by Laura Leone
"Bullshit!"
"See you tomorrow, Ryan." She headed for the bedroom door, her heart pounding. Please, please, please...
Her hand was on the knob when he leaped out of bed, his lower body clad in sweat pants. She opened the door. He seized her arm and slammed the door. "Sara, you are not on your way to some hotel to turn tricks. I know you."
She said, "Tell me what happened to you last night."
He staggered back as if she'd hit him.
"Did Catherine do something to you?" she asked.
He started breathing too fast. "Wherever you're going, just go."
"I've told you where I'm going."
"I don't believe you."
"I got the idea from you." She opened the door.
He slammed it shut again. "What are you doing?"
"Did Derrick do this to you?"
He put a hand to his head as if it was pounding.
She opened the door. "I'm going to fuck the very first man who's willing to pay."
He made a furious sound, slammed the door shut, and pushed her away from it. "Stop it. You won't do that. Not you."
"I will do anything to make you talk to me," she said. "I'll go out on the street right now and give a blow job to some stranger in an alley if it will—"
"Don't you even say that to me. Not to me." His eyes glittered with wild anger.
"Were you raped last night?"
He made a terrible sound and turned his back on her.
She tried to touch him, but he jerked away from her, breathing hard.
"What do I have to do for you, Ryan?" she asked. "Get down on my knees for some man in a dark doorway?"
"Don't talk about this. Please, don't talk about it."
She circled him. "If I get on my back for men at a hundred bucks a pop, will you stop thinking you're not good enough to touch me, to talk to me?"
His expression was awful. "What are you doing?" he asked despairingly.
"Because if that's what it takes, then that's what I'll do." She headed for the door again.
"Sara!"
She shook him off. "I won't let you shut me out like this."
"Sara." He grabbed her again.
"What did they do to you?" she demanded, trying to pull away from him.
"Don't make me... Please, don't make me."
She whirled to face him. There were tears in his eyes. She was so close to breaking the ice encasing him.
"You tell me what happened to you," she said, "or I swear on my mother's grave, I will go whore myself in a hotel bar tonight."
"Oh, God, Sara, don't, God, don't, please, I don't want you to know what it's like, please, just stop this."
She took him by the shoulders. "Were you raped last night?"
He backed away from her, stumbled into the bed, and sank down upon it. He bent over and covered his face with his hands. After a moment, a sob escaped him.
"No," Ryan choked out. "He didn't need to rape me."
She knelt before him, pressing herself against his knees, and stroked his hair. "What do you mean?"
He sniffed and his shoulders shook. Sara wrapped her arms around him and pressed kisses into his hair. "I love you. Please let me comfort you. What happened?"
Gradually, with much coaxing from her, the whole story poured out of him, along with his tears. She listened in horror and compassion as he told her how the attack last night had mimicked the rape which still haunted him: He'd been stripped naked, gagged so he couldn't scream, and silently brutalized in a dark concrete lot which stank of urine and garbage.
"Oh, Ryan," she murmured, stroking and hugging him, kissing his neck, his damp cheek, his rumpled hair. "Oh, my love."
"It wasn't the pain last night," he said brokenly. "He didn't hurt me that much. Nowhere near as bad as the night it happened." He choked on a watery hiccup. "It was the fear. God, I was so scared. Even more scared than when it really happened, because this time I knew what was coming. I remembered." He sniffed and sighed wearily. "Only it didn't happen this time."
"She didn't want the merchandise damaged," Sara said. "She just wanted to freak you out. Make you weak. Make you give up and do as you're told."
He nodded. "It had to be her. She had to have told Derrick what to do. He knew the details. Knew what had happened to me, what would scare me. And Catherine is the only person I ever told."
"Will you at least think about going to the police?"
"No!"
"Ryan..."
He shook his head. "You don't understand."
"Explain it to me."
"I was picked up for prostitution just a few weeks ago, Sara. The cops will assume this was just a trick gone bad. At best, they'll ignore me. Maybe they'll humiliate me. That's just how it is for a rent boy."
"But I'll tell them—"
"What? That my madam got mad at me for quitting her stable and sent another of her boys to knock me around a little? A boy who had a grudge because I knocked him around a few weeks ago? You think the cops are going to care about a squabble between a couple of prostitutes?"
"He assaulted you, Ryan. That's illegal, no matter what you do for a living."
"In the real world, Sara, I can't go to the cops about this. It'll just be worse for me. Please, drop it," he said, his eyes pleading with her.
She sighed and relented. The one thing she could agree with was that he didn't need any more emotional trauma or humiliation. She kissed his damp mouth. "I'm glad you're telling me about this. I wish you had talked to me before now."
"I couldn't. I'm sorry. I know I've been awful to you."
"Shhh." She kissed away another tear slipping from his eye. "It doesn't matter now."
"I just couldn't talk," he said. "Couldn't think. Didn't want to feel. I thought an avalanche would fall on me if I looked at you, or talked to you, or let myself feel anything." He made a self-deprecating gesture. "And now my avalanche is here."
"But I'm here, too."
"Thank you."
"I want to be here for you."
