by Ava Reilly
‘Why? No one will know.’
I was terrified of the consequences of standing up to him, but I could feel the bile rising in my throat and I couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘I will!’ I yelled, shoving his hand away from me with as much force as I could muster. I held in my tears and tried to wish it all away. I felt violated once again, and I couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve this treatment twice in one lifetime.
I will never forget the way that he yelled at me after I denied him his perverted wish. I felt disgusted at myself for everything that these men had done to me, and because of my recent self-destructive behaviour I knew that I couldn’t tell anyone about this. Not only would it ruin my family, but I was afraid that my parents and nan wouldn’t believe me.
I managed to take myself to the spare bedroom and sat there pleading with myself to try to stay awake and not pass out while I was alone in the house with him. I rang my aunt and told her what had happened and made her promise not to tell anyone, because no one would ever believe me with my recent bad behaviour. She argued and begged me to tell my parents, but I just didn’t want people to be disgusted in me. I couldn’t handle the feeling that it was my fault. Obviously I had done something to deserve this happening again. An hour later he entered the room and sat next to me on the bed. I instinctively pulled my knees up to my chest as he looked directly at me.
‘Who did you tell?’ He had overheard me on the phone.
I said I hadn’t told anyone, but he didn’t believe me, which heightened my fear, even though I had been on high alert ever since he had come into the room.
He asked me the question again and I responded with the same answer, but I felt the wooziness start to overtake my body. I focused desperately on staying awake, afraid of what might happen next, but even more afraid of losing control. The feeling of disassociation I had felt when I had been abused when I was younger seemed more terrifying than whatever he might do to me.
Before I knew what was happening he turned around to face me, and then hugged me. I froze. I was in no state to push him away—all of my remaining strength was concentrated on staying in control of my state of mind. I knew I was losing the battle, and I prayed to my grandfather in heaven to help me. I couldn’t see any way that I was going to get out of this unscathed.
He finally pulled away and whispered words that made me feel violated all over again.
‘Good. Let’s keep it our little secret,’ he said, and then walked out of the room, leaving me shellshocked and unsure of how I was going to handle this on my own, because telling my family, apart from my aunt, was out of the question.
In the months that followed I managed to keep up appearances, but inside I was destroyed. My behaviour ended up deteriorating until I was expelled from school, but by that stage I really didn’t care. I was sick and tired of my life, and could no longer pretend to care about what was going to happen to me next.
There was nothing that anyone could have done at the time to help me. I was a master of masking my pain, and the only outward sign that something was wrong was that I was acting out more than usual. To anyone looking on, it just seemed like an escalation of my recent bad behaviour.
Eventually I reached my breaking point when my step-grandfather king-hit me in the face after I had had an argument with my nan. The white, blinding pain was something I will never forget, and it awoke a rage inside that surprised even me.
I told my nan everything through a torrent of angry tears and she sat there too stunned to speak. This was exactly the reaction I had expected from her and he stood there listening to my admission, never once denying it but instead resorting to childish name-calling.
My mother’s reaction, however, is the one that sticks with me most vividly, and although I now understand that she reacted in shock, I still feel as though she blamed me for what had happened, and it broke me even further.
‘Well if he didn’t touch me when I was younger, and I walked around in bikinis, why should I believe he touched you?’
I felt abandoned by my family, and this was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to tell anyone in the first place. I knew I was going to end up living with the pain of this experience for the rest of my life. My trust in other people, especially men, was gone and I knew that I would never be able to allow a man to touch me without the memories and feelings of dread consuming me. From that point on I felt totally out of control in intimate situations, and because of that I vowed to never let anyone breach the walls I had built up to protect myself, lest they take the only piece of my sanity that was left.
•
I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about the memories that had haunted me over the past few years; I didn’t even want to admit to myself that it had happened. But before I could speak, Hugh did.
‘Ava,’ he said gently, ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m sorry. I promise you, I will never push your boundaries. I promise I will never hurt you.’ My heart fluttered with each syllable and a wave of relief washed over me. In the instant that I heard his voice I had flashbacks of the feeling he had aroused in me as he stood behind me in that hotel room, when he whipped me around to face him, strong and forceful, and yet gentle and kind.
My next few words slipped out before I could stop them. ‘When are you going to be in town next?’ I breathed.
‘I’ll be back in two weeks, and I want to see you. No work, no interruptions. Just us.’
I immediately accepted; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. I felt so blissfully happy in that moment, knowing that my past was not going to ruin something I didn’t even know I wanted.
Over the next two weeks we messaged back and forth and spoke at least twice a day. My feelings grew and yet he was a closed book; I had known that from the moment we met but I had no idea just how closely he guarded his privacy. He gave me small insights into his lifestyle, he was funny, charismatic and down to earth, yet I couldn’t figure out how he really felt about me.
