Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
I sob into my one free hand as Ben continues to rub circles into the wrist he refuses to let go.
If my confession shocked him, he doesn’t show it. Admitting it out loud has broken something inside me. I can’t handle the pain anymore. I thought unloading it would free me, but it just reminds me how ruined I am.
He pulls me gently from the back of the car when we get to Cameron’s apartment building. Leading us through the maze of stairs and walkways, until he gets me to the front door.
I unlock it and immediately throw myself onto the couch.
Covering my face, I just let the tears continue to fall.
The weight of everything that has happened over the last few weeks has come crashing down.
It’s overwhelming. All the awful things I said to the one person who has been trying to help me makes me hate myself even more.
Ben drops on the floor in front of me. I peer through my fingers to see him taking sips from a bottle of alcohol that belongs to Cameron. His eyes meet mine and he lifts a glass of water towards me.
I sit up, gulping down half the glass as tears still drip down my face. The mess I must be now will surely put the nail in the coffin on whatever could have happened between us, if the confession of my rape didn’t already do it.
That’s probably for the best, though. Clearly, I’m not good for him.
“I owe your brother a bottle of whiskey. Only I plan on making it much better than Jack Daniels. Jesus Christ, the guy needs to grow up and get the good stuff.”
“Hey!” I snap. My mind is so used to defending Cameron, it does it on auto pilot at this point.
“I’m just saying.” He sighs, leaning back on his palms. “Take your boots off. Your tattoo needs air.”
“I almost forgot about it,” I say, reaching down to slip off my boots. I kick them off and then pull off my socks.
Ben watches my movements. His eyes skim over my bare legs, as more of my skin is revealed from how I sit. Eyes wide with desire, despite the fact I’m still a crying mess. It makes my stomach flutter when he stares at me like that.
“Have you cum since?” he blurts out and then shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to ask that.” He laughs, taking a long gulp from the bottle. “I apologize.”
“No,” I answer anyways. “I think I’m too scared to try.”
He nods. “It isn’t so bad. The first time is hard. If you push through it, soon it’s like regaining a semblance of control.”
“How would you know?” I start to laugh, but then it hits me.
He said he was abused. And his reaction to my confession.
The comment he just made. It all starts to make sense now.
“Ben.” I gasp, covering my mouth. He doesn’t say anything, just takes another drink.
“When? Who?” I ask, sitting up. “I’m so sorry.
I said all those things… I didn’t know… I didn’t think… ”
“That a guy could be raped?” His eyes look up at me.
“No. Not that.” I swallow the lump of guilt that sits in my throat. I was so cruel to him, and he suffered just like me.
“I’m not sure many people would call it rape. Maybe morally wrong, but guys would probably make fun of me for not liking it.” He shrugs.
“Ben. I’m so, so, sorry.”
“I never told anyone,” he says, his eyes dropping back to my legs. “It’s easier to keep it to myself than explain how I could be fucked up because some woman played with my dick.”
“How old were you?”
“I think that’s the problem. If I was younger, it would be sick, but it happened at an age that makes it weird. I was young, but just old enough that I could’ve enjoyed it.”
His face is blank as he speaks. I wonder if he even realizes he is speaking out loud.
How long has he kept this inside? The way he talks shows he is miles away, lost in thought, but how he has a response to every question lets me know he has probably wanted to talk about it.
He has probably thought about it often, but never said anything.
“I didn’t, though,” he adds after a moment. “I tried a few times, you know? To convince myself I wanted it, that it was okay, that I was lucky. Some days I still try to think about it like that.”
I let my hand rest on his arm, trying to remind him of the present. His eyes drift to the connection, but he doesn’t acknowledge it otherwise, taking another sip from the bottle before letting out a dry laugh.
“God if Wes knew.” He shakes his head. “If he knew every night he stayed at my house when she was there, he was saving me, I think he would finally understand why I would literally die for him. I spent those nights wide awake though. Scared she would still try something, or worse go after him.” He pauses for a moment.
“I wonder if there were others. I think it’s nice to pretend I was the only one, but that’s just not the reality.
Which probably makes me an accomplice, huh?
I didn’t say anything, so she thinks she can get away with doing it to others.
I probably deserve some jail time for that. ” He laughs.
“No. It doesn’t work like that. It’s not your fault if there are others. It’s not your fault at all.”
“Think about it, Prue. I never told a soul. Maybe not going to the police would be one thing, but not saying a fucking word to anyone, ever? That makes me just as guilty.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say sharply, hoping to get through to him. “Ben, you were raped. You are a victim. It’s not on you.”
“You’re a girl. It’s a lot different when you are a guy.
It’s not like she fucked me in the ass or anything.
That people would understand me not coming forward about but putting her mouth on my cock.
Riding my dick? That should’ve been a wet dream come true, not something that makes my skin crawl.
And it’s not like she was ugly. Not by a mile, on the outside at least.” He jerks away from me.
“I’m pathetic for being upset about it. Honestly, like you said, it probably wasn’t even that bad. I’m just playing victim.”
“Ben, I was just being a bitch, okay? I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.” He nods, looking at me. “I know you wouldn’t have said that if you knew what happened. I’m just a good punching bag.” He laughs. “Someone you can safely hit, and might I say you are really good at hitting me where it hurts.”
Taking another sip from the bottle, he glances around the apartment as if he’s suddenly aware of his surroundings again.
“What are the odds your stupid ex comes back to night?” he asks, focusing on me again. “How sober do I need to be?”
“You really don’t have to stay. I can handle him myself.”
“Maybe, but you shouldn’t have to. I won’t let you,” he adds more firmly. “Just let me be your white knight for tonight, okay? It would make me feel a little better about myself.”
“Okay.” I nod. “On one condition.”
“What are your terms?”
“Agree first.”
“No.” He laughs. “I don’t trust you.”
“Then leave,” I counter. Now it’s my turn to find a way to comfort him. To force him to stay instead of run, like all those times I did. And I have an idea how to pull us both out of the darkness. I just have to hope he is up for it. And that I can actually do it.
I don’t know what it is about his confession, but I feel extremely connected to him now.
Maybe it’s how it mirrors my own pain, or the way I know he can understand how I’m feeling, but his confession almost makes me feel better.
Less alone even. I don’t think I ever felt this close to someone who wasn’t Cameron before.
I may not even feel this close to Cameron.
A low sigh leaves his lips as he runs his hands through his hair. “I only agree if it isn’t you asking me to leave you alone after tonight or sex.”
“Hmm.” I tap my chin, studying him. “What if it’s sex adjacent?”
“You or me?” he asks.
“What does that mean?”
“Are you getting off, or am I?”
“Both is a possibility, but I was thinking I’d get off for a change.” I smirk down at him.
A flash of desire dances behind his eyes as he sits up. It’s like every ounce of pain just left his body. I wish I was able to do that. Maybe he will teach me.
“Baby, I’ve been wanting that for a while. I accept your terms. We have a deal.”
“You don’t get to get me off,” I say firmly.
“Wait, what?” he stutters. “Then what did you have in mind?”
“Help me. You can help me get myself off.” The mere thought of touching myself makes my body tense, but with his help, it might not be so bad.
“I can do that.” He nods as a grin spread across his face. “But I’m going to warn you.” He leans closer. “You might not be able to stop yourself from begging to have my mouth buried between your legs. Or my cock.”
And God, I hate to admit it, but he might be right.