Chapter 29

“Ray Vanquis wasn’t the only man to ever hurt me in that way,” I say quietly, with such fear that I can’t even open my eyes and see how he’s looking at me. He stiffens, unsure if he should say anything or move, still holding my hand in his. He can sense that my statement is something more than a random sentence. He knows I’ve decided to start talking about my past; he knows me well enough.

I reach over and cover his hand with mine; I gulp and take another steadying breath. Knowing it’s now or never, I decide I should get it all out before losing my courage.

“More than a dozen men in my mother’s life tried to abuse me, some a little more successfully than others.” My voice breaks, but I swallow down the urge to cry. This is so much harder than I ever imagined. Telling Jake, of all people, is the most devastating thing I’ve ever done. I don’t want to open my eyes; I don’t want to do this, but I know I must. If I’m ever to feel worthy of his love, then he must know all of what he’s trying to love. He needs the full picture so he can run if he wants to. He needs to see the dark side of me, the part I keep hidden away, and only then if he still loves me, will I genuinely believe that he can love me as much as I love him.

He doesn’t speak or move. I think he’s holding his breath in case any interruption stops me from going on, closing that door in his face again, like so many times in the past. My hands begin to shake with the effort of doing this, but he stays unmoving. My breathing gets shallower, and nausea swirls crazily up from my stomach.

“Some just managed to kiss me and touch me in places they shouldn’t have,” I say softly. “I was very young the first time, so young I didn’t understand; I just knew it felt horrible and wrong.” Tears begin trickling down my face, more from the shame of having to tell Jake than from the actual memories. I stopped crying over those men long ago. Breathing heavily and finding it painful to go on, I feel his forehead come to mine, grounding me a little, his own breathing shallow too. His thumb strokes my cheek, urging me to tell him finally; I swallow hard, my body trembling with the effort.

“Some hit me…kicked me; it wasn’t sexual with those, just violent. I saw them do things to my mother that I’ll never forget. Things no one should see, especially not a child.” I swallow bitterly as a lump rises in my throat, threatening to choke my voice. Images flicker through my brain, memories I had long ago ground down and put into a tight little box away from the light of day.

“Some tried to have sex with me, but I learned quickly to fight back. They didn’t like that and would leave me alone, but they tried. I still remember the feel of their hands on me.” I shudder heavily, and his grip tightens on mine, giving me the strength to continue. “By the time I was seven, I’d been groped and mauled so often that I felt sick when boys came near me in the street or at school. I became very introverted and extremely aggressive. I got kicked out of school many times for my behavior, lashing out, hitting boys…smashing things up. I had so much rage,” I sob as he pulls his hands away, wrapping them around me instead and tugging me against his chest to support me.

If I stop now, I’ll never have the courage again. If I let myself stop and think about what I’m telling him, I’ll never find this voice again…ever. These memories will only be driven down deeper inside of me, never to see the light again.

“Even when I was too young to know what sex was, I started sleeping with a baseball bat I bought with money from my paper route. I bought it because I knew the men wouldn’t stop coming, and I hated what they tried to do to me,” I continue slowly. “I ended up in protective services by the time I was eleven; a neighbor reported my mother’s boyfriend for beating her up, hearing the screams almost daily. You would think that losing me for a year to a horrendous life in a children’s home would change her, but I came back to exactly what I’d left behind.”

His thumb moves across my cheek, wiping away fresh tears, and I tilt my face into his touch. Still, he stays quiet and listens intently, barely making a sound.

“Somehow,” I continue, “being home was better than what I’d dealt with in that home; kids can be cruel, and the carers were just as abusive. So I learned to lie and hide what was going on at home as much as she did because I didn’t want to go back into protective services; it was awful. But the older I got, the more sexual the advances became. She has a knack, you see, for finding men who are all the same, perverted assholes with serious dominance issues and no qualms about using women as punchbags. I would fight back as hard as possible, but the first time I got properly beaten up, my mother wouldn’t take me to the ER because she knew I would be taken away again. I had to strap up broken ribs for weeks and pretend I was fine.”