On the Friday I was to meet him at the hotel, those horrible feelings of insecurity came back, and suddenly I wanted to run. When it came to business, I felt in control and never had a problem, but when it came to sorting out my personal life I just didn’t know where to start.
As I walked through the hotel lobby I felt like all eyes were on me. A shiver ran down my spine: I wanted to be there but I was frightened of what might happen and what it might mean. I stepped into the elevator and went straight up to the bar. As I sat with a glass of wine, Hugh called from the airport, apologising profusely because he was stuck on the tarmac and would be twenty minutes late. Although this made me breathe easier because it gave me time to compose myself, it also made it harder to think clearly because no matter how long it took him to get there I would still have to face him. A voice inside my head told me to leave, but I took a deep breath and decided to stay.
I ordered Hugh a drink; I always made an effort to pay attention to the little things, so I knew his choice of drink and the specific way he liked it served. I sipped my wine and chose a table from where we could watch the football match. I wasn’t a big fan but I knew he was, and I figured that if he was distracted it might give me the chance to read him a little better and figure out what it was about him that had me so captivated.
Exactly twenty minutes later, Hugh arrived. I sensed him before he even came around the corner. I felt a shift in the atmosphere and with shaky hands placed my drink on the table before I turned my head to the left and I saw him coming up behind me.
As I stood up and smoothed down my dress, my senses were in overdrive. The familiar tingle of his touch coursed through me as his fingertips rested on my hand. I struggled to breathe through the intense feelings clouding my body and soul as he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek.
He sat opposite me, facing away from the television. I leaned over the coffee table and pushed his drink towards him. He downed it in one gulp, and I could feel that his nerves w
ere just as strong as mine. When he finished he asked me to wait for him while he checked in and put his bags in his room.
‘Would you like another drink?’ I asked calmly, trying to hide my own nerves and hoping he would say yes so I would have an excuse to get myself another glass of wine.
‘Yes, please,’ he responded as he began to pull out his card.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said. ‘I’m not taking your money. I’ll get it.’ I tried to hide the fact that the sight of his card—and his assumption that I would expect him to pay—offended me a little.
‘Ava, did you charge the drinks to my room?’ he asked calmly. Now I was offended. What type of woman did he take me for?
‘Of course not!’ I said hotly. Obviously he thought I was just after his money, but I never even bothered to think about how much he was actually worth.
‘I’m not taking it,’ I responded as he waved his card in the air. I refused to even look at it.
He watched me, as if he was testing me, but I wasn’t going to cave in. The thought of taking money from him was cheapening; I liked to earn my money and would not accept it from some guy who obviously gave it so freely.
He continued to watch me but didn’t put his card away, so I lowered my voice as I said to him, ‘I’m not going to take your fucking money. I have my own and I can certainly pay for a drink. Stop trying to control everything.’ It slipped out before I had the chance to stop myself. I sat there a little shocked that I had actually had the guts to say it. He didn’t look surprised at all, though; in fact the look on his face told me he had enjoyed it. His calmness infuriated me.
He placed his hand on my leg and rubbed his thumb across my kneecap while giving me a beautiful smile. A cold shiver erupted from my core in reaction to his touch as the insecurities buried just beneath the surface began to rise; my knee jolted violently to the left, away from his electrifying touch, and hit the coffee table. The pain was excruciating, but I tried to hide it, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But it was too late.
‘What, am I not allowed to touch you?’ he said. ‘Seriously, Ava, you are so wound up, you need a good fuck to loosen you up. I’ve never met someone so uptight and jumpy. I was just trying to show you that everything’s okay between us.’ His tone was soothing yet ferocious.
His words were like music to my soul even though I was confused. The only solace I took from his statement was that we were okay . . . whatever that meant. I found myself easing into a comfortable place where I was able to relax a little, and I think he sensed this.
He left me to go and unpack and I ordered our next drinks. I could tell that he wasn’t happy that I had won our disagreement, but surely I wasn’t the first person to have told him no. My heart pounded the entire time he was gone, and once again I could sense him and smell his cologne before he returned behind me.
When he sat back on the long couch opposite me I couldn’t look him in the eye. I clasped my drink hard as I felt his gaze pierce into me. He had one arm stretched out to the right of him on the back of the couch and the other held the drink he sipped slowly as he watched me. I was so self-conscious. I knew he was trying to read me like I was trying to read him but I didn’t want him seeing right through me, so I drank faster. Almost immediately I started to feel the alcohol take effect as my mind became fuzzy. My inhibitions were lowering and I knew I had to escape or there would be no turning back.
We barely spoke during the rest of our time together; he just watched me, which was very unnerving. I tried to distract him with the football game on the television behind him but it didn’t work; he barely glanced at it before he turned back to me again. I couldn’t help but steal a look at his wedding ring finger and again I noticed it was bare. I knew he had been married once, and I was curious as to why he hadn’t been again.
