***
And so I had a peaceful night of sleep. All the horrifying memories of violent men, snarling creatures, and guns firing, coupled with futuristic visions of being killed by Tyre or worse, or of Adam being hung up like a prized animal finally hunted down, skinned, and put on display, completely disappeared. In fact, when I woke up, a rainbow was over my window, and various woodland creatures were poking their heads into my room as James informed me that the war was over because the Old Spirits and Adam had decided that we would just have to agree to disagree.
If that does not give away that I am being utterly facetious, then there really is no hope for you.
Not an hour after I had fallen back asleep, I was moaning, crying out that I would stop, that he was hurting me, that I would cooperate... In the dream, that man, Ray, was holding me down, and my pants were off. I was crying, and my tears brought me even more shame, despite the fact that I had thought it impossible to feel any more shame than what I felt now that I was being assaulted all over again. Still more shame was to come; when I cried out for Adam and James, a voice in my head scoffed at me in derision and taunted me with insults suggesting that I was weak and incapable of defending myself without the help of a big strong man...
Ray was growing bigger. First, his hands around my wrists grew, almost as though they had been pricked by the venomous stinger of a particularly nasty breed of bee and were swelling. But Ray did not look alarmed; he never lost the hungry look of violent lust that I remembered so vividly seeing in his eyes. In Michael, I had seen remorse, even if only once or twice. In Ray, I saw none; he wanted to not only assault me for the fun of it and to relieve his sexual aggression and his desire, but also, because he wanted every last inch of my dignity. Only after he had that would he stop. He did not know that he was thinking in those terms of measurement, meaning that he was determining the amount of time he would assault me by how long it took to steal away every last part of my pride. All he knew was that once he started, he would not want to stop after one time.
His height and weight had expanded greatly; he was the size of a Reaper. Fighting him only made him snap his fanged teeth at me. It only made him angrier, and as his anger grew, so did that dangerous lust...
I knew that I was dreaming, and in the back of my mind, I chastised myself for viewing my potential rapist as a monster, when that was so utterly childish. How many times in my childhood dreams had Michael's eyes turned black, or his teeth elongated and sharpened into fangs… How many times had he had bitten into me and drank my blood...
The blood of a virgin...
I remembered why I had never wanted to have sex. It was dirty. It was done by unclean people for unclean reasons. It required vulnerability and forfeit, absolute surrender. Force was part of it, even if one did not see it that way. The man forced himself in, and it was painful... Ray was hurting me... I was screaming... It felt like it had the very first time with Michael... That pain had nauseated me, and screaming so loudly, I had sworn that I would vomit... I had cried and begged, and I was crying and begging Ray...
I was awake, and this time, I was sweating, sobbing, and shaking violently in James's arms.
“I can’t breathe…” I gasped out, “I can’t breathe!”
My body jerked away from him by its own volition. My muscles were taut and throbbing, but I was going to force them to support me so I could get out of our room and make my way to the backdoor. But because I had slept, they had locked completely, and I collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap, every part of me stiff and painful. Not even a second after I hit the ground, James had scooped me up, and before I had even realized that he was carrying me, we were outside on our back porch. I breathed in the cold night air rapidly as newer, quicker, and more intense sobs gripped me. My entire body was convulsing from the terror that still held me in its suffocating grip.
“She's fine. I've got her.” I heard James saying far off in the distance, presumably to Violet and Alice, “Just stay there.”
He was still holding me, but my rigid legs wanted to run and my gasping lungs wanted to scream. So much adrenaline pumped through me, and it was not the motivational kind that drove us to fight like animals; this was the detrimental kind, the kind that released nothing but toxic speed into the bloodstream that would then jump-start the heart into a full blown panic attack.
“Come here. Come here.” James was saying gently, after I had stopped apologizing, I just sobbed hard into his chest. Then I was apologizing again, apologizing for waking him, for keeping him up, for being so hard to deal with, for keeping secrets, for being touched by another man, both against my will and voluntarily, by that man, Ray, and by Adam, respectively...
