Chapter Eleven #2
“Ahhh, that’s very sweet of you. But do you really think anyone’s going to listen to a woman complaining about being assaulted months later, when it’s just her word against his? When she didn’t say no, didn’t scream? When she agreed to meet him for lunch?”
His jaw clenches.
“It’s my fault, and—”
“Don’t you dare say that,” he says hotly, getting to his feet. “Don’t you dare say it’s your fault.
I get up, too. “Keep your hair on. I’m trying to say that it’s my fault for not being more experienced and knowing what is and isn’t acceptable in a relationship.”
“It doesn’t matter if he was your first or your twenty-first, it’s not your responsibility to govern his behavior. Rule number one of being a man—a real man—is understanding when to stop.”
His endearment warms me. I love how fiercely protective he is.
“Is this you being bossy?” I ask.
He meets my eyes, and obviously realizes I want to lighten the mood, because his lips curve up. “Maybe.” He leans over and picks up our water bottles, and brings mine back to me. We both flip the tops and have a drink, while watching each other.
“Did I shock you?” I ask. “By saying he was my first?” I’m twenty-six, and he knows that I only went out with Dom for three years, so it’s clear I was a virgin until I was twenty-three.
“A bit,” he confesses. “It’s unusual, in this day and age.”
I pick at the label on the bottle. “I was very shy when I was young, and my brothers were protective of me. While I was at university, I was hyper-focused on getting good grades. I didn’t go out much. I graduated and started work, and then I met Dom, and so he’s all I’ve ever known, really.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You deserve better.”
I sigh. “Well, anyway, I’m going to use the treadmill. Thanks for the lesson this morning. It makes me feel better, to learn how to defend myself.”
“I understand. I’m happy to help.”
I nod, go over to the treadmill, and start running.
I thought I might regret confessing to him, but surprisingly, I feel lighter of heart.
I’ve never told anyone that before. Certainly not my parents or brothers.
Not even a therapist. I’ve tried to push it out of my mind because I thought it was my fault.
Partly, anyway. I’m still not sure that Luke’s insistence that none of the blame rests with me is true, but I’m touched that he was so defensive of me.
I like his attitude toward women. And his declaration that he wants to teach me how to have control over how close a man gets to me was the perfect thing to say. I don’t want to feel like a victim. I want to feel empowered. And it’s nice to have found a way to do that with a guy I feel safe with.
*
Luke
I watch Aurelia on the treadmill, her ponytail swaying from side to side as she runs, and take deep breaths to calm my racing heart.
I feel nauseous after her confession. It’s not her fault. I’m glad she felt able to talk to me. But I can’t believe what she’s been through with Dominic.
Jesus, the things women put up with. I find it hard to stomach that they think unless they scream the house down, they’re somehow guilty of giving the guy permission to abuse them. I don’t know how to make her understand how wrong she is.
I didn’t do anything to her that she didn’t want done. Mostly.
Christ. I put down the weights I’ve been using and lower heavily onto a nearby stool. I’m not concentrating, and I’m likely to do myself or someone else some damage if I don’t calm down.
Marcus told me she’d learned to wrap guys around her little finger, and that she used her womanly wiles to get what she wanted. I gave her the codename princess because I thought she was spoiled and privileged.
Instead, I’m discovering that beneath the sassy exterior is a quiet, vulnerable girl who prefers to stay in, eat pizza, and watch TV than go to flashy parties.
A girl whose limited experience has taught her to be afraid of speaking up in a relationship, presumably because Dominic made her feel bad for objecting to any of his desires.
I sink my hands into my hair and sit there for a moment. I should have stayed in the army.
“You okay?”
I look up to see Aurelia standing before me. Her face is flushed from her run, and she wipes the sweat from her forehead with a towel.
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous.
“Have I broken your brain?” she asks, sitting on the stool beside me.
That makes me laugh. “A little.”
“I’m sorry.”
I smile. “Not your fault.”
She tips her head to the side, curious. “You’re genuinely bemused by all this aren’t you?”
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and study my hands.
“Do you still want to train me?” she asks softly. “I’ll understand if you don’t.”
I look at her, surprised. “Of course.”
She looks relieved. “I thought I’d scared you off.”
“Not at all. No woman should be scared. I want to help.”
“Okay.” She smiles. “I’m going up to get changed.”
“All right. I’ll meet you down by the car at seven thirty.”
She nods, gets up, and walks out.
I have about fifteen minutes before I need to get in the shower, so I climb on the treadmill and start running, pushing the speed up so I’m working hard. This is just a job, I tell myself desperately. Nothing more. I need to keep my emotions out of it, or else I’m going to end up hurt again.
I’m tired of being hurt. Tired of feeling as if my emotions have been trampled by a herd of stampeding buffalo.
I took this job because I thought it would be quiet and rather dull, and I was convinced I’d be able to keep my distance from a spoiled brat, and that I’d have no trouble avoiding her attempts to manipulate me.
Instead, her bright spirit, gentle teasing, and quiet vulnerability are breaking me down piece by piece. But she’s still my principal. I still have to keep her safe. That’s my only concern right now, and I have to make sure I don’t stray from it.