“I’ve never fought anyone so hard in my life. My whole body just snapped, like it had a life of its own. All my limbs were flailing and thrashing. At one point, he hit me in the head, the pain was literally stunning. I just froze. Then I felt him reach for the waist of my pajama bottoms and I just flipped. I didn’t even think, I just reached beside me to the night stand and grabbed the lamp and arched it over the bed bringing it down on his head. That stunned him enough to let me race to the bathroom. I managed to grab my phone on my way and I locked myself in the bathroom and called 911.
“He followed me, but didn’t yell. He just tried breaking down the door, thank god it was sturdy, I was praying so hard that the door would hold. I told the operator what was happening and that there were other people in the apartment but I didn’t trust them. That when the police got there they shouldn’t listen to anything said by whoever opened the door. I insisted that the police had to come into the apartment, into my room, and get me themselves. I was so afraid my dad would just try to explain everything away, just to avoid scandal. It’s the only thing he ever really cared about.
“I just felt myself spilling out everything that had happened that night, the gala, the sexual advances, Brian sneaking in to my room, I told that operator everything, and she was incredible, she just kept telling me it was going to be ok. She could hear Brian whispering furiously through the door and tugging on the door handle. He heard everything I was telling her and he was furious. He kept saying things like ‘no one would ever believe me’ and I knew it was true. The operator believed me, and I prayed the police would. But if it ever got out in public, I would just be the poor deranged daughter who my father should have been allowed to raise after the divorce. I already knew that’s what people thought, he had them convinced he was some kind of prize father! All he ever cared about was appearances.
“Finally, the police arrived. The operator told me they were at the door. A few moments later I heard them come in the bedroom, followed by my father yelling at them, and then I heard them hauling Brian out and reading him his rights. After that the room got quiet but there were two officers outside the bathroom door, trying to get me to open it. The operator was telling me it was ok, that I was safe, but I was so scared Patrick, I was absolutely frozen. But they couldn’t break the door down because I was leaning against it trying to barricade myself inside. After about five minutes there was a third officer who came in, a female, and she started talking to me. They eventually got me to open the door and come out. The paramedics had arrived, I panicked when I saw them, thinking I had seriously hurt Brian and afraid he was going to have me arrested. I was so disoriented and not thinking straight, eventually I realized they were there for me. The two paramedics and the female officer sat with me in the corner of the bedroom, looking over my injuries and asking me some questions while the other two started investigating the scene and taking pictures. But I knew it was pointless, ultimately it was going to be my word against his. I had bruises and cuts, but Brian had people like my dad who would help him sweep it away.
“The paramedics cleaned me up, they wanted to take me to the hospital to do a rape kit, but I told them I hadn’t been raped, he hadn’t gotten that far. They said they could still collect DNA evidence proving that Brian had assaulted me, but when I pressed the police on if it would ever actually make it to trial, they wouldn’t commit to an answer. So I knew it probably wasn’t likely. No rape had occurred, witnesses the evening before had seen me sitting next to him all night. I know I wasn’t my normal self, but I knew none of them thought anything about how Brian was behaving. It would be a classic case of ‘he said, she said’. The police were honestly amazing, they really did all they could. A couple detectives from the sex crime unit showed up, they talked to me. They kept me separate from my dad the whole night. I told them I was supposed to be flying out that morning, at that point in only about seven hours. Once they had finished up with everything at the apartment, they let me get dressed and then the detectives escorted me, and all my luggage, to the local precinct, took my formal statement, processed everything, and then, a couple hours before my flight, a social worker or liaison person, I can’t remember their exact title, took me to the airport and made sure I made it safely through security. I was so afraid my dad was going to find out about the flight and would be there to stop me.
“Wait,” Patrick interrupted, “did they not detain your father?”
“No,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “And by that point Brian was released as well. I know my father came to the precinct but they kept him in a separate room, they told him they needed to get his statement before they could do anything else. While he was doing that they had me whisked away to the airport.”
Eleanor sighed, “I flew home, the flight attendants on the plane had been amazing, I was supposed to fly economy but when the police social worker woman helped me check in and check my bags she had a word with them and got me an upgrade. I barely remember any of the flight. Someone found me at the gate before boarding and took me on board early during pre-board, and then they kept bringing me water and blankets throughout the flight, just checking on me you know, making sure I was comfortable. I just zoned out. I had called my mom from the airport telling her about my flight and what time I was landing. I didn’t explain, I just begged her to pick me up, which of course she did. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw me with the bruises on my face. Despite the heat I was wearing a long sleeve shirt so people wouldn’t see the bruises on my arms. Mom wanted to take me to the doctor but I told her no. At that point, all I wanted was to go home.