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He told me firmly. Slowly, and several times, he kissed my head. “Nothing, baby.”
He sat us down on the settee that was on our back porch. Violet handed us a blanket through the door but did not look out; she knew that I would never want her to see me in such a state. James covered us up, and I stayed pressed so firmly against him, crying still, but able to breathe normally again.
“I don't even know what to do. I always know what to do, but I don't now. I don't know how to stop thinking these things. I don't want to see those things anymore.”
“Shh... We're going to get you some help, baby.”
“No. No one can know about this! Not now, James. Not after Don asked me...”
“Baby...” He said in a voice of gentle insistence, “You've gotta see someone. And what did Don ask you?”
His tone had dropped slightly. He would tell me later about the proclivities our dearly beloved leader had, as if I did not already know; Don's mind was a disgusting place, full of the vilest fantasies. I was all about doing what made one happiest; after what we had survived, we deserved our freedom to all things, so long as they did not involve harm coming to ourselves or to others. Perhaps that is idealistic. Obviously, it is. Don took that little notion of freedom and blew it up into a doctrine of perversion that many others, I am sad to report, found not only acceptable, but pleasingly agreeable.
“He wants my help. He needs my help. I am sure you have heard about this.”
“I have, but I didn't believe that you agreed when they told me you had.”
“I did. It's just... I can't do it now. I'm so...” I stopped, not knowing what I wanted to say. Rather, I was afraid of the many words, all accurate, that I had wanted to add. Broken? Not in the way that they had intended, the way that would make me submit to them and their tyrannical ways. But was a part of me non-functional? Was my typical self suddenly disconnected, and replaced by this over-feeling, sniveling stand-in? Most certainly.
“I just want this to go away, James!”
“I know. I wish it was that easy, baby, but it's not.” He lifted my head so I was looking at him. “You have to talk to someone, and let them help you.”
“I'm not sick, and I'm not crazy, James!”
“I didn't say that you were.” He replied, with more than enough calmness for the two of us, thank God or the Gods. He kissed my forehead. “You're just a little...” He searched for a word to which I would not take offense, “…stressed because of what happened.”
“Can't I just tell you what happened?” I stopped, and shook my head, “No, I don't want to do that, either. I hate that Adam saw it. But he didn't see anything, because there was nothing to see. Nothing happened. I don't know why I'm letting myself get worked up over this! Nothing happened. He didn't do it. He couldn't, because Rich got mad and stopped him. So, why am I acting this way?”
“What happened, baby?” He pressed me gently, “Whatever it was, you can tell me. I know it had to have been the Old Spirits. You said as much.”
“Just like with Michael, it didn't make a difference.” I was murmuring to myself now, barely hearing his voice. All the hard work it took to comprehend that fear I had known at such a young age was being repeated, and I remembered clearly, painfully, why it had been
so easy to become lost in those stupors. There was just too much information; there was too much to be mentally fretted over and not understood, because no matter how intelligent I was, or if I racked my brain to the point of physical exhaust, I would never be able to understand.
There is no understanding those who cause harm for pleasure. Many will say differently, but even the educated guesses are baseless. I know a thing or two about darkness, as you might have heard. But there is just no understanding past a certain shade, past the point of total black.
“I want to help you, baby.” He told me, and his voice had lost some of its calmness to be replaced by almost indiscernible pain, pain that he was feeling on my behalf. “I can't do that unless you tell me what happened.”
I looked at him, my cheeks still wet from the tears that were falling without the aid of my hysterical sobs pushing them from my eyes. I imagine I must have looked like some spectral, sobbing ghost of lore, with my skin that just would not regain the faint rosiness that had once always clung to my cheeks and lips, and the dark circles that obviously could not be erased by the pitifully scarce and tumultuous sleep I was getting.
