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“Shit. He went mad. I really thought he was going to kill me.” Dougie buried his face in his hands before he continued. “He told me to get out and not ever come back or else he would kill me, and I believed him.”
I sat on my trembling hands. He’d said such terrible things to me during my assault, words I hadn’t understood. Now they started to make sense. “He said all kinds of nasty things about gays to me, as if I was to blame for associating myself with them, which I did, kinky folk do.” I spoke softly, aware of my surroundings.
“Don’t you see, he meant to say them to me, not you. All that anger at me, and instead of staying and trying to get him to see different, I went abroad, ran away. I am so sorry, Gemma. I had no idea he would lose it.”
I’d never understood what had caused my boyfriend to morph into a violent rapist. For years, I’d had an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, now, finally, the last few pieces slotted together. “He changed after you disappeared. In a matter of a few weeks, Dougie. He flipped. That’s when he started to hit me. I mean, you know, punch me, not like the usual stuff we did together.”
“Hell. I’m so sorry.” He looked up at the ceiling, and tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes. “It’s all my fault. If I’d shut up, not told him. We’d still be mates and having fun. You wouldn’t have been...all those women, and he’d be alive, too.”
He hadn’t said it, as if he couldn’t say the word. “Raped. Dougie, he raped me.”
“I know. Shit. It’s my fault.” He’d changed in a blink of an eye from a worn-out soldier to a heartbroken man. Was it his fault?
I inhaled deeply. “Actions have consequences, Dougie, but the guilt lies with him and nobody else. He had a history somewhere, something made him have a deep need to hate and inflict pain. He wasn’t a good Dom. I know that now. He didn’t do things right. He didn’t look after me or treat me well even before you left. The warning signs were all there, and I should have stopped seeing him long before you declared your sexual orientation. So don’t blame yourself, and I won’t blame myself, either. We’re going to put him behind us and get on with life. Aren’t we, Dougie?”
I spoke those words not to him, but me. There was a strong sensation within me of empowerment and acceptance. I had been a victim, but not any longer. I was finished with being a victim. My anxieties would bubble to the surface from time to time. My traumatic ordeal couldn’t be erased without trace. However, I had nothing to be ashamed of in the context of my behaviour or lifestyle choices. I hadn’t encouraged him to rape me—I’d withdrawn consent—and nor had Dougie incited him to violence. The terrible man had driven himself to his own destiny.
Dougie nodded and sniffed like a small child. Silence descended as we contemplated our conversation. I drank my lukewarm tea and poured out another cup. I was thirsty, and my head ached from all the difficult thoughts in my mind. They would have to be washed away, but not by me. Somebody else would do that for me.
It would have been easy to get up and walk out of the café, leaving Dougie in his morose place, but both of us deserved to end our brief friendship on a positive note. If Jason planned on confronting me, I’d rather face him here in the café than in my newly opened gallery.
“Tell me about your travels? The good things you’ve seen.”
Gradually, Dougie talked about the sights he’d seen: the pyramids in Egypt, the hungry multitudes in Africa, which had ended his days as a paid soldier. He laughed as he described trying to ride camels, became contemplative when he spoke about playing football with barefoot children in a mosquito-infested dirt field. He’d seen more of the world than me, and he intended to find a job working for a charity, so he could go back to Africa and help disarm those children he’d seen carrying guns.
“Any boyfriends?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said with a wry smile. “One day I’ll find the right man for me.”
“I hope you do, Dougie.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Jaguar pull up by the pavement. “He’s here,” I croaked, aware of my tightening throat.
Dougie watched through the window as the car door opened. “Should I run out the back?” He grinned, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
What Jason had done with Joshua? I couldn’t imagining him bringing our son, which meant he would have left him with someone at short notice—not an ideal choice. He wore the same jeans and rugby shirt when I left in the morning. Younger looking when dressed casually, nothing about him shouted billionaire or hard-nosed businessman. The man emerging from the car was my Dominant husband.
“Christ, That’s Chris Martinson!” Dougie jumped out of his seat for a second. “We did some basic training together. Shit!”
“Well, now he’s my husband’s chief of security and personal bodyguard.” I turned to face Jason as he approached the table. I smiled, not daring to show my reluctance at seeing him arrive. However, his face wasn’t blazing with angry undertones. Quite the contrary, he seemed worried, almost pale.
“Gemma?” Jason touched my shoulder and squeezed it.
“I’m fine. Dougie and I have been catching up on old times. Dougie, my husband, Jason Lucas.” I made t
he formal introduction as if it sanitised any wrongdoing on my part.
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t shake hands with Dougie. “Mr Mottram,” Jason enunciated the surname with over the top clarity—he’d highlighted my ignorance—Martinson had obviously briefed him. If Dougie and Martinson knew each other, then it made sense Martinson had identified him from the CCTV cameras in the gallery.
Dougie rose to his feet, snatching his jacket off the back of the chair. “I should go. I’ve taken enough of your time, Gemma. I’m glad we’ve met one more time. I’m—”
I held up my hand. “Don’t, Dougie. Don’t apologise. It’s done.”
I rose to move out of the way, and there was an awkward moment as the three of us stood facing each other. I hoped Dougie wouldn’t make the mistake of kissing me, but he seemed to sense it wasn’t appropriate.
Dougie edged away from us. “’Bye, Gemma. Good luck with the gallery.”
“’Bye, Dougie. I hope you find what you’re looking for, too.” I waved, a silly gesture to make up for the abrupt departure.
With his jacket tossed over one shoulder, he didn’t look back as he headed for the door. He stopped by the Jaguar to exchange a few words with the waiting Martinson.
