Chapter 22 #2
Tears flood my face the second it's over, sobs wracking me to my bones, especially in a lying position. He's quick to remove the blindfold and cut off the twine.
"Come here, baby," he murmurs.
He helps me sit up and takes me in his arms. Lifting me, he kisses me, tasting of me. I loosely wrap my legs around his waist as he walks us back upstairs.
Caressing my hair and my back, he murmurs how brave I've been.
It always shocks me to realize how strong he is.
Achilles is tall, but he doesn't appear that big when he's dressed in his everyday clothes.
He's not some gym-bro type, not necessarily working on looking muscly to outside eyes.
He hides his strength well, and he easily keeps me in his arms as he turns on the bath.
A few minutes later, he rids me of his t-shirt, then carefully puts me in the hot water. All my muscles relax instantly. It smells of lavender, and the salts are heaven to my cold skin.
"Breathe," he whispers tenderly as he squats outside the bath. "I'm here, and it's over."
He uses his index finger to brush my fringe out of the way. "You're safe now, my little survivor."
My eyes drop, and I shake my head.
"You wouldn't think so highly of me if you knew what I did that night."
I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, inhaling the delicate scent of the bath.
"Nyx, there's absolutely nothing you could tell me that would make me change my mind about you."
"I came," I say harshly, hissing the sound like I'm angry at him that it happened. A man who didn't even know I existed back then. "He raped me. And I orgasmed."
His hand cups my cheek, and he forces me to look at him. He's come so close to me, his elbow is dipping into the water, wetting the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Chase knew about it," I admit in a squeak. "He called me a slut for it."
"I can tell you a lot of things to reassure you right now," he says seriously.
I look for softness in his tone, but it's not there. There’s safety in his usual flat voice, though.
"I could tell you that Chase was not only abusive and used it against you, but he was also a tragically uneducated man. He could never have reassured you on something he didn't understand, and that probably bruised his toxic ego."
He wipes the tear that falls and continues.
"I could tell you that according to statistics around four to five percent of people who report rape will talk about orgasming.
But we're talking about people who report, which is already so rare.
And we're also talking about something so shameful that you can only imagine how different the real number is.
Just like everything that bothers society, there's only tiny research on it.
Therapists who work with sexual assault victims are saying just under half of their patients mention it. Do you realize how huge that is?"
His gaze intensifies as my heartbeat slows. I didn't know any of this.
"I can get into the science of it, if you'd like," he says matter-of-factly. "But it's terribly boring. Scientists are considering the fact that orgasms could come from the autonomic nervous system."
"You're getting med school on me," I say weakly, but I enjoy the faint smile it creates on his lips.
"It means that it's something our bodies do for us. Just like you don't control sweating or your heart rate. It just happens. There's a trigger, and your body responds."
"Right," I sniffle, and he caresses my cheek some more.
"But I know none of this will make you feel better, Nyx." His voice drops, and for the first time, I can sense the shift in his vulnerability. "So, I'll tell you the one thing that might."
I'm human, I'm empathetic, I'm linked to Achilles in some ways, and I feel the revelation coming as fast and deadly as a train about to crush me to dust.
"Orgasming during rape happens." He licks his lips, and I can feel him fighting to not drop his gaze. He keeps it on me to give me the strength I need, no matter how much it takes from him. "I did."
That's when I know. That Achilles Duval doesn't care about anything in life because he's already seen the worst of it.
He walks around with a secretive smile because there's no bigger secret than the one he keeps.
The way he behaves is not some sort of arrogance.
It's depression. He could die tomorrow, and it would be a deliverance for him.
Tonight is the night I understand that him telling me his secret is not only to make me feel better.
It's because he's starting to have hope.
Hope that life can become better if we go through it together.
One broken moment at a time. Each jagged piece of our souls coming together in perfect harmony.
I wrap my hand around his on my cheek and move it gently until it's against my mouth. Kissing his palm, I look up at him.
"You're safe," I whisper, like he did earlier. "I'm here."
I say the words, but I know deep down that I'll be the end of this man. And that loving me, because I know that's what this is, will be the biggest mistake of his life.
"Now," he says softly. "About the Circle."