“It's not as bad as what you're thinking. It's not as bad as what I'm making it.” I added very bitterly. “You should not even be indulging me right now.” I swiped at my eyes. “I'm being ridiculous.”
“You mean to suggest that the hysterical crying, jumping out of bed, screaming in your sleep, trying to run outside—that’s all just you being dramatic? You're just having a bad day?”
“Did you truly just engage me in reductio ad absurdem?
“Yes, ma'am, I did.” He replied, with a proud grin that I could not help but return, however slightly.
“You are growing far too clever, James Maxwell. Soon, you will surpass even me.”
“Nah; I'm only able to use such techniques because you're sick now. Which is why we need to get you better, Brynna Olivier.” He kissed my hand, “We can't have me getting too confident in my intellectual abilities, now can we, my love? My love, my love, my love…”
I beamed brightly, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth suddenly. His smile widened, too, as he moved towards me to kiss me quickly.
“Certainly not. However, I think all I need is some time to just...” I stopped and shook my head. “No, all I need is to get to work. I need to have something to occupy my mind. Everything is fine.” Somewhat randomly, my arm jerked over, and I squeezed his hand. “I'll be fine, James. I am just tired. I'm just very, very tired.”
“I know you are, but you can't keep denying that something is...”
I leaned over and kissed him.
“I just want to move on from it. I don't want you to know, not because I think you'll look down on me or because I am afraid that you'll react badly and go after those responsible. I just don't want you to have to feel this for me, when I know that you would. I can see that now, looking at you. You're feeling this for me.”
He turned to me and put both of his hands on my face. For a long time, he looked at me, before he finally replied.
“Of course I feel this for you. But don't you remember what I told you? It's alright to let me carry some of it for you. That's my job, Brynna. And it's not just something that I'm supposed to do. It's something that I want to do.”
“And if the situation were reversed, I would want the same. I would want for you to tell me, so I could help you. I would feel pain for you. But I can't tell you now. It's not you. It's just... I don’t even want to say this…”
“Say it, baby. Just say it.”
I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes, thinking that if they were pointed skyward, the tears would somehow be absorbed before they could fall. I was wrong about that, so within a second, my hands were flying up to wipe the tears that were streaming down my cheeks away.
“I'm so ashamed of it, James. I blame myself, and maybe that's wrong. But it's not just the typical things, like I should have fought harder, or I should have shot them when I had the chance. It's things like, I deserved it because of Lucien, because I hadn't tried harder to save Maura, because of what I would do later with Adam... What almost happened was payment for something. It's like it was a debt that had to be paid for something. I just don't know for what...”
“It wasn't. Whatever it was, I know that it wasn't your fault. And it wasn't compensation for anything. Brynna, don't do that to yourself. Don't torture yourself. After everything, you don't deserve that.”
“It's not as bad as what I'm making it out to be. When I finally tell you, you're going to think I have blown this completely out of proportion. It is not nearly as bad as what I am making it out to be.”
With one hand, I grasped his face, running my thumb over his stubble that had begun to turn into a beard. Despite all the stress of the evening, I smiled when I looked at him. After I had kissed him, I swung my legs over his lap and laid my head on his chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around me, and he sat back, running one of his hands up and down my thigh almost absentmindedly. We were quiet, listening to the sounds of the forest at night. Once, when I looked up at him, I saw that he was observing the sky, looking puzzled. Though I knew that he would be irritated if he knew I had done it, I peeked into his mind.
Because I had alluded to things, however discreetly, he knew the whole story. Just from reading my cryptic little mutterings, he knew that the abuse I had suffered had been physical and nearly sexual. He knew that the man had not succeeded in being able to rape me but that he had come close. More importantly than him knowing all of that was the fact that he did not, in any sense, believe that I was being overly dramatic. Exactly against my wishes, he felt sympathy and regret. Thankfully, he didn't pity me, or I might have stormed away in a self-righteous huff. His regret was that he had not been there to stop it, not that he could not leave immediately to hunt down those responsible, which had been my other fear.