I gulp down more sobs. My face is soaked, the sheet covering my breasts getting cold with dampness. Jake is still silent, breathing hard, gripping me so tightly it’s beginning to hurt, but I don’t care. I need him to hold onto me so I can find the strength to get it all out and done with, so we can move on from this. I can’t bear to look at him or see the rage in his eyes or the despair I can feel coming off him in droves. I need to keep talking and get it all out there.

“By the time I was eighteen, I was good at defending myself and her. I’d learned to use my anger effectively; I had so much of it, so much hatred inside of me. I would chase them out with my bat swinging. I would keep hitting until my arms ached with the effort. I smashed two of her boyfriends’ cars up to chase them off,” I say, a hint of pride coloring my voice. I shift position on the bed, pulling my legs out from under the sheets and stretching them out, sighing heavily.

“She would hate me afterward and make me leave to cool down. I would sleep rough for days because she wouldn’t let me come home until I apologized to them. Which meant returning to being abused one way or another.” I laugh sardonically, my “wonderful” mother and her screwed-up sense of parenting.

I pause for a moment before continuing, “Ray was the first to put me back down on my ass and show me I was no match for a man. He wanted me to have sex with him, and when I refused, he beat the crap out of me while trying to rape me. She came home and stopped it by smashing something on his head, knocking him out. He left, but she never forgave me.”

Jake tenses. He’s listening so intently, so silently, it’s unnerving me. His whole body emanates so much anger, sadness, and pain. I know, without looking, that fury will be the dominant emotion on his face right now; I can feel it.

I push on blindly, “She always treated me like I caused it, that it was my fault. I think Ray was the first man she’d ever fallen deeply in love with, and it blinded her in the craziest of ways; she couldn’t see what he really was. It was after Ray that I finally found the courage to run away with Sarah, to run away from her and what she kept doing to me. It’s why I never want to go back…to that house and the endless memories of things that went on. She wasn’t a real mother, Jake. I was the one who cooked and cleaned and took care of things, took care of her. She was so wrapped up in her affairs and relationships that it was like I was invisible. She didn’t want to know what these men were doing; she didn’t want to face it. She sure as hell didn’t try to save me.”

I sniff back my unshed tears before continuing, “I still dream of things that terrify me. When I’m not beside you in bed, they haunt me. You keep them away, make me feel safe, and stop the past from getting to me. You have no idea.”

I finally sag, and more tears fall down my cheeks. I try to calm my breathing and push it all back down inside. I feel like I’ve just let a monumental weight fall from my shoulders, but at the same time, I’m being crushed with panic about how Jake will react. I’m afraid to look at him, afraid to breathe.

“That’s pretty much a condensed version of everything you’ve ever asked me about,” I mumble so quietly it’s barely above a whisper, my head hanging in shame as I stare at the fingers I’m twisting together. It wasn’t a detailed outpouring, but it’s as much as I can handle. I don’t ever think I could give more.

“Emma?” His soft voice breaks, and I look up to see the devastation on his face, his furrowed brows and tear-filled eyes, the tightly clenched jaw holding back raw emotion. There’s nothing but agony in his eyes.

“Il mio tesoro, my treasure,” he whispers as he smooths his hand across my cheek, removing a fresh tear as it rolls slowly down my face.

“How can you love me knowing all that I am?” I mumble with so much conviction in my voice that I sound hoarse. He lets me go and for a second, fear grips my body, fear that he’s walking away, that he’s disgusted at me. As he moves back, putting distance between us, the panic overwhelms me, my eyes widening, but he shakes his head as though in answer, sliding his arms under me and pulling me to his lap. He wraps me in a proper embrace, torso to torso, stretching my legs around him, so we’re as close as humanly possible. With his hand cupping my jaw, the other around my back pulls me in so our faces touch. I slide my arms around his neck and relax into his embrace, although my eyes are still wide with apprehension, and my heart beats erratically.

