“I don't think so...” But then I remembered. Jumping in my bed, and moaning in pain from my shoulder down, I remembered. “I heard him say a name! I don't know what he said exactly though. I don't know because everything is blurry, but I think I heard him say Perry. Oh my god, I think he said something about Perry.”
“Who's Perry?” She asked still writing quickly but looking up at me.
“He owns the art gallery in the village. I met him last month. He had my paintings and I bought them, and he was a total asshole to me, but I don't think it was him, 'cause the guy was big enough to weigh down my whole body and still push my head down, but Perry is all wimpy and skinny, and he seemed gay, too, so he wouldn’t do this,” I almost laughed.
“Okay. You heard something 'Perry'. Can you think of anything else?”
“No...”
“Now, what about Peter Connor? You've mentioned him a few times, and-”
“It was NOT Peter. Peter is my ex-boyfriend, and I think he's a cop, or in the military, and I would know Peter anywhere, especially if we were together. It wasn't him, but I thought it was when I was sleeping, and that's why...” I choked.
“You had an orgasm,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yes...” I moaned. “I’m such a slut,” I shook as I cried in both pain and embarrassment.
“Sophie... You're not a slut. And you are not the first victim who had an orgasm while being raped. Yes, it's rare because the act is typically very violent, but from what you've described, your assailant began while you were sleeping, and you didn't realize what was happening, but once you did, it was no longer an act of pleasure for you but of force, right?”
“But who does that? What kind of woman gets off with a rapist?”
“A woman who was confused by the circumstances she suddenly found herself in, in her own room, while sleeping, unaware of the reality of her situation.”
“I guess... But I feel like a pig. I got off and I enjoyed it.”
“Until you didn't...”
“Right,” I nodded. “Until I knew something was wrong. Then I tried to fight him, but he was too strong for me.”
“That's right. You fought him as best as you could until he hit you a few times and fled the scene.”
“Yes, that's what I did. I fought him once I knew it wasn't Peter. I didn't like it and he was hurting me, and I tried to breathe, and I tried to fight it. Thank you. You're good at this, Detective Dent,” I gave a little smile.
“I'm not good, I'm being honest. You did nothing wrong, Sophie. And you need to remember that as you recover. This was a violent act done to you, not done with you. Do you see the difference?”
Nodding slightly, I did see the difference. Staring at her I still felt dirty, but suddenly a little less so.
“Do you know Peter Connor?” I asked desperately.
“No. Does he work out of this city?”
“I think so.”
“Would you like me to try to find him? Do you want me to have him get in touch with you?”
“Yes, please,” I begged. I wanted Peter to help me so badly, it was like another pain in my body.
“How did he get in?” I suddenly thought to ask.
“We don’t know for sure, but we believe through the kitchen window, because there was no other point of entry. When Officer Dolby arrived you were behind your locked door, and we found a small blood sample on the kitchen floor, but otherwise, there was no other entry. And considering how far your bedroom is from the kitchen, I doubt you would have heard him entering the kitchen even if you had been awake.”
“Oh... What do I do?” I asked scared.
“I would recommend a security alarm because you're on the ground floor of a building with lots of coverage and places to hide. Almost every window in your apartment has the ability to hide an intruder, plus the courtyard offers zero protection on your bedroom/bathroom side. I, myself could see right into your bathroom from the tiny gaps in your blinds,” she said as I gasped.
“I didn't know that. I never knew that. I thought the blinds were perfect when closed. I thought I was covered. Oh god, people could see me use the bathroom, or even naked in the shower? I didn't know.”
“No one knows until it's pointed out. Please, I'm just trying to help you, not scare you.”
“I know, but...” I was still shaken.
There was nothing safe anymore. I had been beaten up and raped in my own home. People could watch me pee, and I hated that someone may have watched me naked in my bathroom. Everything just sucked so badly, I started to really cry.
“We're through for today, Sophie. I'm going to give you my card, and I want you to call me with any information you remember, no matter how small. Call me anytime, and I'll talk to you right after the test results and DNA samples come through, okay?”
“Okay...”
“I'll send Dr. Newman back in with your meds now. Take care, Sophie. I'll talk to you soon,” Detective Dent said walking to the door.
“Thank you...” I whispered as she nodded and left the room.
After she left, I was alone for 5 minutes. I was completely alone with a body that ached and throbbed everywhere. Amazingly, even my feet hurt, which I couldn't understand. For whatever reason, there was nothing that didn't hurt on me, and my shoulder was absolutely on fire. I needed pills so bad, I almost hit the emergency call button myself before Dr. Newman had time to arrive.
Panicking still, I sighed an audible sound of relief when Dr. Newman finally returned.
“I hurt everywhere, Dr. Newman. Can I please have pain killers now? Please?”
“Would you like to speak with the rape counsellor first?”
“Not now. Please, I just want to sleep and take some pills to help the pain everywhere.”
“Of course, Sophie. Just give me a second and Rebecca will come back to administer them. Within minutes you should be sound asleep and pain free. But I'll be back throughout the day to check on you, and to make sure your shoulder was set properly, okay?”