I looked up at him and kissed him again.
“I don't know why, but I love you more right now than I ever have. And I didn't even think that was possible.” I told him.
He smiled, and with his lips, he caressed my own, and with his hand, he continued to rub my thigh.
“And I love you, too. It crept up on me, but here we are; it gets stronger every day.”
“It crept up on you? Your love for me crept up on you?”
“Of course it did.” He grinned his mischievous smile that told me he was going to make a joke he found to be particularly clever and entertaining. I rolled my eyes and could not fight the smile that formed in response to his. “'I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.'”
“Pride and Prejudice!” I exclaimed positively gleefully, and he laughed raucously. “How did you remember that?”
“Funny story: First, I read it in college. I took a lot of literature classes, if you can believe it. Perhaps I knew one day I would meet you, the book maven.”
“Perhaps you did.”
“Second, while we were traveling from the city to here, a Pangaean girl was carrying a bunch of books in her book-bag. One of them was Pride and Prejudice, and while I hated it most vehemently in college...”
“Blasphemy!”
“Yes, I know. However, I picked it up begrudgingly, and actually started reading it to Penny. She likes the word 'prejudice,' but she doesn't like what it means.”
“Did you explain the term to her?” I asked.
“I did. I said that it was when people are mean to other people for silly reasons, mostly when the other people are different in some way from the first group of people. Is that a suitable elementary definition, do you think?”
“It most certainly is. Very good job, my love.”
“Well, thanks. So, I started reading it to her, and she fell asleep very quickly.”
I laughed at that.
“But I finished it over the three days. Mostly out of boredom, but also because I knew that when you got back, I was going to stun you with my knowledge of the book, and you were
going to forgive me immediately for all that I had done. That is how I pictured it going down, ideally. Of course, I knew that it wasn't going to be that easy.”
“No, but it is over now, and we are moving on with our lives together. That is all that matters.”
“You're right.”
“And you have made me stop crying. I have discovered that when I cry, it is very hard to stop. But you have helped me do that, so thank you.”
“Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?” He asked.
“Probably not. Honey...” I lifted my head and looked at him, “You don't have to stay up with me. I'll be alright. Do you still have that copy of Pride and Prejudice?”
“Would I give that away before you had a chance to devour it in an hour? I think not, my love.”
I giggled and planted yet another quick kiss on his lips.
“Of course not. You can sleep, and I will read. It has been a disturbingly long time since I have been able to do that. Goodness, the last books I read were Tender is the Night and Sorcerer’s Stone, and that was back when we had first arrived at the house.”
“I'm not going to sleep while you're up.”
“If I need you, I will shake you awake.”
His face contorted into a grimace that asked me who I thought I was kidding. Innocently, I smiled and began to stand up slowly, only to find my muscles locked in place.
“Stretch them out slowly.” James told me, and very gently, he grasped one of my legs and extended it to its full length before doing the same to the other. He squeezed my thigh, his brow furrowed in concentration, and when I jumped, startled by the pain the slight constriction of his fingers brought to my muscles, he apologized.
“You're so tense, I'm surprised you even got that far when you tried to stand. Your stubbornness completely overrides everything, even feeling pain. I know you're having trouble with your neck and shoulders, but it's all the way down in your legs.”
“Everything hurts, but you're right; I'm too stubborn to sit still and too determined not to feel anything. Of course, it is becoming more and more difficult to ignore.”
“Which is why you need to sleep.”
“Sleep is the last thing I need. It will worsen the stiffness of my muscles if I sleep.”
“Then I'll give you a massage in the morning. And while I'm giving you a massage, I am going to talk you into taking one of the muscle-relaxing leaves that Dr. Terry sent home with me.”
“And I will not listen.”
He was helping me walk back to our room now.
“Then I will withhold my massaging skills.”
“You will not.”
“I will not. You are right.”