, she pulled up in front of the police station, shut off her car and sat with her hands on the steering wheel. How she wished she could somehow transfer the image in her mind of the men to a photograph that would miraculously land on the detective’s desk. Unfortunately, looking through photos was necessary, because only one of the individuals was a DNA match and that suspect wasn’t willing to talk. Instead the man still maintained his innocence, even in the face of overwhelming proof.
The detective wanted her to positively identify one or both suspects if possible. She would do all she could to provide him with the positive ID he needed to ensure the case could be successfully tried in court. However, knowing she would be helping put the men away didn’t make the prospect of remembering their faces in detail any more pleasant. Oddly enough, even more than wanting to avoid this whole thing, she wanted Ian there beside her. She wanted his forehead on her cheek telling her that he was there for her. Like in April’s office that day when he’d supported her by just being Ian. Pushing him away hurt like hell even if her reasons were sound. Sighing, she grabbed her purse, locked her car and headed inside.
She sat in a chair that a receptionist provided for her and waited. Her nerves threatened to get the better of her the whole time. Finally a tall man approached and asked her to follow him. Entering another room she experienced a brief moment of anxiety upon seeing two more men crouched around a computer screen. One man stood up while the other closed the program.
“Ms. Wells, I am Detective Baker, this is Detective Parker and that is Detective Morgan,” the tall man said, pointing out the other two men as he introduced them. “I am going to have you look through some pictures on this computer over here. I will enter the description of the men that you gave in the original report and the system will generate a list of pictures based on that information. However, before we get started I would like you to think about what those men looked like and describe them again for Detective Morgan. I realize it has been years, but sometimes adult memories are different than childhood memories. It doesn’t hurt to have both descriptions. The more specific you can be, such as any distinct facial features, the better. Once we get the information into the computer we’ll just sit in here and work on other things while you look through the pictures. There is no rush, but we cannot help you in any way to choose a picture. If you do see either of the men, just click the checkbox next to their picture. You can also flag any of the pictures to look at again later, but you can only choose one photo per suspect. Do you have any questions?”
Shaking her head no, she realized there was no warm-up for this event—just the sound of the gunshot, and the race was on. They offered her a chair and watched her intently as she described the men as best as she could. It was hard to remember any distinguishing characteristics as both men had been so angry and full of hate. By the time she finished her description it sounded like she had just identified half of the continental United States, even to her own ears. None of the detectives indicated whether her description was good or bad, though, they simply listened.
When she was done, Detective Baker logged in to a computer program and entered the information she’d given. The first picture wasn’t of either of the two men. Before she could click the button to move to the next picture, she wished again that she had called Ian back and apologized. She should have told him about today and hoped upon hope that he would offer to come with her. Instead she was here alone. Though the logical and educated parts of her personality chanted that she could do this on her own and would be just fine, the emotional side of her wanted one very heavy arm around her shoulders giving her strength and support. The fact that he wasn’t here was her fault. The desire to have him here was just selfishness on her part—he deserved better.
Returning her focus to the matter at hand, she realized the first few pictures were so unlike either man that she wondered if her description had been so vague that the computer had only generated pictures that were completely off base. Then, with a few more clicks of the mouse, they began to closer resemble one of the men until suddenly she was looking into the eyes of a very bad man. A man who had hatefully forced himself on a woman because she looked different than he thought she should. Courtney could still clearly see the bitterness and anger within the depths of his eyes, but also hopelessness and despair.
It was an unexpected revelation. Anger consumed her. Every class she had ever taken or taught, every feeling she had studied, every fear she had contemplated and every experience she had shied away from since that day had been preparing her for this day. The problem was al
l those things had failed her. There was no class or book for how to deal with these feelings, how to deal with the fact that she could now offer the evil bastard a clinical diagnosis rather than just hating him.
She couldn’t breathe. One of the detectives asked her if the man on the screen was one of the men who had hurt Aunt Corrine, and she somehow managed to nod. At some point the room grew quiet as she stared at the man’s photo, not wanting to see it anymore but unable to look away.
“Ms. Wells, I cannot click the checkbox. To do so would make this entire process invalid in court. So if this is one of the two men you saw that day, you can indicate that by clicking the box,” Detective Baker said gently.
Reaching out, she clicked the box to indicate that he was one of the two men and then clicked to save her selection. A sob escaped her and her eyes and throat burned but she forced the feelings down. Not here, not now.
“Thank you, Ms. Wells. Perhaps you can come back another day and try to ID the second man. I think you’ve been through enough for today,” Detective Baker said, closing down the program.
She sat staring at the blank screen unable to see anything other than memories of the man’s expression as he’d unleashed his wrath upon Aunt Corrine. At some point she looked around and found that only Detective Morgan remained, the other two detectives had left the room.
“Will you be okay to drive yourself home?” Detective Morgan asked. She could only nod.
“Let me at least walk you to your car. Detective Baker will be in contact with you in a few days,” Detective Morgan said, standing up.
She somehow managed to walk outside and get in her car, but when she looked around she realized that Detective Morgan had gone back inside. Her mind was truly slipping. This was more than she could handle. It wasn’t making her stronger…this was going to make her completely lose it.