He scrubbed at his eyes, then looked at her in sudden surprise. "Your questions really hit the mark. How did you know what happened last night?"
"Call it a lucky guess."
He made a sound that might have been amusement. "A guy can't hide much from a smart woman."
She stroked his hair again. "I wish you had talked to me about the rape before. I mean, actually told me what you went through."
He groaned in protest. "I don't talk about it, Sara. I try not even to think about it. Not ever. And I hate dreaming about it."
"Do you dream about it?"
"Once in a while."
"Maybe that's because you never talk about it. Maybe the memory wouldn't be so powerful if you talked to someone who could help you recover from it. Like a rape counselor." Although his sharp intake of breath indicated he didn't like the idea, she said, "After all, not talking about it to someone hasn't worked out very well for you. Catherine was able to use the rape as emotional extortion two years ago and as a weapon last night. And if you still dream about it sometimes..." She raised his flushed face so she could meet his eyes. "It would be a good idea for you to confront what happened to you. Because, in your new job, you'll be helping kids who've had similar experiences, and they'll need guidance."
He was shaking his head. "I can't do that job, Sara! I'm just... I'm not... I have nothing to offer—"
"You can do it. You're just shaken right now."
"I can't even get Adam to listen to me!"
"It's only been a few days. You just have to keep trying. And I know you will. It's not in your nature to give up. It if were, you wouldn't be the man you are now. You wouldn't even be alive."
He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. "What are you doing with me? Why are you here with a guy like me?"
She smiled and caressed his naked shoulders. "Because I love you. Because I respect you more than anyone I've ever known." A startled breath escaped him and brushed her face. "Yo
u make me happy. You make me laugh. You listen to me, and you make me want to listen to you. You make me feel loved. You make me feel sexy."
His knee nudged her. "You are sexy."
"Actually," she whispered, "I'm starting to feel pretty sexy right now."
"I don't feel sexy. I've been blubbering all over you, and I must look like something from a horror movie."
"Shhh. I can make you feel sexy." She nudged him backwards on the bed and started kissing him, gently so as not to hurt his bruised face. "How's your back? Can you lie down?"
"Um..." He met her kiss. "Yeah. I can." He gave in to the urging of her hands and lay back upon the bed.
"I'll take care of you." She followed him down to the mattress.
He took a long breath, trying to relax, and put his hands on her. "Yes," he whispered. "That's what I want. Take care of me."
"Mmmm. Leave everything to me."
She pressed her mouth against his chest, his stomach, the thin trickle of hair trailing towards his groin. She caressed and massaged him with her hands, tended and adored him with her mouth, worshipped him with her body. His hands were on her back, her thighs, her face, her hair... and then he found and enjoyed the bountiful cleavage created by her push-up bodice.
"This is a great dress," he said. "Why haven't I seen this dress before?"
"It's uncomfortable. It pinches."
He pressed one more hot kiss into her cleavage, then whispered, "So take it off." He found the zipper, pulled it down, then lay still, breathing deeply and watching appreciatively while she peeled off the dress and her underthings.
Naked and comfortable now, she slid along his body, exploring and enjoying him, being extra gentle with his cuts and bruises. She gave her attention to his hard chest, his taut buttocks, his smooth belly, his loins. When she took him in her mouth, he made a wonderful sound as his thighs tensed and his hips moved reflexively. His sighs and groans were free of the sorrow and shame which had tormented him, and he let her see, without shyness or restraint, how helplessly enthralled he was with her tender loving care.
There were no shadows between them, and they had no thoughts of the outside world as they twined together and sated each other with love.
Chapter Nineteen
Dawn was just starting to paint the sky pink when Ryan rang the doorbell at Catherine's townhouse the following day. He'd awoken in the dark with Sara snuggled warm and soft against him. The feel of her sleeping so trustingly in his arms made him feel strong and clean, as if he were brand new; and he'd decided he wanted to get this over with immediately. The sooner he dealt with Catherine, the sooner he could turn his back on the past and start living the life he wanted—the life which Sara had even convinced him he deserved.
After a good night's sleep, he was starting to feel like a human being again. He'd left his lover sleeping in his bed, oblivious to his pre-dawn departure. He'd written her a note saying only that since he was feeling much better, she shouldn't put on any clothes, because he'd be back soon. Ryan figured that Sara would be very worried if she knew where he was going, so he'd decided not to tell her until after he returned home.
He rang Catherine's bell again. Then, since he felt like hitting something anyhow, he pounded on the door a few times.
After making love yesterday evening, he and Sara had talked for a while. Then he'd slept while she walked his dog and fed his pets—God, he loved that woman!—and then he'd woken up, and they'd talked some more.
Ryan was uncomfortable with Sara's proposal that he spend some time talking with a counselor about what had happened to him; but he had finally agreed to it, because when he considered how he'd lost his head the other night, he knew she was right: The rape, though ten years in the past, still held too much power over him. He needed to conquer the terror, banish the shame, and turn it into just a bad memory.
In truth, he'd always secretly feared that he deserved what happened to him that night. Because he'd been turning a trick. Because he was a dirty, unwanted street boy who'd offered to suck that guy's dick for money. Because he hadn't been smart enough or quick enough to escape.
