“You’ve told me a lot about what you said to Mitch. How about what you were feeling during the actual act of the rape,” Bonita instructed.
I thought about it for a moment.
“It wasn’t ‘traumatizing,’” I decided on finally. “I mean, it was awful, don’t get me wrong. It didn’t hurt, though. Not the actual r-rape. It was the fact that I was scared, and the fact that he was doing it in front of so many people that really made it so awful.”
I took a shaky breath and said what I had to say next, knowing that it was going to make Miller hate me.
“I liked it though. I had an orgasm,” I said quietly. “I deserved to be treated that way after all of the depraved things I admitted to him in the car, on the way to church. I’m so fucking gross I can’t stand it. Then, here I am wanting to have sex four days after I was raped. What does that make me?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. I did it for her. “A slut, that’s what.”
I could see Miller move out of the corner of my eye, and then he was on his knees in front of me. His big palms cupping either side of my face. “That’s just bullshit, and you know it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. The first time you said no, and we know you said no, because we could see you as well as hear you.” I flinched at the fact that they could all see me, but Miller continued as if he never even felt the flinch. “The first time you said no, that should’ve been it. No one deserves to lose that right. Everyone has the right to say no. Everyone. Man, woman, and child.”
“As for liking stuff like that, who fucking doesn’t? Nobody wants a boring man in bed. You need chemistry to keep a relationship alive. It’s also possible to force an orgasm. To make a woman feel like she’s enjoying it. That’s just the body’s biological response to a stimulus. It’s what makes a rapist feel ten feet tall. Humiliating you was what he craved,” Miller snarled.
I blinked at the vehemence in his voice. The power behind his words. The absolute truth in them.
“He’s right, dear. Everything he’s said and more. That’s a way for the man to feel justified in doing what he did. If you enjoyed it, then he could say what he was doing wasn’t bad. He forced you to orgasm. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to move on. Nothing at all. That’s called moving on. Not dwelling on the past, something you can’t change no matter how much you wish you could. Some people it takes months, or years. But the lucky ones…the ones that have the support of a man, like the one on his knees in front of you, or a loved one that’ll help them through, those are truly the fortunate ones. The ones that can get past their fears and have a good life again,” Bonita whispered fiercely.
It was then that I realized that Bonita, too, had suffered at the hands of a man. That she’d been raped just like I’d been.
She was right. Rape was rape.
If I said no, than that constituted rape. In all fifty states.
Then, I felt like something lifted from my chest. I wasn’t fixed, but I was on the way. All it would take was time.***An hour later, as Miller and I walked into the local diner called Catfish Charlie’s, I wasn’t so sure about feeling better. In fact, I was worse. Much, much worse.
I’d deliberately not gone out into public since everything had happened.
After talking with the therapist for another hour, and then telling Miller that I was scared to go out by myself, he decided we should try it out.
“No one will say a fucking word to you. I promise,” Miller declared as he held the door open for me to walk through.
I went, albeit reluctantly, but he stayed close to my back.
So close that I could feel his heat along my back.
His hand was resting at the small of my back as we walked up to the hostess station where Jeaniene stood, looking at me with sympathy.
I’d give her credit, though. She didn’t say a word as she seated Miller and me, then took our drink orders.
Miller chose to take the seat beside me instead of on the opposite side.
Effectively pinning me in, protecting me, and shielding me away from prying eyes all at the same time.
“Smooth,” I said, patting his arm.
He grinned down at me and asked, “So, what’s good at this place? I’ve never been before.”
I blinked. “You’ve never been to Catfish Charlie’s before? It’s practically a historical marker in Kilgore. Even the out-of-towners know this place. How long have you been here again?”
“A year,” he rumbled, perusing the menu with exuberance.
I snorted. “Why haven’t you been here?”
He shrugged. “They have a fishing bait that’s used for catfishing named Catfish Charlie. I didn’t think a restaurant could be very appealing, seeing as it’s named after that shit.”
I smiled. “It’s really good. Don’t let the name fool you.”
He grunted. “Only for you, Mercy Me, will I risk my health to eat in a restaurant that’s named after something that uses ground up fish guts and blood to make their product.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and looked down at my menu, even though I already knew what I wanted.
The table in front of me shifted, and I looked up to see Brock, one of the men that worked for me, sitting down opposite us.
He wasn’t alone, either. Porter and Maine were with him.
Porter took a seat next to Brock, and Maine pulled up a chair from another table without asking the occupants.
They gave him a look, but didn’t say a word. Mainly because Maine was about two inches shy of six and a half feet and built like a scary motherfucker.
That’s what Porter and Brock said, at least.