“I want to find every one of those men, every single one, and kill them with my bare hands. I would serve life in jail for what I would do to them for hurting you, for touching you,” he growls, holding my face to his so we’re only a breath apart. “How can I not love you, Emma? Everything you’ve told me makes me love you more, and I want to protect you more fiercely. You’re an amazing woman—with your strength and your undying will to carry on despite it all! And after all of that, after everything those men showed you about themselves, you still found it inside of you to trust me, bambina…to fall in love with me, to let me touch you. You’ve no idea how immense that is; I’m in awe of you. You didn’t just survive, Emma. You built a life for yourself that completely transformed who you were so that no one would have ever guessed.”

His mouth comes to mine, pressing softly. “You’ve no idea just how amazing you are. I think I’ve just fallen in love with you all over again, il mio amore.”

His words cause so much bittersweet pain in my heart. Elation combined with a crushing, overwhelming ache. Not because his words have hurt me but because they are exactly what I’ve needed to hear after so long. They’re a healing balm, a tiny start at making me feel whole again.

I wrap myself around him, pushing my head against his chest, and listen to the sound of his heart beating faster than usual, his breath labored. My story has affected him physically. His body is tense. I know he’s mulling it all over, disgusted with what he’s heard, but not with me.

I always believed he would look at me like a slut or dirty whore if I told him, but he’s not. He’s looking at me like I’m a fragile, treasured piece of glass, and he wants to protect me. I close my eyes, lean against him, feel secure in his arms, and realize I’m no longer scared.

“It’s hard for me to talk about this stuff; it brings it all to the front of my mind and plagues me for a long time after,” I confess shamefully, unable to lift my voice above a breath.

“I don’t want that for you, but I’m so grateful you finally opened up to me. I know what it’s taken for you to tell me, and you’ve no idea how it makes me feel to know you trust me this much.” He lifts my chin to look at me deeply, his eyes cool green again, clear and bright, yet still so sad. “I finally understand why you shut me out anytime we got close, Emma. I get it. I’m sorry, bambina; I’m sorry that I was such an asshole and kept pushing you.” He’s melancholy, full of regret.

I don’t want him to feel that way. We’re here now; he came for me and changed everything. I needed his rejection to finally get me to this place where I could open up and let him in.

“You didn’t know, Jake. You couldn’t know. I was used to pushing things down, being alone, closing doors, and keeping people at arm’s length to protect myself.” I kiss him gently on the mouth. “It doesn’t matter anymore now. I’m here; you’re here; we both want the same thing. Erase the past…remember?” I hold his face with my fingertips so we can look into each other’s eyes, empowered suddenly.

“I remember,” he says, looking down and frowning; there’s so much emotion swirling in the depths of those eyes. “Some parts may be hard to forget, though. Those men will always be on my hit list, no matter how much time passes.” There’s an edginess in his tone, and I brush my fingers across his lips softly.

“Forget them…for me,” I breathe, “So, we can have a future without the past interfering.” He raises his head and, once again, locks his green eyes onto my cool blue ones.

“Does that mean you will marry me someday?” He smiles, his eyes glinting but still haunted by my confession. I can tell he wants to talk more, but he knows me; I’ve let it out, and now I want it left alone. There’s nothing more I want to say; I don’t want to be more specific; dig deeper into it.

“Maybe,” I tease, “When you learn how to ask me properly. I’m not one of your leggy bimbos, ready to drop their panties on command.” I pout, pretending to be upset and deflecting talk of marriage. I’m not ready for that whole mess of emotions yet; I’ve had no chance to consider a life with marriage in it.

The awkwardness is slowly dispersing; he smiles, pulling my chin down to kiss me seductively, his mouth effortlessly making mine surrender with tender fluttering kisses, then he pulls away.

“I’m pretty sure I get you to drop your panties on command, cara mia.” He strokes my face with his thumb, my tears all but gone. He’s steering the conversation away from my painful past to let me move on, but this new topic has me antsy. “As for asking you properly…I’m Italian, bambina; when I ask you, there will be fireworks and a floor show. Trust me…you won’t be able to refuse.”

That Carrero confidence! He already knows I’ll say yes, does he? I don’t even know if I want marriage just yet.

Pushing away everything I’ve told him, I wrap myself around him fiercely and return to the security of his strong body, shielding me from every bad thing I have ever faced alone.

“We’ll see,” I say, biting my lip through a smile, squealing when his frowning face dives in with tickling hands, hauling me down with him.