Fuck. I was pathetic.
I was doing more than a shit job of protecting her. Hell, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. My hands off her. And what had I done to scare her so badly?
She asked me to make love to her, then froze.
If I looked past my self-loathing, I knew she hadn’t been afraid of me. Something happened in her mind that scared her. Not me. It couldn’t have been me, because she’d so frantically wanted me to stay. She’d curled into me, hung onto me as if only I could save her. Fell asleep in my arms.
My hand slowed as I considered this new insight.
She hadn’t been afraid of me. Something else, yes, but not me.
Standing straighter, the water rained down on my head. I wished I could open my skull and let it wash away the fear and uncertainty that rattled around in my brain. Because that was what this was. Fear.
“Jessica, tell me what I should do.”
Jessica had been an intellectual. A psychiatrist, she and I would have long discussions about anything and everything. We bounced thoughts and ideas off each other, helping the other see all sides.
But Jessica was quiet now, as she was supposed to be. Her brilliant mind shut down by a raving lunatic on a rampage.
It wasn’t until I lifted my face to the water, that I felt her. Not Jessica. Zoe.
Very slowly, I turned to where she stood just inside the bathroom door.
She’d already caught me jacking off, so I didn’t remove my hand from my cock. I didn’t resume stroking either. Through the fog of the shower, I just looked at her. Watched her approach me until she was just on the other side of the glass.
Lifting a hand, she placed her palm against the glass, her eyes not leaving mine. If I’d shocked her by my act of masturbation, I couldn’t tell. All I could see was a softness in her gaze as she looked at me.
Letting myself go, I placed my palm against hers, and we just stood there for what felt like endless moments. She lifted her four-leaf pendant to her lips and kissed it, then began to slowly untie her robe. It dropped to the floor, revealing her perfect breasts. She was breathing hard. So was I. But that didn’t stop her from pushing the shorts down her legs.
Then she was naked in front of me. As naked as I was in front of her. Both of us equally vulnerable as I opened the shower door, welcoming her in if she wanted.
She wanted.
Moving under the stream of water, she pressed herself against me and we stood that way for a long time. I felt her exhale, and then she looked up at me.
“Truth or dare.”
Dare was almost a temptation I couldn’t resist, but I knew we had much to say to each other, so I chose the former. “Truth.”
“Who’s Jessica?”
She’d been in the doorway longer than I thought, because she’d heard me, saw me, begging my late wife for help. It was fitting. After all, I’d watched her without her consent or knowledge many times.
“My wife.” She stiffened, and I immediately added, “She died two years ago.”
Sympathy became a living thing in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
I stroked down her spine, feeling the hill and valley of each vertebrae. “Truth or dare.”
She swallowed. “Truth.”
“What happened in the bedroom? What scared you?”
She swallowed again, a cloud of pain coming over her features. “I was raped a few months ago. The man… one of the men…” She shook her head and pressed her face into my chest.
One of the men?
My arms tightened around her, rage building in my chest. Jessica had counseled many rape victims, and she would come home and talk about the range of feelings those women went through.
“I’m so sorry, Zoe. And I’m sorry I brought that horrible memory back to you.”
When she looked up at me again, it wasn’t sadness in her eyes. It was something else. Anger. No. It was rage. But not at me.
“It’s not that, Gray. The first man, he… when he was… you know… when he was in me, he said…” She growled in frustration, the sound coming through her tightly set jaw. “Why is this so hard to talk about? I’ve never talked to anyone about it. Never. Not even my best friend. Nobody.”
“Just say it however it comes,” I told her, pushing her wet hair back from her face, careful of the wound. “No filter. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to come out. Monsters in a dark closet are rarely as scary in the light of day.”
She licked her lips and nodded slowly. “When he was inside me,” the words came in a rush, “he told me I was wet, saying that I wouldn’t be wet if I didn’t want it. He told me that I was a natural at sex, just like my mother.” She was breathing hard after it all spilled out.
I held her closer. Tighter. Remembered Jessica ranting about something similar.
“You couldn’t help that, sweetheart,” I said, then tipped her chin up until she looked at me. “It was a natural body response.”
She frowned, wanting to believe me but uncertain.
I went on, remembering Jessica’s words. “When something comes at your eye, you blink, right? You can’t force your body to not have that reaction. It does it involuntarily. Same thing happens if something scares you. Your body, without your permission or knowledge, dumps adrenaline into your system.”
Hope flared in her eyes. “So, you’re saying that—”
“Yes. When something penetrates you, hurts you, your body’s response will be to lubricate... to protect you. Not because you were turned on or wanted it. You couldn’t have stopped it if you tried.”
She stared up at me for a long time. “How do you know this?”
“Jessica. My wife. She was a therapist. She treated many rape victims and she would talk about things like that. She said that the victims so often blamed themselves. Not just because of what they wore or where they were, things the media plays on to victim blame. It runs deeper than that. Jess said that women hated how their body reacted. They lubricated. Many orgasmed. It created a huge chasm in their minds. How could they have hated something so much when their body responded so differently?”
Zoe was nodding, tiny little shakes of her head. “Yes. I felt like that. I hated myself so much.”
“Jess said that is one of the things that stop women from going to the police. The rapist, in court, will swear that she was wet, that she came. It can end up being a bigger source of shame than the attack itself.”
Air whooshed out of Zoe’s lungs, and I saw the hurt and confusion begin to melt off of her. “I thought it was just me.”
“From what Jessica said, it’s not something women talk about so it perpetuates everything else going on for them mentally and physically.”
Her eyes widened. “I need to write about this. Maybe have one of my stories talk about rape and the aftermath, but then how the woman is able to still have her happy ever after with the man who helps her heal.”