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“The summer after I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree, I went home to live with my mom until grad school started. She was doing better by then, not grieving my dad as much. She started going to these widow’s retreats for single people who were nervous about traveling after their spouses passed away.
“So, at one point she was gone for almost two weeks and I had the house to myself. I was fine until one morning I woke up and the gate to our backyard was broken. I was spooked, so I called my mom and she told me she’d send someone over to take care of it.” I pause, needing a second to collect myself before I start the next part.
I feel Jesse’s pinkie finger flex under mine and I curl our fingers together instinctively. Compared to the story I’m about to tell, our contact doesn’t seem scary at all.
“One of my dad’s old friends came by to look around and make sure the other doors and windows hadn’t been messed with. Fixed the gate, checked the house, and ensured everything was fine. I hadn’t seen him since I was 13 at my dad’s funeral.” I clear the hoarseness from my throat.
“He lingered, asking about college and my future plans. At some point, I brought up that my friends and I liked to go out for Tequila Tuesdays at a local Mexican spot and that I missed it since being home. He offered to teach me how to make a homemade margarita, and being young and dumb, I said yes. I was still in that phase of life where drinking was the coolest hobby you could have.” I laugh sadly, feeling no real humor towards the situation. Jesse remains silent, letting me continue.
“I thought I was a lightweight all of a sudden, but he had put something in my drink. It wasn’t long after the spins started that I realized what was happening. He coaxed me into my mom’s room and by then I couldn’t move my body. I was awake the whole time, dizzy, but awake. I couldn’t move or fight.
“He raped me. He held me down even though I was paralyzed and violated me. Over and over again.” A sob escapes, remembering it so vividly. Jesse’s hand trembles under mine, but I’m too far gone into the story to stop now.
“Eventually, I passed out from the pain or the drugs, I’m not sure. When I woke up in the morning, I was still in my mom’s bed. The bed she shared with my dad before he died,” I cry, remembering the shame I felt for letting that happen in my parent’s bed.
“I couldn’t move. The drugs had worn off, but I felt paralyzed still. My therapist said it was a natural reaction, but I just laid there reliving what happened, torturing myself for hours. The first thing I did was vomit, then I showered, needing to get the filth off.” I sniff, reigning my tears back. I did it, the worst of the story is over. I did it.
I realize Jesse’s hand is gripping the pillow violently. I’m worried it’s going to burst, but I’m too afraid to look him in the eyes. I’m still so ashamed of what happened, even though I know it’s not my fault. I didn’t deserve any of it, but trauma has a funny way of stirring things up in your mind.
“It’s okay, Jesse. I’m okay,” I assure him, even though I know it’s not okay.
“Thea…” He chokes out my name like he’s doing all he can not to lose his mind. I’m painfully familiar with how he feels, how the anger can consume you. I take a deep breath and place the entirety of my hand over his, squeezing it tightly.
Holding hands is something that I’ve dreamed of doing for years and here I am doing it. I told my story and I’m holding Jesse’s hand. Somehow tonight feels like the most successful night of my healing journey.
“I went to the hospital. I was so traumatized that I could barely speak to the woman at the front desk, but it didn’t matter. She knew. She could tell what was wrong. She quietly bumped me to the front of the queue of people waiting.
“I was still practically mute when the nurse got me a bed. She wanted me to take off my pants, to examine me, but the only privacy was a paper current and I already felt too exposed.
“When I managed to explain that I had already showered, she looked at me with such sad, regretful eyes… She didn’t need to say the words out loud. I knew that I screwed up.” I squeeze Jesse’s hand again when it flexes under mine.
“I wish I could hold you, Thea,” he whispers hoarsely. I would give anything to be wrapped in his arms. The security that I would feel seems like a fantasy, but one far out of reach.
“I knew something was wrong with me that day,” I say, going back to my story. It seems like the easiest way to explain why we are stuck in this place and he can’t hold me like we both desperately want.
“Another nurse, or doctor, I’m not sure, busted through the curtain. I didn’t even know he had been standing on the other side of it. As soon as he was in my space, I was paralyzed in fear all over again. He scolded me for showering away the evidence as if I wasn’t already aware. He infantilized me and I was humiliated.”
Jesse doesn’t say anything, but I can still feel his hand trembling beneath mine. I interlock our fingers just to prove to myself that I can. His fingers grasp mine tenderly but with powerful desperation.
“As soon as he snapped his gloves on and made a move to touch me, I screamed. It was ear-piercing. One second I was on the bed and the next I was curled up in a ball on the floor. The female nurse was nice enough to kick the asshole out of the room while I sobbed.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, not wanting to let old emotions carry me away. “As soon as I could manage to get up, I ran out of that hospital and never went back.”
“I’m so sorry, baby.” His voice is full of pain for me. I feel his breath against my hand and it soothes me, bringing me back to the present. With him.
“I’ve had panic attacks since then and moments when my whole body freezes and I can’t snap out of it. I try my best to avoid accidental touches, but I still get scared when a man comes into my space suddenly or raises his voice. It’s gotten better throughout the years, I can control it sometimes when it’s not something that happens on purpose. If a man actively tries to touch me though or grabs me, I panic so hard that I inevitably pass out,” I admit.
“The bar.” His voice is suddenly thick with anger.
“Yeah, I barely made it to the back before I blacked out. Daya helped me snap out of it. I told her I had forgotten to eat that day.”
“I’ll bury them,” he states murderously. “All of them. Everyone who has ever hurt you. I swear, Thea. Tell me who he is. Your dad’s friend.” He demands, scaring me a little because he’s serious.
This isn’t some idle threat someone’s protective boyfriend is throwing out before he goes to work as an accountant. Jesse is highly trained and capable of killing someone and I just gave him motivation.
“I’m not going to tell you that. I don’t need you to kill him for me. I need you right here, with me,” I plead. “I didn’t tell you so that you could exact revenge for me.”
His silence is eerie. It’s like the calm that comes right before a tornado tears through a town, the buildup of anticipation before everyone dives for cover.
