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"They didn't hear you?" Lilly’s eyes fly up to my face at my interruption, as if she'd forgotten I was there and is surprised to see me. I'm instantly contrite. "I'm sorry." She looks at the floor again.
"I didn't make any noise, Harry." She says and tugs her hand again, halfhearted attempt this time, but I hold on. "I didn't scream. I didn't fight him." Her eyes dart to mine, wide and a little frantic. "I said no. He didn't listen and I think I was in shock after that because, honestly, I stopped feeling anything. Not physically, I felt everything he did to my body. But it was like my mind went blank. He..." she swallows and shuts her eyes; a shudder causes her shoulders to hunch. "I just lay there because I couldn't understand what was happening. This man had been like a surrogate father to me and suddenly, he was fucking me. My mind disconnected. I just remember him on top of me, I remember him inside of me," She pauses and puts her free hand to her throat, gripping it as she speaks as if she has to squeeze the words out. "And when it was over I let him sleep in my bed. He ate breakfast with us the next morning before he left and everyone was so nice to him. No one noticed that I didn't say a word. It was like all I could see was this monster and everyone else was asking him questions about his new job. And then, I just let him leave. I didn't tell anyone Well, except for my boyfriend, Tomas. A couple of days after I got home, he came over. And when he touched me, I had my first panic attack. After it was over, I told him." She is staring blankly at the closed doors. I hold my breath for what I'm afraid is coming next.
"And he didn't believe me. He said I must have slept with someone and was trying to make excuses. Where were my bruises? He asked me why I didn't go to the police. Why hadn't I kicked him out? Why he'd been in my room in the first place? I didn't have any answers. I couldn't say anything that would convince him or myself that maybe I hadn't been clear.” She sneers.
Her hands skim her thighs and then flit up to her arms, covered, as usual and things start to click into place in my mind.
My outrage morphs into rage at this. That she was assaulted is bad enough. That someone she loved said that to her is an insult on top of the injury.
It takes all of my self-control to stand still, to remain quiet. I have to stop listening to her for a few seconds and remind myself that this is not about me. I can't go back and change the past.
"It was like, I died then Harry.” Her voice is low and strained, but I hear her. It’s a punch, with a battering ram, in the gut to hear how much he hurt her.
“I lost my faith when that happened and I thought I’d never get it back. I didn’t believe in anything, or anyone, or myself.” She looks up at me then, her eyes guarded, her chin titled up as if she’s blocking a blow. “I hate him so much." She says angrily.
My eyes leave her face and see her body is rigid. Her posture not as straight as it normally is. Like a deer preparing for flight. That's how she looks and I put a damper on my anger. And I see her clearly now. Everything makes sense.
She's not just hurting, she’s afraid. That someone will blame her or not believer her. She calls it hate and feasts on it because she thinks it's her strength. She pushes her family away because she wants them to chase her. She built a wall and has prayed that someone would care enough to pull it down. To ask her why. To share her rage and to be the subject of her loathing.
"He ruined me." She says softly, so softly that I know she is hoping I didn't hear her. But, I do and I feel blank for a second. And then my rage is back. That this person made this beautiful woman think she is ruined, makes me want to find him and kill him. I don't even breathe as I wait for her to continue. I want to ask her a thousand questions all at once.
She gives me a sidelong glance, but her eyes dart away quickly. But not so quickly that I miss what's in her eyes and it makes me feel completely and utterly useless. She is ashamed and I know from experience that shame is not something anyone can talk you out of.
"He was my high school counselor. It was Christmas and he spent it with us because a few years ago, he'd moved to Australia for the chance to head a really elite high school. I was the one who brought him into our family. My father...wasn't there when I was in high school. We moved my junior year, I told you about that in Ghana,” she says apologetically but continues talking before I can tell her that it's okay. She's talking faster than I've ever heard her speak before. Like she's been waiting forever to tell this story and now can't contain it.
"He helped me through a really hard time. My whole family was falling apart, and I felt like I had to be strong for them. But he listened. He kept my secrets and soon became someone my whole family knew. It was nice. To have an older man to talk to. It was my last night and we’d celebrated, had champagne, hung out in the hot tub and had a big family dinner. After dinner, when he followed me up to my bedroom- I'd gone up to pack because I was leaving for Miami the next day - I hadn't thought anything of it. He sat on my bed, asking me about Tomas and work. And then when I went into my closet to get the rest of my things he followed me and that was where he tried to kiss me. I was so confused, I didn't know how to react. So, I let him. I thought it was harmless. We'd all been drinking a little. But he didn't stop."
"I didn't fight him. I didn't yell. But I said "no" explicitly. I did." Her voice is pleading but not soft. She's looking at me intently as if to see if I understand.
"I wasn't aroused, I wasn't wet, I didn't participate. But, I let him lie there until he woke up, got up and left. I haven't been back to that house. I haven't told anyone, except my ex, Aiden, and my therapist. I started seeing her when I got back from Ghana. After you…” she smiles shyly at me, gazing at me through her thick lashes.
“I decided that I had to find a way to get beyond this. I wasn't living. I wanted to tell my family. But, I haven't been able to. I'm not sure they'd believe me."
"Why?”
"Because, Harry. I liked sex.” She says, exasperated, as if I should have known the reason. “I'd had plenty of lovers and I loved to talk about it. I thought they would think what Tomas did."
My temper spikes, my pulse pounds in my head.
"What does how many people you’d willingly slept with have to do with the one who raped you?” I demand, annoyed and dismayed at her story.
“I know that in here, Harry.” She taps the side of her head, “But, I was afraid that’s what they would think.” She explains, almost pleading for me to understand.
I don’t.
“But, they're your family."
"They don't know me." She says through gritted teeth. “My father was gone. My mother became a martyr to his memory. My sisters fell apart. I didn't feel like I could indulge in my own feelings.”
I recall Dean’s comment the other night. I tell her what he said and she laughs, humorlessly.
"Oh, there's no binding strong enough to hold the weight of our story.” She chuckles. “Is that what they think? That I'm holding them together? They're clueless." Her tone has lost its sadness and has picked up an edge of rancor now.
"They never asked me what happened. Not even when I didn't see any of them for more than a year. When I didn't come home for Christmas the next year, Milly asked me what was wrong. Like she was asking if I had a cold. And when I'd told her I didn't want to talk about it, she dropped. Just like that. I’ve seen what happens to women who report things like that. My family had their fair share of scandal and I didn’t want to do draw more attention to us. " She shrugs and I hold her hand, so sorry that she's gone through so much alone.
"And, I spent a good two years doubting myself. How could I have told them if I wasn’t sure if I believed it myself. It took me a long time to realize that violence doesn’t mean that something causes physical pain. I know now that my “no.” should have been enough to stop him.” Her voice pulses with righteousness and pain. But, when she looks up at me, all I see in her honey gold eyes is a certainty that amazes me. I put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it’s a small comfort, and she expels a big breath.
Her body r