“I slept for days. I’d wake up, try to eat, have some water, go to the bathroom, then go back to sleep. I’d wake up screaming from nightmares. Then repeat the whole thing. Mom could only take a few days of that before she called my doctor and made a same day appointment. She took me in and they referred me to a psychiatrist. But I refused to talk about it. They gave me some Xanax to help with the anxiety, but it didn’t do much except make me sleepy. Mom was ready to take me to another psychiatrist or psychologist and I broke down. I told her I couldn’t talk about it, over and over again. I just wanted to move on. My dad had been calling her, wanting to talk to me, but he didn’t know what I had said so he wasn’t saying anything. The NYPD was calling too, in that first week home, updating me. When mom realized the police were involved she broke down and begged me to tell her what happened, however bad it was she had to know. So I told her. And then said I never wanted to talk about it again. The New York prosecutor’s office called and said that as much as they regretted it they weren’t going forward with the case, there wasn’t enough evidence and witness statements complicated things. My dad and his friends backed up their version, which is exactly what I knew was going to happen. For some reason even a charge of assault wasn’t pursued. But it was nice of them to call me.
“I don’t know Patrick. I’m sure it sounds awful, and maybe I should have pushed them to do more, but I just accepted it. Brian is still free, teaching at some other university, I know he left New York. And I haven’t talked to or seen my father since we got home from the gala.”
“You didn’t see him at all before or after the attack?” Patrick asked incredulously.
“No, that day he had left before I woke up, and then I was hiding in my room when he got home, then after the attack the police kept us separated. They could see how afraid I was of him. And after I’d told them about everything, the little things leading up to the gala, his behavior at the gala, then how he behaves when his friends are over and why I was hiding in my room, they promised they’d get all the statements and reports processed quickly and then make sure I left the state without seeing him. I left New York and haven’t been back since. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back. Too many bad memories.
“My dad tried to talk to me, after I got back to Arizona. He’d leave voicemails on my phone. Eventually he sent me an email, explaining that he didn’t know Bria
n was going to do what he did, that he thought Brian just wanted to talk to me that night. That he thought Brian was a good guy and that I was lucky he was interested in me. In his twisted way, I think he honestly thought it was a good match. I think he saw something of himself in Brian, the young, hot shot academic. When I’d Googled Brian, I saw he’d come from a wealthy family, very well connected. That’s what my dad was really attracted to. Get me in with Brian and his family so my dad could continue his social climbing. He only ever cared about himself. My mom and I were just part of the decorations of his life for a while. He only kept me around after the divorce because I might still be useful. I just remember feeling so crushed, like it was the final cut that severed the tie. He really wasn’t my dad. If he was, he would have protected me from Brian, not offered me up to a predator. He would have flown out to Arizona and begged my forgiveness, but that was beneath him apparently. I was done.
“Once I knew there wasn’t going to be a trial I just tried to forget. School started a month later and by then all my bruises had healed so no one knew. I just focused on school and drew a line under the whole thing. It was in the past. Or so I thought. I dated a few guys in college, but they all fizzled out, none were very serious. Partly because we just weren’t interested in each other enough but also partly because I was afraid of letting anyone too close. Fast forward several years to when I eventually met Michael, I had convinced myself that the past was the past. And Michael was nothing like my father on the surface. He had none of the charm or sophistication, he thought he did but he didn’t. He was just plain, simple, boring, but generally kind. And I felt safe with that. I never told him about what had happened in New York or with my dad. Just that we didn’t talk anymore. Michael was never really that interested in my life so he didn’t press or ask questions. When we made love for the first time, my first time ever, he was kind and gentle, and I felt safe, so it didn’t trigger anything. That was when I thought maybe I was truly over it.
“But hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I can see ways that Michael was similar to my dad, particularly in his complete lack of interest in me as a person. I was mostly a prop for him. Just like I’d been for my dad. And looking at how things played out with Mark and how it’s brought all of this back to the surface, it’s definitely not as dead and buried as I’d hoped.”
“Eleanor, you never stopped long enough to process it. You never spoke about it with anyone who could help you. You can’t just think something like that is going to stay hidden away in a little box.”
“I know,” Eleanor said quietly. “Every now and then I’d see someone who reminded me of Brian and I’d panic. Then it would pass. But you’re right. I think after telling you, I might be able to talk about it with someone. A therapist or something. But now that you’ve heard, I hope you don’t hate me.”
“Hate you!? Eleanor, don’t be daft, why on earth would I hate you after hearing all that?!” Patrick was dumbfounded.
“I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length because I don’t know how to trust people. Because my dad betrayed me and basically helped one of his colleagues to physically assault and attempt to sexually assault me. Please believe me when I say that it’s not that I’ve ever thought that you would do to me what they did. I just don’t know how to let my guard down, especially when I’m still getting to know people. But you and I have become such good friends, and I know in my heart that I can trust you to be more than friends. That’s just easier said than done for me.”
Patrick stood up from his chair and came to kneel on the floor in front of Eleanor. He placed one hand on her knee and the other on her hand resting on the arm of the chair.
