Sallinger, Elene - Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

Gently, he lifted one of her hands and smoothed out her fingers so he could take her hand in his.

‘Can you tell me about it?’ he asked. When she hesitated, he said, ‘Please.’

She didn’t know if she could tell him. She didn’t want to see his face change. To see the pity and have him begin to treat her differently. They all treated her differently after they knew.

‘Bridget, if you don’t feel comfortable telling me right now, that’s fine. I understand. We don’t know each other very well yet.’

There he went again with his compassion and willingness to let her take the lead. Squeezing his hand, she shook her head, which he mistook as an indicator that she didn’t want to talk and began to pull his hand away.

Squeezing it tighter, she took a deep breath and began, ‘I was in college.’ Letting go of his hand, she smoothed her capris and looked off into the distance as she continued. ‘I was returning some notes to a friend when a guy I’d been kind of flirting with invited me into his dorm room. I went in and the rest, as they say, is history. He raped me.’

There was more to the story. Infinitely more. But she just couldn’t go there. She’d never told anyone the full story. It was bad enough she had to live with it; she wasn’t going to allow anyone else to judge her for it.

Bridget jumped when Connor took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

‘I am so, so sorry that happened to you,’ he murmured against her skin.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘What happened to him?’

A wave of bitterness flooded Bridget.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ She pulled her hand from Connor’s and began to pluck at the blanket again. ‘I never told anyone.’

‘Why not?’

‘The same reason why so many women don’t say anything. I was ashamed. And I wasn’t willing to be vilified on the stand. So I just moved on.’

Shame coloured the bitterness, but she pushed it away. What was done was done.

Connor didn’t try to take her hand back, but he did move closer and put a gentle arm around her shoulder. She stiffened. Here it came. This was the part where he stopped looking at her like a woman and began to treat her like a victim.

The last thing she should be treated as was a victim, but how could she convey that to him without telling him everything? How could she get him to understand without losing his respect?

Every single time she’d told a man she dated about the rape it was like this. She went from being a sexy, desirable woman whom they could barely keep their hands off to a victim. Someone they treated like spun glass. Instead of embracing her and kissing the breath out of her, they kissed her like she’d shatter if they pressed too hard.

She may have been raped, but she was still a woman and she hated the way men treated her once they knew. She hated more, though, that there were some very real things she needed them to be aware of. It could be hard to have passionate, animal sex when she tensed every time they touched her neck, or they had to remember not to lie on top of her.

Each time, she eventually gave up. She’d lie quietly, doing her best to not react to anything they inadvertently did. They’d fuck her just as gently and she’d pretend to get off. Inevitably, the relationship would sour, distance would grow, and she’d amicably end their dalliance. All of her serious boyfriends were now happily married and she was going on her fifth year without any kind of meaningful relationship in her life besides her two best girlfriends.

She’d long ago given up on finding a man who could tread that fine line with her between truly uninhibited sex the way she fantasised and being mindful of her past. Connor brought out the deeply sexual woman in her. That much was obvious, but she highly doubted he’d be any different than the others now.

Back stiff as a rod, she waited for the inevitable.

Fury pumped through Connor’s veins. His hands itched to tear apart the bastard who’d hurt her. He hated men who preyed on woman. There were so many chicks who would fuck you willingly that it was completely uncalled for to take it from anyone. The evidence of the scars left behind was obvious.

Bridget was a gorgeous, dynamic woman who now sat as if she were about to be executed. That she had a scar like this to deal with enraged him as much for the shame he saw in her eyes as for the psychological damage that slimy bastard had clearly left behind.

Right now, she sat stiff as a board beside him and he was at a complete loss. Should he hug her? Should he leave her be? Take her hand? Kiss her? Scream out his frustration.

‘Bridget.’ He left his arm where it was.

‘Hmm?’ She still plucked at the damn blanket.

‘Look at me, will you?’

She looked at him and there was a wariness in her green eyes that hadn’t been there before. Dropping his arm, he moved back to lean against the tree trunk and couldn’t miss the disappointment and disgust that flashed across her face.

Frankly, it pissed him off. He may be sympathetic, but he’d also been kneed in the nuts and was now floundering in completely untried territory.

‘What was that look for?’

‘What look?’

‘The one you just gave me.’ He was beginning to sound belligerent and he didn’t like that. This woman got under his skin in the worst way.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She was looking everywhere but at him.

‘Yes, you do. You just looked at me like I was a bug and I want to know why. If we’re going to move forward, then I need you to talk to me.’

‘Move forward? What do you mean?’ Her head jerked up and the look of surprise on her face was almost comical.

‘What do you mean “what do I mean”?’ He blew out a rough sigh and held up a hand when she started to speak. ‘Let’s back this up a second before we begin to sound any more like two-year-olds.’ He smiled at her and she smiled back – a little too tentatively for his liking.

‘OK, what I’m saying is that you just shared with me something that had to be horrific and terrifying for you and that, frankly, has obviously left some lasting damage behind.’

She drew breath to speak and he held up his hand to stop her.

‘Let me finish,’ he said. She relaxed back, cocking her head to one side and looking very kittenish in her anticipation of what he’d say next. ‘I am unbelievably sorry that you experienced anything like that. But I am equally insulted that you would think that would change my feelings about you. I also don’t like the look you just gave me, as if I’d confirmed some suspicion you had.’

She flushed, confirming his notion that she’d been thinking exactly that.

‘If I’m being completely honest, I can barely comprehend what it must be like for you to have lived through that. I find myself flailing here because I want to handle this the right way, and frankly, beyond letting you know that I think you are remarkable and tough and strong. I really don’t know what to say, yet those words feel hollow compared to the scars you must carry.’

He took her hand again. ‘I want very much to get to know you, and what you’ve just shared with me doesn’t change that one bit.’

She gave him a tremulous smile and squeezed his hand, but her words did nothing to set his mind at ease. ‘Look. Don’t feel obligated. It’s OK. I don’t want you to be burdened with this. One of us dealing with it is enough. And, to be honest, I can’t deal with another man treating me like a victim.’

‘Why would I treat you like a victim?’ He refused to let go of her hand when she tugged on it while looking at him like he’d lost his mind.