“Was I in it?” he prodded.
“Yes,” she ground out.
Progress—he noticed the rise and fall of her chest becoming more pronounced and he could see the resentment burning in her face.
He took one small step closer, swallowing the lump in his throat and threw all of his chips on the table. “What was I doing to you?” he asked lowly.
A breath escaped her like a hiss, her eyes met his furiously. Instead of answering that time, she flung herself at him, pulling her fists back and letting loose as she slammed them as hard as she could against his chest.
He hadn’t been braced for it so he stumbled back a step, but managed to regain his balance and brace for another round.
The round didn’t come. Instead when he looked at her, she turned away, her hands pressed against her mouth as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Yes, you should have,” he stated. “Get it out.”
“No. I…” She spun around to face him, her frustration clear. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I’m not going to stop you,” he said simply.
Willow shook her head. “I just… It isn’t fair. I don’t want to feel this way, but then when I’m alone and I remember, I’m so angry.”
“Tell me about it,” he prompted gently, thinking maybe he had pushed far enough.
Still, she shook her damn head.
“I can handle it, Willow. You’re angry? Be angry. Tell me. Show me. Hit me if it’ll make you feel better, give me all you’ve got. I’m the one who hurt you, I’m the reason you feel like this, so fucking hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Why not?” He wanted her to let the anger out before it consumed her, turned against her. Once more, he took a step closer, squaring his shoulders and using his size to subtly remind her that he was more powerful than she was. “I hurt you, Willow. I raped you. I forced you—”
With something like a growl, she came at him again, slamming her hands against his chest, not just once that time, but repeatedly. He nearly lost his balance again, but managed to stay upright as she pounded her fists against his chest, emitting sounds of raw frustration with each strike.
She had more violence in her than he expected; he was definitely going to have bruises, but he let her keep going until she ran out of stamina, her breathing heavy and her eyes wet. He could feel her weakening with each swing, and she finally stopped altogether, her hands still on his chest, but her energy spent.
Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her—only one so that she could get away from him if it was the wrong thing to do. Dissolving into tears, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and he tentatively brought his other arm around her, fully embracing her.
He didn’t say anything else. Merely held her while she cried, hoping that it helped her at least in some small way.
After a few minutes, still with her face buried in his chest, she murmured, "I'm sorry...."
"Don’t be," he said, lightly rubbing her back. Then, pulling back a couple inches, he added, "I want you to tell your counselor the truth. Tell her everything."
Glancing up at him uncertainly, she shook her head. "I can't. I don't want to get you in trouble."
"You won't," he stated. "Everything you tell her is safe, you're protected by confidentiality. The only thing she would be allowed to break confidentiality for is if you wanted to hurt yourself or someone else. You can tell her the truth, all of it, she can't tell anyone."
"I don't know... she would still know. What if she saw you somewhere?"
"That's not your problem," he told her. "I don't want you to keep all this anger inside, Willow. It isn't healthy, it’s… poison. You'll never feel better that way."
Offering a watery smile,
she said, "I feel better right now. Maybe we should just meet and I can beat you up every night."
Cracking a smile, he replied, "I think therapy might be healthier—for both of us."
She nodded, trying to wipe at the tears on her face with the shoulder of her dress, since she still had her arms wrapped around him.