“Eleanor Anne Gordon, I could never hate you. Never. And I can’t even be angry at you for keeping your guard up all this time. You’ve been remarkably open towards me and our friendship despite everything that’s happened to you. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I will wait as long as it takes and we can take things as slow as needed. Nothing in our relationship has to change until you’re comfortable.”
Eleanor was so overcome with emotion and exhaustion. All she could do was nod and smile through her tears that had started falling for the millionth time. They stayed like that, Eleanor crying, Patrick kneeling in front of her, for several minutes until Eleanor composed herself. She eventually looked at the clock and realized it was nearly ten o’clock, it had taken her almost two hours to slowly tell her story.
“You look exhausted,” Patrick said gently. “Please stay the night, don’t go home.”
Eleanor just nodded, and then, looking down at her hands, knotted in the blankets, she slowly asked, “Can I stay with you?”
Patrick didn’t quite understand her at first, and then realized what she was asking and how significant it was. He nodded and replied, “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather you be.”
He helped her get up, and let her lead him upstairs to his bedroom. He helped her get changed into an old t-shirt and sweat pants of his, never taking his eyes from hers. Then she climbed into his bed and he got changed into his t-shirt and flannel trousers and slid into bed next to her. She rolled over to snuggle in close to him as he wrapped his arm around her and with his other hand reached over to turn out the light. He pulled the blanket up tightly around them and within seconds Eleanor was fast asleep. He was so amazed with how strong and resilient she could be and felt so grateful that she trusted him so much. In that moment, he knew he’d cut off his own limbs before ever causing her harm or emotional distress and he hoped that he would always be the man that she deserved.
Chapter 21
The next morning when Eleanor woke she was momentarily disoriented. She’d slept so deeply after the exhaustion of the day before and it took her a second to remember she’d gone to sleep in Patrick’s bed. She was buried under the luxurious duvet and extra cozy blankets and when she burrowed her way out and looked to the other side of the bed she realized Patrick wasn’t there. Light was streaming through the window, an instant sign that it was a rare sunny January day. Before she could fully sit up, she heard Patrick coming into the bedroom.
“Wakey, wakey sleepyhead,” he said cheerily. He was carrying a large tray filled with things that smelled incredible. Eleanor quickly sat herself upright and pushed her hair out of her face, leaning against the headboard. As Patrick set the tray on the bed she saw croissants, scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh berries and cream, orange juice, plus a large French press and two coffee cups. It was a breakfast feast.
Patrick began pouring the coffee, “You were still out like a light when I woke up that I thought I’d take the risk of leaving you here asleep to run out and pick up some fresh croissants. They came out of the oven at the baker’s only a couple hours ago,” he said with a smile.
“You are an angel!” Eleanor exclaimed as she reached for the coffee cup Patrick held out and also plucked a piece of bacon from the plate on the tray.
“Only the best for you,” Patrick replied. He quickly jumped back in bed under the covers and slid next to Eleanor and put his arm around her shoulders. She nestled in close to him as he pulled the tray closer and they began to tuck in to the feast.
They ate quietly for a few minutes, just enjoying being close. Eventually Eleanor said, to herself as much as to Patrick, “I’m glad I came over last night.”
Patrick fought the urge to hug her even more tightly to him, feeling like he was already pushing his luck by having her so close all night and now this morning, so he simply said, “I’m glad too.”
Eleanor sensed a slight change in his energy, “Are you ok?” She asked looking up at him.
Patrick just smiled, then said, “Yeah, I’m better than I’ve been in months. To be honest I feel a bit like I’m dreaming. Having you here, wearing my old t-shirt and trackie bums, eating breakfast in my bed, after getting to hold you all night long? Elle, this has been everything I’ve dreamed about almost since the day I first bumped into you in Covent Garden back in August.”
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br /> “You’ve thought about me, like this,” she asked incredulously, gesturing to her clothing and the breakfast in bed, “since August?”
“Yep,” Patrick said definitively, taking a big bite out of a piece of toast.
“You need better dreams,” Eleanor replied jokingly.
“Nope, I just need you.”
He said it so sincerely it melted Eleanor’s heart. August was really only five months ago. Five months and a week, give or take, since she’d bumped into him on her first day walking around London. Not that long really. And yet it felt like a lifetime. She’d been through so much, and Patrick had been there for nearly the whole time. A kind and supportive friend. Never pushing or pressuring or making her feel bad for not knowing what she wanted this whole time. He knew what he wanted. Her. But he waited, with the patience of a saint, for her to figure out what she wanted. Which was him. It had probably always been him, she had just been too scared to say so.
In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but she’d never been the type to make the first move. She’d never been brave enough. And even now, after everything she’d shared with him and knowing that she could trust him, she still didn’t think she had the courage to close that small space between them and kiss him. She wished he would just kiss her, and as she looked into his eyes she thought she saw something that indicated he wanted to kiss her, then it passed and he was pouring more coffee for them out of the French press.
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