Nodding again, I was in pain and tired. I didn’t care what Dr. Newman said to me or if he came back, I just wanted to sleep my nightmare away.
I wanted Peter to help me with some of his scents, and herbal concoctions, and with his chakra therapy, or breathing exercises. I wanted Peter to fix everything.
I wanted Peter with me, period.
CHAPTER 31
The following afternoon I was released from the hospital when my shoulder had been x-rayed again and the doctors were pleased with the set of the dislocation. My body still ached and burned everywhere, but I think it was more psychological than physical at that point. My vagina was healing I was told after another horrible internal exam, and though peeing still burned, I otherwise tried to ignore my body. Actually, I tried to ignore everything.
I spoke to the rape counsellor twice, but I hated how she kept talking about the events, and how I could move past them, and what I should do to move on. I hated talking to her because she seems like a total know it all, and she was just annoying with her soft, calm voice, and her constant nods of understanding, no matter what I said.
I couldn't talk to my mom about anything either, though she tried. She tried a few times to engage me gently, but I closed down still horribly embarrassed by everything that had happened when I became aware in the hospital room.
The fact that I originally yelled to my mom, 'I came! I orgasmed! I enjoyed it!' was too much for me to handle. My mom was super cool, and I wasn’t a verbal prude by any means, but screaming 'I came!' to my mom was beyond embarrassing and not something I wanted to further discuss.
I wasn't able to see my dad or brother either, because they were men and I didn't want them thinking of me ever having sex, never mind being raped. I didn't want my brother getting visuals he'd have to bleach from his brain, and I didn't want my dad thinking of his daughter getting off and then fighting her rapist.
Pulling it together, I decided it didn't happen, and I wasn't going to
discuss it anymore because it simply didn't happen. Therefore, I wouldn't talk about what didn't happen anymore. And that's what I did. I stopped talking about it.
When I was going to be released and I informed my mom I wanted to go home, she finally raised her voice at me instead of being the quiet, calm woman I didn't recognize as she fought my decision hard. She demanded I come home with her and she explained how I might feel in my apartment and how the memories might be too much. She even told me of the shock I may go through when I entered my home again. She was very logical, albeit loud, but I didn't give in.
I fought back, until I was so damn tired, I eventually cried out in frustration until she gave in, but not before she told me she was staying with me for a few days. She told me so sadly and lovingly that she was staying with me in my apartment, I just couldn't refuse her.
And that was it. The moment we left the hospital together I decided it was the end of the rape, as far as I was concerned.
*****
Walking back into my place I was surprised it looked spotless, which meant either my mom or my brother cleaned it up while I was in the hospital. I didn't know who, but either way it was another nightmare for me. I pictured the blood and stuff on my sheets, and I imagined the blood which must have collected at my front door when the police were talking me into opening it for them.
I tried to imagine what everyone saw, but I didn't want to, so I ignored it. The only thing I did do, was walk to my kitchen to see a perfect pane of glass where he may have entered. I couldn't see the blood sample on the floor that was mentioned, and I wouldn't have known anyone entered that night through the window if I didn't know it had actually happened.
After the kitchen, I walked to my bathroom to look at the covered window and blind, realizing I maybe should have known I could be seen. So testing it, I shut off the light, and I did see sunlight through the little tiny holes where the strings attached to the end of each slat, but the holes seemed so insignificant to me, I couldn't believe someone would even put forth the effort to stand there, potentially getting caught by anyone passing for the main door, just for a tiny glimpse through an even tinier hole to see me using the washroom or naked in and out of the shower.
After seeing the tiny bits of sunlight, I walked to the hall closet and pulled down 3 towels one-handed. Calling my mom to help she joined me in covering up the window completely with the towels. She helped me cover it and then I walked back to my hall closet and pulled out more.
Walking to the kitchen window, I asked her to help me cover it as well. Then the dining room window was covered, followed by the living room next.
Once I ran out of towels, I grabbed sheets and little throw blankets which my mom helped me cover the 2 living room windows with without protest or even speaking. She covered them as I gave them to her one-handed and determined, until there was only my bedroom window left, which I couldn't enter.
My mom seemed to understand my silence though as I stood still outside the room, so she grabbed the last of my throw blankets, and even a dark sheet and went into my bedroom to cover the window as I moved to sit in the suffocating darkness of my living room alone and unable to speak.
When my mom finally joined me on the couch, she asked if she could turn on a light and I nodded yes. The darkness certainly wasn't helping my mindset, so hopefully some light would.
“What are you thinking about?” She whispered.
“I don't know...” I answered honestly. “I’m scared, but I'm not. I'm tired, but kind of jacked up on adrenaline or something. I feel sad and not like myself at all, and I have that weird stoned feeling from the meds, but I'm still really aware of everything, too.”
“What can I do to help?” She asked taking my good hand.
“Order Chinese?” I huffed a laugh as she grinned beside me.
Laughing at my stupidity, she said, “I can't wait for the day you finally lose your awesome metabolism and get fat.”
“What?” I laughed.
“I used to be tiny too, you know. You've seen the pictures,” she sighed and I had seen them. I had the same smallish body of my mom when she was younger. “But then I had kids, hit thirty, and voila, I got a huge ass and a belly that won't go away,” she said pushing her stomach in with her hand.
