He leaned close. There was nowhere to go. “Who would take care of your little girl, then?” he asked.
I shut my eyes against the wash of rancid breath. Oh fuck, oh fuck, that wasn’t helping. I needed to fucking think. What could I do? I wasn’t sure if he was right, but it sounded pretty convincing, and I really didn’t want to test it out. If I got arrested, Bailey would go into the system. They wouldn’t grant custody to Shelly or Colin, either, but put her in a group home. Or worse, give her to some stranger who might do God knows what with her. Fuck. Even Andrew would have been better than that, but he’d already signed away any legal claim to her.
I felt a hand on my neck, and I stopped breathing. I held it even as that hand traveled lower.
“I just want to help you,” he whispered.
No, no, this couldn’t be happening. Not again.
It didn’t seem possible, and I held on to that thought. If this wasn’t happening…fuck, let this not be happening. Both his hands touched me. There, on my breasts, and down lower, to my jeans. Just over my clothes, the thick barrier of my jeans, but it was enough.
I felt like I was underwater, hearing and feeling everything through deep waters. Maybe it was better this way.
He touched me for an eternity, or maybe just a few minutes, before he stopped. I didn’t know why he stopped. In that objective sort of detachment, my mind wondered at it. What made a bad man stop when he could go further? Was it just that this left no marks, no bruises, or fluids or anything else, and so made it easy to get away with?
He muttered into my ear, “I know about the little Murphy family dinner. Get me what I need, and you’ll be free.”
Then he was away from me, though my eyes were strangely fuzzy. The slam of the door and boot steps down the stairs signaled his retreat, if I could call it that. More like a victory dance, I thought. Tires squealed from the front of the house as he drove away.
I slid to the ground.
What a lie. I’d never be free.
I would have lost it completely, right then. It was close, hovering right there on the precipice. Even in my breakdown I was practical. Even broken and insane with my private grief, I loved Bailey. So I crawled across the floor to the phone on the side table.
I heard Shelly’s voice. “Hello?”
“Can you come?” I heard myself ask in a hoarse voice.
“Allie? What’s wrong? Allie! Okay, I’m coming over,” and then a click. It was good to have a friend.
A shout and rattle of the baby gate told me Bailey was up. I was a mother first. No rest for the wicked. I dragged myself up the stairs, brought her down, and plopped her in front of the television. I figured impending mental collapse was as good of an excuse as any for bad parenting.
I curled up on the couch, watching the dancing letters. Sanity slid away like a balloon lost at a carnival. I felt its loss with relief.
“Allie? What happened?” Shelly’s voice, garbled and distant. She was still above the surface, but I was down, down, down. Thank God she was here, I thought, someone to watch over Bailey. Because down here it was black.
The doctors and nurses left, leaving only the two cops on either side of my hospital bed. The woman cop shifted on her feet, very pregnant.
“Go on down,” the man told her. “I’ll wrap up and meet you there.”
She bit her lip, deliberating. She probably didn’t want to appear weak, like she wasn’t holding her weight against a man. Then again, she looked very uncomfortable. That appeared to win out, because she nodded and said, “I’ll see you in the cafeteria.”
“You’ll be okay,” she said, squeezing my hand. “It wasn’t your fault.” Practiced words, probably recited to all the rape victims, but they warmed me. Maybe there was hope.
After she left the room, the man took off his jacket and draped it across the foot of the bed. He questioned me, scribbling my answers on a notepad.
Yes, I knew my assailant. We’d been friends.
No, I hadn’t had sex with him before. Not with anyone.
Yes, I told him no. I’m sure he heard me.
The cop had just been a person-shaped blob to me in that room full of people. But he’d come closer to the bed, and only then did I notice his eyes were green. Green eyes, so rare. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen them before in real life. At least not ones so brilliant, so bright. The green eyes were narrowed.
“Reporting a rape is an important matter, Ms. Winters.”
I said nothing. He shifted closer to the bed.
“I can see that you’re upset,” he said. “But false accusations of rape have serious implications.”
I sucked in a breath. False accusations?
He pushed aside the flimsy paper that clothed me, exposing my breasts. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about you.”
No, I’d been wrong. There wasn’t any hope.
He pulled out a condom, speaking calmly while he put it on. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a slut.”
She’d been wrong too, the other cop. I wouldn’t be okay.