And the experience had been so brutal, so terrifying and painful and humiliating, he'd lived in fear of it ever since.
As Sara said, if he was going to work with street kids who'd been through such an experience or who were in danger of it, then he had to triumph over it. And he was going to work with them, damn it. He wasn't going to let Catherine change the decisions he had made or stop him from turning his life into something worthwhile. So if talking with a professional would help him, then he'd do it. As Sara pointed out, he could probably talk with someone right there at Safe House, or else get a referral from them.
"Eventually," Sara had said, "you might even think about becoming a counselor for kids who've been through something like that."
That would probably require additional education. She'd suggested he consider college. Him.
"Why not?" she'd said. "If it's what you decide you want, of course you can do it."
God, he loved that woman.
He rang the bell again and muttered, "Come on, Catherine, get your ass out of bed."
The door opened. She stood there wearing a gorgeous cream-colored floor-length robe, with her hair down around her shoulders and her face as beautiful as usual despite its lack of make-up.
"Finally!" He brushed past her and went inside. "I'm returning your cell phone." He set it down on the exquisite table in the foyer.
"Do you have any idea what time... Kevin." She stared at him in horror.
"Looks pretty scary, doesn't it? I actually flinched when I saw myself in the mirror this morning."
"My God!" She put a hand up to her mouth, her expression stricken. "Oh, Kevin..."
"Save the act, Catherine. I know you put him up to it. You're the only person I ever told the details to. He got them from you."
Tears misted her eyes, surprising him. She shook her head. "He was just supposed to remind you. Make you remember. He wasn't supposed to... to do this."
"Oh, come on, what did you think would happen? Derrick's bigger than me, he's got a grudge against me, and he's an idiot."
"I told him not to hurt you! He was only supposed to go far enough to make the point!"
"Jesus, Catherine, I was stripped naked, gagged, beaten to a bloody pulp, raped, and left for dead. You really can't reiterate a point like that without doing a little damage."
"Are you badly hurt?"
"No," he said. "My girlfriend's going to have to watch what she kisses for the next few days, but I'll live."
"Your girlfriend." Catherine frowned. "Look, Kevin, if you're interested in someone and want more personal time for a while—"
"I'm not 'interested' in her," he said. "I'm in love, and we're going to get married."
That clearly shocked her. "You're marrying her?"
He smiled wryly. "Well, I used to be a good Catholic, you know. We talked about it last night, and I realized I feel like it would be wrong not to marry her. And she wants me for a husband, even knowing what she knows about me."
"She doesn't know you. Not the way I do."
"She knows everything, Catherine. And I mean everything."
Catherine shook her head. "No. I talked to her, I know what kind of woman she is. She doesn't—"
"No, you don't know. You couldn't. But it doesn't matter."
"You don't have to leave because of her."
"I want you to listen to me very carefully. If I get home today to find a note saying she's left me, and I never see her again, I still quit." He recalled the phrase he'd heard at Safe House and felt he undertstood it in his bones now. "I did what I had to do when that was all I knew. But now I know better, and I'm going to do better. I'm moving on with my life, Catherine. I'm done being your rent boy."
He thought her hand was shaking a little as she brushed her hair away from her face. "I didn't want it to be this way, Kevin. What happened with Derrick... you forced me to do that.
"
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"What is it that you want?" she asked with a touch of desperation.
"I want you out of my life."
She drew in a breath. "Maybe... maybe you're right, you've worked long enough."
"Finally! Thank you for seeing it my way. Goodbye, Catherine."
She blocked his path. "You could quit escorting, and—"
"I have quit."
"—we could just... be together. You and me."
"What?" He wondered if she'd heard anything he'd said.
"You could help me run the business."
"No."
"No more client work, Kevin. Maybe you could train some of the boys—"
"No." He tried to brush past her and she grabbed him.
"All right then, you wouldn't have to be involved with that side of things at all. You'd just... handle the money."
"Handle the money?" he repeated.
"Yes. I'd leave it in your hands."
"You'd trust me with your money?"
"We'd be partners."
He almost laughed. "No, thanks."
"You've earned it. And I've been doing very well lately."
He tried to get past her again. "God knows you've made plenty off me lately."
She stopped him again. "Now you can have it all. And more. Everything I've got. We'll share. We'll be..."
"A couple?" he said.
"Yes. Why not?"
He was surprised, Sara had told him about the telephone conversation which had convinced her that Catherine was obsessed with him—or, as Sara had put it, in love with him in a totally deluded, abusive, and narcissistic way. But he was surprised now, even so. He hadn't really agreed with Sara's interpretation. Now it seemed so obvious, he felt like a fool for never having realized it before. Maybe Sara was right when she said he didn't know as much about women as he thought he did.
"We can't be a couple, Catherine."
"Why not? We could—"
"After what you did to me the other night," he said, holding her gaze and trying to make her understand, "I'd go back to working the streets before I'd ever let you touch me again."
She blinked and took a step back.
He said, "For years, all I've felt for you is gratitude. And now you've destroyed even that."