‘So, why is it that you didn’t remarry?’ The words had left my mouth before I realised how intrusive they could be. Finishing my sentence, I was a little concerned that he would take offence and once again I would be back at square one with him. I could feel his eyes burning into me as I took another sip of my drink. I had no idea how he was going to react. It felt like an eternity before he spoke again.
‘Ava, I’m not divorced. I couldn’t see myself dating young women anyway, they get too clingy and it’s really not worth the headache,’ he said so casually that I almost choked on my wine. A million things ran through my mind as sweat began to gather on the back of my neck. I felt my core turn to stone and in an instant I felt myself retreating to the safety of my shell. What the hell did that mean?
The room filled with silence again as I tried to comprehend why he had been so forward with information that I hadn’t even asked for. I wished I’d never asked such a thoughtless question. I vacillated between being desperate to find out exactly what he meant by ‘not divorced’, trying to think of subtle ways to change the conversation and wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole to get me out of the situation I’d created. I looked around and saw the barmen cleaning glasses. I kept my eyes on them as my mind ran a mile a minute but my mouth couldn’t catch up to ask more questions.
Eventually he broke the silence. ‘Well?’
I shot daggers at him and said, ‘Well . . . I have to go. It was lovely seeing you again, Hugh.’ I placed my drink on the coffee table in front of us, grabbed my bag and rose to leave. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened before he downed his drink and he placed it so hard on the table the sound vibrated through the room. He jumped up and followed me to the elevator in stunned silence. He didn’t need to touch me for me to feel the heat blazing from his skin. He was so close, I could feel his presence behind me.
We entered the elevator as ‘Un-Break My Heart’ by Tony Braxton played. As soon as the doors closed he cornered me. I had nowhere I could escape to as my fears rose to the surface, my heart racing so much I thought I would faint. I looked around frantically for the emergency button and realised it was behind me; I was trapped in the corner with the metal bar digging into my hip and couldn’t reach the button, which only caused me further stress. I felt tears pricking my eyes, threatening to explode as he took me by force with his fingers digging into my skin, his hands holding on to my arms for dear life. He pushed me harder against the bar and kissed me. The sheer force of passion in his kiss froze me to the spot and he wouldn’t let me go. He pushed himself closer to me and I felt every contour of his body melding into mine: a perfect fit. I couldn’t kiss him back, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything. Within me lust and passion battled a fear that I had never experienced before.
The doors parted slowly as I opened my eyes and pulled away, gasping for air. He stepped back and just looked at me. I could see his chest rise and fall with each breath he took.
I was so close to pushing every button in that elevator to resume the moment of passion I had just experienced, but I couldn’t—I knew if I did, I would regret it in the morning. I didn’t know what he had meant about not being divorced, and being with a married man went against everything I had ever believed in. Even if he wasn’t with her, they were still married. I was not about to become the other woman.
I picked up my bag from the floor—I hadn’t even realised it had fallen from my shoulder—and refused to look at him as I walked out into the wide space of the lobby just as the doors began to close. My eyes were filled with tears again, and I heard him say ‘Fuck’ as he watched me walk away. When I reached the glass doors I slowly turned around to take one last look at the man I knew I had to say goodbye to. I was not about to get involved with a married man . . . no matter what it cost me in the short term, I knew the long-term consequences would be even more devastating.
#FifthConfession
#COAMMPlaylist:
‘A Case of You’
Javier Colon
On the way home that night I was a shambles. I was so scared of what I was feeling, and I couldn’t believe what I was thinking: I still wanted to see him. The hardest thing for me to acc
ept was the fact that despite my mind telling me no—Hugh was a married man—I still wanted to be with him. What rational person would enter into something with a man who could never really be yours and yours alone?
The fear of intimacy and the struggle to keep things professional seemed to dull with distance between us, and a new fear emerged. I was at war with my morals and the feelings I couldn’t stop. I didn’t have the courage to ask him what ‘not divorced’ meant—if I heard the dreaded words ‘I’m still with her’, I wasn’t sure I would be able to continue the fight within myself—so I decided I didn’t want to know.
On the way home my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. I couldn’t bring myself to answer it, and after what seemed like forever he finally stopped. Then came the text that I couldn’t avoid opening. I fumbled with my phone and opened the message.
Ava, I don’t know what more to say. I don’t like talking about my life, I don’t like texting and I don’t like emails. They have been used against me in the past but considering you won’t answer my calls and let me explain I have to tell you this way. I have been separated for eighteen months. Stop running away from me and pick up the fucking phone!!!
I read and re-read his message, afraid I was falling into a trap. Had my secret wishes been answered? Was he telling me the truth?
I responded in a cool, calm and collected manner, which was far from what I was really feeling.
Thank you for clarifying this, Hugh. I’m not running from you. I need you to know that I will not be a one-night stand, and if you’re looking for that then we may as well just part ways here. I will not lower my standards.
I exhaled slowly as I pressed send. There . . . I had found the courage to say what was in my heart.
He responded moments later: I wouldn’t expect anything less. Call me.