That part doesn’t surprise me. “Go on.”
“One night, I woke up to find my dad there, watching me like usual. Only this time, I was prepared. I had gone to bed naked. I pretended like I was flinging my sheets off in my sleep, but I was wide-awake. I arched my back and showed him my boobs, and moaned like I was having some sort of erotic dream.”
She looks at me, waiting for permission to continue, and I nod, curtly, once.
“My eyes were closed, but I could smell him. His penis. It was right in front of me. He’d apparently pulled it out and was holding it in my face. I started sucking it with my eyes closed, because somehow, I knew that’s what he wanted. It was instinctual. I’ll never forget the taste of it. Like salt and...him. I never opened my eyes, even when he came all over me.”
“And the whole time, you pretended to be asleep?”
She nods. “Yeah. That went on for a while. Night after night, I’d give him blow jobs ‘in my sleep.’”
“But it escalated.”
“Yeah. One night, instead of standing next to my bed, he climbed in with me,” she says softly. “I pretended like I was sleeping, like always, but I wasn’t. He slid his hands everywhere, along my breasts, along my thighs. He kissed my nipples, and I didn’t know what to think. I’d never done that before, and it turned me on. He pressed his hard dick into my side, and I wiggled against it, and then he had sex with me. I never opened my eyes.”
My fingers are steepled on the table in front of me as I process this. “What happened the next day?”
“We both pretended like it didn’t happen,” she answers. “I pretended like I didn’t know—because remember, he thought I was sleeping. We acted like normal. He teased me about this and that, and gave me shit about not doing my homework, but that night, he came back.”
“Did you tell him no?” My question is solemn and quiet. “He was an adult and you weren’t. Regardless if you liked it, it was wrong, and illegal.” I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t. Because I liked it. I liked the feeling of power, I liked having him inside of me, and I liked knowing that he wanted me and not his wife. He came back again and again, and for a long time, I pretended that I was sleeping. Every night, he pretended he didn’t know I was awake. It was our own wicked little game.”
She pauses for effect and reaches for her drink, but it’s empty. She orders another, and then we order our meals. I order lasagna and she orders soup and salad.
“Was that meant to shock me?” I ask finally. “Because it doesn’t.”
“I was just sharing. I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“Because you feel ashamed?”
“No. I’m not ashamed. I just don’t feel like it’s anyone’s business.”
“Did your mother ever find out?”
“No. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
I eat my bread stick and analyze her.
“Did you ever stop pretending that you were sleeping?”
She nods. “Yeah. After a couple of months. I opened my eyes up wide when he was fucking me and stared right into his. He didn’t know what to think, but I just pulled him close and told him to fuck me harder.”
Lord, this girl. She’s trouble. I know it right now, yet I can’t seem to stand up and walk away.
“I started getting what I wanted around the house, though,” she admits. “If he told me to do something and I didn’t want to, I would just raise my eyebrow and look into his eyes, and he knew. He knew that I could blow his life out of the water if I wanted to.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you ever?”
“No. I liked fucking him too much. And my life got really easy after that. He intervened whenever my mom gave me a hard time, and he always took my side. It was awesome.”
“When was the last time you had sex with him?”
“A couple of years ago. I went home for Thanksgiving and fucked him in the laundry room while my mom cooked in the kitchen. That was hot. But he’s getting too old now. He doesn’t turn me on anymore.”
It’s rare that I see a woman who seems so detached by the sexual act. Generally speaking, they tend to assign much more emotion to it than men do. But not this girl. It’s fascinating.
“I’m not bad,” she insists. “I just know what I like. And it was nice to have an older man teach me the right way to do things. I still like older men. They’re established and confident, and they’re over all the bullshit that younger guys are into.”
I can’t help but ask. “Such as?”
“Such as...playing video games or having penis envy. Older guys know what they want and how to get it. You do, don’t you?”
Our food is delivered, and I don’t answer. We’re quiet for a time while we eat.
I finish mine before she does, and the whole time, I analyze her. She doesn’t have attachments, she doesn’t form emotional bonds. That means she wouldn’t have any qualms about breaking up my marriage for her whim.
I push away from the table.
“This was a mistake,” I tell her, motioning for the waiter. I hand him my card. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
“Jude, stop being a child. We’re just having dinner. You’re helping me with my issues. Isn’t that what friends do?”
“You’re not my friend.” I sign my name to the bill and stand up.
She stands up, too, leaning up to whisper in my ear. “But I really want to be. I don’t have that many. Please.”
She sounds sad, and I have no idea if it’s an act or not. If it is, it’s a damn good one. But this girl’s issues have issues. It’s time to go. I turn around and walk to the door without waiting to see if she’s following.
I look when I reach the door, and she is, so I hold the door for her.
She walks through.
“I really hope I didn’t offend you,” she says meekly. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“Of course you didn’t.” I’m curt now. What was I thinking coming here? I’m a dumbass. “Have a good night.”
I turn to walk to my truck, but she grabs my arm and moisture is pooling in her eyes.
“Please, wait.”
I pause without looking at her again.
“Can we just talk for a few minutes...about anything else? I feel really shook up. I haven’t thought about that stuff in years. I’m rattled.” Her hand is shaking on my arm. I can’t help but notice, and something tugs at my gut. My conscience, I guess. The therapist in me can’t leave her like this.
“I guess that wouldn’t hurt. Just for a minute. Until you gather yourself.”
Without another word, she opens the passenger door to my Land Rover and gets in. I hand her a tissue, and she dabs at her eyes.
“I thought you liked it.”
I stare at her and I feel like I’m dissecting a puzzle, and she shrugs.
“Maybe that’s just what I tell myself so that I don’t feel so disgusting. Or maybe I did like it, but I don’t like the way it makes me feel now. I just don’t know anymore.”
She thrusts herself into the crook of my arm, burying her face in my sweater, and her shoulders shake as she cries. I finally cave in and wrap an arm around her, giving her as much comfort as I can.
After several minutes, she sniffs again.
“Can you make me laugh? I don’t want to think about ugly stuff.”
I think for a minute.
“What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?”
“I don’t know.”
“Frostbite.”
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously?”
I shrug. “I’m bad at jokes.”
“But you smell good.”
She looks up at me, and I look down at her, and I see so much in her eyes, things that shouldn’t apply to me, things I shouldn’t even be here for. Lust. Want. Need.
“Jude...” she whispers, and her hand flutters to my chest.
“Zoe, I can’t do this. It’s wrong. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but fucking you isn’t going to be one of them.”
I’m so blunt that it’s almost painful.
“It’s not that you aren’t beautiful,” I rush to say. “Because you are. But it’s just wrong.”
“You don’t have to fuck me,” she says slowly. “I just want to feel close to you. Please. If we don’t have sex, then we aren’t doing anything wrong, right?”