A startled giggle erupted out of her and she asked, “What?”
“Sex. How men’s bodies work. How women’s bodies work, that kinda shit?”
“I learned most of that in school, Layne.” She was still smiling.
“So he didn’t,” Layne surmised.
“Well, no, not exactly. He did say when I told him you asked me out, and he knew who you were and how old you were, and after we fought when he said I was not going out with you and I told him I was, that if you laid a hand on me, he’d rip your heart out. After he cut your hands off, that is. But, other than that, he pretty much steered clear of the facts of life.”
Layne had heard that story, not only from Rocky but also from Dave and Merry. After they started living together, it was a favorite tale for the three of them to cackle over.
It was also not where he was leading her.
“So, he left you to it,” Layne stated.
Rocky cocked her head to the side. “Left me to it?”
“To learn that shit yourself.”
“Well,” she whispered as her hand started to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. “I did, relatively young, find myself a good teacher.”
Automatically, Layne’s arms gave her a squeeze but he stayed on target. “What about your period?”
Her eyes shot to his and her fingers arrested mid-fiddle. “What?”
“Who taught you about that?”
Her body started to tense and edge away so his arms got tighter, Rocky read his message and gave up.
“Who?” he pushed.
“I learned that in Sex Education in Health class in junior high,” she answered.
“When did you start your period?” Layne asked.
For some reason, her eyes saturated with fear, Layne braced and she asked back, “Why are we talking about this?”
“I wanna know everything about you,” he answered, it was lame but he hoped it would get them where they needed to go.
“Well, I don’t remember,” she lied, every girl remembered.
“Was it before your Mom died or after?”
Her body locked.
Fuck.
“Baby, was it before your Mom died or after?”
“I don’t get why you want to know,” she whispered.
“Tell me, Rocky, was it before your Mom died or after?”
“Who cares?” Her voice was pitching higher and the fear was stark on her face.
Fuck!
“Why won’t you answer?” he asked gently, pushing carefully but unfortunately not treading cautiously.
“Because I don’t get why you care,” she answered. “And anyway, it’s private.”
“Nothing is private between you and me.”
“That’s private,” she returned.
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“Baby, I’ve had my mouth down there, I know you there, better than you know you there. I know how you taste, how you feel, how you look –”
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Why?” he asked.
She shook her head, both her hands going to his chest and she tried to push away. Layne locked his arms, trapping her torso just as he shifted and threw a leg over hers, trapping her lower limbs.
“Why?” he repeated. “Why do you want me to stop?”
She looked across the room still putting steady pressure on his chest that fear on her face.
So Layne called up the courage she loved in order to explore something that had been festering insidiously in his brain since the secrets started and he asked, “Baby, what happened that night?”
“Layne, let go.”
“Did Carson Fisher get to you?”
Her eyes cut to his and Layne’s chest seized at the look of terror on her face as she started fighting him.
Fuck. Fuck. Jesus, fuck, no.
“Did he get to you?” Layne pushed even though he really didn’t want to know, he had to know but more importantly, Rocky had to face it.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“You didn’t tell the cops, it’s not in the report. I pulled it and I read it. But you told your brother and he told your Dad. He got to you, didn’t he? He got to you and he hurt you.”
It was then, she heaved at the same time she let out a grunt and made it to her feet. Layne was up right after her, he caught her at the waist before she could run and he turned her into his arms. She pulled back at the same time she pushed at his chest with her hands.
“Layne!” she shouted, “Let me go!”
“You can tell me, baby, honest to God, you can tell me. It changes nothing. Not one fuckin’ thing.”
“No!” she yelled. “No! He didn’t get to me. Do you think my mother would ever let him get to me? No! I didn’t even see him.”
“Swear it,” Layne pushed.
“I swear,” she hissed. “And I started my period after Mom died. The week after Mom died. Dad was in the hospital and I couldn’t ask Merry so Gram took me to the grocery store and she helped me pick what I needed and she was sweet about it but I didn’t want her there. I wanted Mom there. I could talk to Mom about that shit. Mom would have known what to do, what to say. The cramps hurt so goddamned much and I bled a lot, it lasted a day. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I didn’t want a lifetime of that. Gram tried but she wasn’t Mom. She’d never be Mom. I couldn’t talk to her about it, ask her questions. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it except my Mom and she was dead. Until I was thirty, my periods were the worst. They made me feel like shit, they brought on a lot of pain and I bled out fast. I hated them so much I dreaded them. They’re still not my favorite things to have nor are they my favorite things to talk about. But there you go. The story of my fertility. Happy?”
“Yes,” Layne replied honestly, her body jerked with surprise at his answer then went still in his arms.
“Yes?” she asked.