“So you want me to get fat?” I again laughed.
“Kind of,” she grinned. “Just so I won't feel so irritated when I see you eat half a chocolate pie with your dad but still fit into those tiny jeans of yours.”
“That's mean...” I giggled.
“I know,” she laughed again. “But I guess after shitty hospital food you're entitled to some edible food. Where's the menu?”
“In the second drawer beside the stove,” I grinned as she rose for my kitchen.
After we ordered, while we waited for the food to arrive, neither of us spoke. We literally sat in silence in my dimly lit living room because I didn't know what to say, and clearly, neither did she. We didn't speak, but she did sit right next to me holding my good hand in her own while we waited. However, when the food arrived we abandoned the silence to eat like total pigs.
I ate nonstop and without pause. Long after my mother groaned and pushed her plate to the coffee table, I was still happily eating my 2nd huge plateful of Chinese.
“Maybe I should get fat, then I won't worry about...” But I suddenly stopped my words.
I knew how horrible and sad they sounded. And I hated how pathetic and desperate I sounded. I knew I was being irrational and unrealistic, but I couldn't help thinking of the ways I could prevent ever being hurt again.
“Sophie, you didn't do this. And you can't think that way. You just can't. Being small or big doesn't change anything. What happened to you is horrible, but you didn't do it to yourself because you're small. It was a-”
“It's okay. I don't really want to talk about it, okay? I was just kidding about getting fat,” I exhaled with a fake smile. “I’m going to lie down for a while. Feel free to leave or put the TV on, or whatever. My shoulder hurts and I can't take another painkiller for a few hours, so I just want to sleep for a bit,” I said attempting to remove the couch cushions on my end of the couch.
“Are you sleeping here?” My mom whispered.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Let me help you,” she said standing.
So together we unfolded and opened up my sofa bed. My mom took from me the remaining sheets I had in my hand from the closet, and she helped me make the bed. My mom grabbed the extra pillows in the closet and after putting on fresh pillow cases, she quietly asked if I wanted my comforter from my bedroom. Gasping I shook my head no. I never wanted to touch those sheets or blankets again.
“Would you like me to get you something to sleep in?”
“Please...” I moaned because just the thought of walking into my bedroom made me want to throw up.
So I excused myself for the bathroom, though it was only 5:00 in the evening, and I waited for her to hand me a shirt to sleep in with my tights.
Amazingly, I managed, albeit painfully, to remove my sling and arm from my baggy sweater, and I almost succeeded in putting on the long shirt. Almost. But my shoulder was too sore, and I couldn't quite get my arm back in the sleeve without help.
“Mom? I'm sorry, but I'm stuck,” I laughed from the bathroom door, with half my boob hanging out, and my arm killing me as it hung trapped in the sleeve opening.
So jumping up to help, my mom slowly, painfully pulled my arm through the sleeve, ignoring my boob completely.
“Is that all?” She asked.
“For now... Thanks,” I said closing the door again, but I knew what I had to do.
I had been cleaned at the hospital. I had been cleaned with a sponge bath, and even a half shower that a nurse helped me with before I left, but I needed to wash myself again with my own soap. I had to.
So tucking my t-shirt under the collar, it was up and around my chest, as I pulled down my leggings and underwear.
> Pulling them off, I started the shower. Pulling them off, I ripped down my underwear and pantyliner, gagged once, and threw them in the garbage can in the corner.
I didn't know why I gagged, but I swear I smelled sex on me. Logically, I knew I was wrong and I couldn’t possibly smell like sex, because the morning after pill actually made me bleed a little off and on, but I just couldn't get past thinking I smelled like dirty sex.
Looking at my tub as the water warmed, I knew my hair was filthy, but there was nothing I could do about it in that moment. I needed help holding my shoulder out of the water because of the weird bandaging which seemed totally impossible to stay dry when washing hair, but I could wash my body without help.
Stepping over the tub wall, I sat on the edge with the handheld and I cleaned myself one-handed. Moving the spray around, I used soap all over my lower body and I washed myself as cleanly as possible. I even stood and washed myself from behind as best as I could. The soap stung the vaginal tear, but I didn't care. I was washing away everything that could be left on my body from that horrible night. I was making myself clean again, because I was going to be clean again, I decided.
An hour later when my mom knocked on the bathroom door, I finally jolted and recognized my surroundings. Calling out, 'one minute', I finally turned off the water and my tears.
Grabbing a pair of neatly folded pajama bottoms from the wicker shelf, I dressed again cleanly. I even looked in the mirror for the first time as I brushed my teeth and saw the damage to my face; damage which though painful didn’t look half as bad as I had thought it would.
My hair covered the stitched cut on my temple, and the black eye wasn’t as dark as they looked in the movies. My black eye looked more like I hadn’t slept in a week or two, more like dark coloring all around my eye, which somehow I thought I could easily cover with make-up.
But I really didn’t care about how I looked, I was just glad to be clean. I felt clean, and I smelled clean, so I decided nothing bad happened to me.