I listen to his story, tears filling my eyes as I listen to his voice grow hoarse with emotion as he tells me about finding her hiding in the closet when his mom and he got to the house the party was being held at. They’d scooped her up and taken her to the hospital, filed a police report turning in the seventeen-year-old boy who had raped her.
He told me about the trial. How the boy had come from money and the best defense lawyer around.
How the judge had barely given him a slap on the wrist for what he’d done to his sweet Shelly, because he didn’t want to ruin the life he still had ahead of him.
They used the excuse to let him off easy because he was only seventeen, not legally an adult yet.
But Neil doubted, the way everything played out, that if he had been eighteen it would’ve been any different.
Shelly sank into a deep depression that became worse as the weeks went on, having to go to school and endure being in the presence of her rapist every day. And he couldn’t have just bowed out gracefully. Apologized to her for what he’d done. Or just left her the fuck alone about it, period. No, he couldn’t even pretend it didn’t happen for her sake. He gloated. He taunted her with the fact that he’d gotten away with what he did to her, going so far as to threaten to do it again, since she’d been such a good lay. He liked that she’d fought him instead of giving it up easy like all the rest of the girls did.
Of course, he never said any of this in front of Neil.
And Shelly never told Neil about it either.
Neil had no idea any of that was happening. He thought she was slowly trying to get better and heal, since she was going to a therapist specializing in sexual assault victims.
No, young, innocent Neil, the one who had already saved up half the money for the engagement ring he’d give his sweetheart when they’d graduate, who already had his acceptance letter to go to the same college as his girl so they’d never have to be apart, he found out all about the things Shelly kept secret… in her suicide note.
The tears are pouring down my cheeks as he tells me what happened to the girl he thought was the love of his life before. I kneel, sobbing at his feet, my forehead pressed to his fist between my hands as my pretty new shirt soaks up the ink from the pen he snapped in half as he listened to me rant about not feeling like I’m good enough, how I’d never be worthy of a man like him, as his worry about my self-deprecation and low self-esteem and my baggage grew, most likely thinking it would lead me to do something like his Shelly did.
“And that was the catalyst. That was the spark that set my life in motion. I’d planned to become a doctor, but after what happened with Shelly, I knew I needed to do something to help girls… women like her. So I became a psychologist and spent my life learning every technique to help heal those victims. Along the way, one of those techniques involved the BDSM lifestyle, using Dominance and submission to gain back their power.” He sighs, and I look up to meet his eyes. “But that’s not all, goddess. That’s not everything I need to tell you.”
I nod, urging him to go on, growing addicted to the feeling of learning things about Neil that no one else knows. I believe him now. I believe he feels I’m the love of his life; I’m not just a replacement. Because if he didn’t, why would he be telling me his deepest, darkest secrets?
“There was a patient. Up until her, I’d gotten lucky. All of them were success stories, healing and moving on with their lives. But then it happened again. She ended up committing suicide before I had a chance to help her. And there was no justice for her. Shelly killed herself; her attacker wasn’t the one who slit her wrists. This patient’s attacker wasn’t the one who filled her belly full of pills. But before all that, both of the rapists got away with it. Neither even did jail time. There was always an excuse. Age for the first, and then the second for inadequate evidence. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. These motherfuckers couldn’t keep getting away with what they were doing to these women. And so I formulated a plan.”
A sense of urgency fills me. Excitement at his words. I’m hooked, wondering what’s to come from his lips as he tells me this story that seems like one of those things that happens to someone else, but never to you. He’s telling me the story of how he became not only a psychologist, but also the creator of his amazing security team who saved my sister.