18. Chapter 18
LONDYN
I JUST SLAMMED THE DOOR in Sean's face after book club, which wasn't the nicest thing to do, and now I'm standing here frozen.
My body is humming and vibrating. I have no idea what to do, so I return to the couch and collapse on it, pulling my knees to my chest. My gaze drifts upward to the small black dome on the ceiling.
I need privacy to sort through everything. Real privacy.
After grabbing my phone, I flee to the bathroom. I immediately call Raven as I sit on the edge of the tub. The call connects but goes to voicemail after four rings. I don't leave a message and just hang up. Then I check the time: she's probably at work. Damn.
I'm about to get up to go journal when she sends a message.
Raven: Break in ten. Call soon, luv!
Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds of sitting with this tornado of confusion and desire and fear all spinning together in a body I don't think can hold it.
I pace the small bathroom, counting the tiles and tracing grout lines with my eyes.
Anything to anchor myself to something solid while my mind creates scenarios of what if, what if, what if.
Finally, my phone screen lights up with Raven's name. I answer before the first ring finishes.
"Hey!" Her face and freckled cheeks appear, surrounded by sunshine and the busy background of her restaurant's outdoor seating area. Her gray server's uniform is crisp and stark against the deep blue sky. "How are you?"
"Terrible."
I'm hit with that distinctly Aussie "Naur!" then her face strains like she's been punched and she says, "Tell me everything."
I feel guilty for making her so worried, so I clarify. "I mean, not terrible . Um, more like surprising. Everything is okay. I'm safe. I'm not hurt. I'm only emotional and confused. Not sure what to do with myself."
She relaxes a little. "Okay. So what happened?"
I lean against the wall, searching for words that won't sound childish. "I… I think Sean is a hottie." Okay, that sounds juvenile. "Like, I'm suddenly very into him."
She laughs at first, thinking I'm teasing her, until she notices how completely freaked out my expression is.
Then her eyes blow out cartoonishly wide and her jaw drops.
"Lonny!" she squeals. "You moved from cutie to hottie?
" She lowers her voice, glancing around to make sure her coworkers aren't eavesdropping.
"Do you think you want to try… you know. "
Her gentleness warms my heart. In all our conversations about my assault, she's never pushed or dismissed me. She's never treated my trauma as something to 'get over.' And she's careful when talking about it.
"I don't know." My fingers tug at a loose thread on my sleeve, unraveling it like my thoughts.
"What I think I want and what I can handle are so different.
I wanted to try dating, but could I handle that?
No. I thought about Sean kissing me, but in reality?
I could just have a meltdown on the poor guy. "
Raven's expression softens, the bronze of her skin catching the light as she leans closer to her phone, creating an illusion of intimacy across thousands of miles. "Have you told him what happened to you?"
"Of course not. That's such a tough conversation."
"Well, I don't know, love. Try not to rush."
"That's the problem." I press my palm against my sternum, feeling my heartbeat against my hand. "My body is going nuts. I've never felt such a strong pull for someone. I feel out of control."
"You can handle this. I know you can. But what matters is what you think you're ready for. You don't need to do anything."
"I know."
Underneath everything, I'm just so damn tired. I'm tired of living in the shadow of what happened. Tired of The Director haunting me, continuing to steal pieces of me that are rightfully mine. My sense of safety. My confidence. My sexuality. My right to feel desire without having a panic attack.
I picture myself four years from now. Ten. Will I still be hiding in baggy clothes? Still flinching when an attractive man looks my way? Still letting The Director influence what I feel, who I can be?
I hate that thought.
I want more freedom than this half-life I've constructed. I might never again feel that carefree confidence of moving through the world without scanning for danger. But there must be a middle ground between constant hypervigilance and reclaiming the parts of myself that were taken.
Sean isn't the man who violated me. He isn't Marcus. He's not like men who've made me feel small or unsafe or used.
He's sweet. He sees my anxiety and doesn't dismiss it. He dyed his hair blue just so I could look at him without being triggered.
Would he understand if I told him everything? The full, ugly truth?
Or does that cross too many boundaries? A bodyguard isn't supposed to get that close.
"I want to… explore," I finally tell Raven. "I can't keep living like this. I need that part of myself back." My fingers trace circles on the cool bathroom counter. "Or, I want to discover myself for the first time. But, he is my hired security."
She cocks her head and gives me a pinched look. "So?"
I scoff at her because I know she's a rule-breaker. " So , it's… well, you're just not supposed to do that."
"Says who?"
"Bosses. What if I get him fired?"
She shrugs. "Only if those bosses find out."
I guess she's right. I also don't know who his bosses are. Does he check in with someone at NexaProtect? Or since he's 'elite' do they just trust him to do his job?
"Hey, love," Raven says, moving even closer so I can practically see her nose hairs. "I want you to explore too. And have loads of fun. But I worry about you going too fast. Is there a way to test it? Try a little bit and see how it goes?"
"Like what?"
"Nothing big. Touch his arm next time you're having a yarn. Stand closer than normal. See how he responds, but more importantly, see how you feel. If you get panicky, back off. If it feels good, do a little more."
I blink at my reflection. My stunned, blank eyes show me I'm still deep in processing mode. "That makes sense. Go slow. Test the waters. See if I can handle even that much."
"Yah got it. Baby steps. You've come so far, and I'm so proud of you. But there's no rush, yeah?" Someone calls to her from offscreen, and Raven glances over her shoulder. "Sorry, break is over. Update me soon, 'kay?"
"I will. Thank you."
She winks and the call ends.
Silence rushes in to fill the vacuum left by her sunny presence. I set my phone down and just stare at my reflection for a while.
Baby steps. That makes sense, and I can definitely do that.
The major problem is that those steps lead somewhere, and if I dig deep and really explore my emotions, there's a fear I haven't yet acknowledged. It runs deeper than my concerns of freaking out or pushing myself too far, too fast.
He won't want me.
Let's say I test the waters and everything goes well. Let's say we kiss and I enjoy it, and I let his hands explore, and I don't feel uncomfortable or triggered. Let's say we cruise on past second base and start taking off clothes.
That's when everything will stop and I'll get rejected.
Sean won't want to see me naked. If I show him everything, I can't imagine him wanting to be intimate after that.
I start undressing in the bathroom, watching myself in the mirror, as I try to imagine how Sean might react if we ever make it this far.
His hand will tease the hem of my shirt, inching up to get closer to my bra.
But I'll stop him, pushing his hands down.
"Not yet," I'll say, wanting to enjoy his touch just a bit longer before he's too disgusted to continue.
He'll give me that sexy, lopsided smirk and tease the hem of my jeans instead. He'll undo the button. Unzip. I'll wiggle out of them and expose my panties. That's all fine. It'll be fine even if my panties come off.
He'll be eager by then, sliding his fingers through my folds.
Exploring, teasing, enjoying. I'll enjoy it too.
There's plenty of fun to have with just my panties off, and maybe that'll be enough.
Or maybe he'll want more. Maybe he'll want to run his tongue over my nipples and pull moans from my throat.
Somehow, my shirt will come off.
He'll stop cold and everything will end and I'll see that look of horror and "I changed my mind" in his gaze.
My heart will disintegrate.
As I watch myself in the mirror, I slip off my top. I stare at the seventeen red lines that cover my stomach and sides. Then I twist so I can glimpse the two wider and longer red slashes on my back.
Seventeen cuts from a blade.
Two long whip marks.
The Director didn't just leave internal scars.