Enticing An Angel (19 page)

Michael stared at Melanie and then had to
chuckle. Melanie didn't see the humor and stared blankly in
return.

"Boy, my mother can really pick them," he
said with an eye roll and a laugh.

Melanie put her hands on her waist, looked at
him sternly and began to tap a foot.

"Really," she said. "You're going to do this
now?"

Michael saw her foot tapping and smiled. That
act only caused a sterner look and a faster tap, which in turn
produced a larger smile. Eventually, Melanie threw her hands up in
disgust and shook her head.

"Are you really angry about the art?" he
asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

Melanie stopped abruptly with that comment.
She had been about to pace around the room, but turned to Michael.
He had an expectant look on his face. It was a curious one, not
grave or sad, just one that wanted an answer to the question.

"I already have," she said quietly.

"Can we please go back to where we were
before my mother butted into our business?"

"You don't want me, Michael," she said, still
maintaining her quiet tone.

"Arrgh," he replied with a false face of
exasperation. "Yeah, I get it. I want someone like Jennifer. You
sound like my mother." He paced about for a second before shaking
his head. "You know, I’m getting tired of people telling me what I
want and what I don't want."

Melanie just shrugged her shoulders and
didn't say anything. Michael came close to her and attempted to hug
her, but she pulled back. It was not a grand motion, but it made
her sentiments clear. Michael sighed and looked down to Melanie;
she wouldn’t return his gaze.

"Melanie, I think you're great. Your odd, you
have a weird sense of taste, your art is fantastic. All of that is
fine because I can appreciate the talent, and I’m learning to like
your tastes as well. For as different as we are, we have a lot in
common. I like your tenacity when you paint and your…"

"I was raped, Michael," she said quietly, and
Michael stopped his oration.

She finally looked up to him, placed her hand
on his wet shirt and looked him directly in the eyes.

"I'm damaged goods," she said calmly "You
don't want me."

Michael said nothing. He just stared at her.
After a moment, Melanie separated and went to the couch. She sat
down and picked up a pillow.

"You can leave now," she said plainly.

"What? Why?...huh?" he stammered as he seemed
to grasp the words she had just spoken.

When he came to some semblance of being able
to converse in English, he joined her at the couch. He went to his
knees on the floor and tried to touch her but she pulled away.

"Melanie, when did this happen? Do we need to
call the police?"

Melanie laughed all of a sudden and shook her
head.

"No, it happened years ago," she said.

Michael thought for a moment, and she watched
him carefully as his head turned away and his mouth contorted into
odd shapes. Like the men before him, he didn't know what to do.
That much she expected.

"Are you all right?" he asked suddenly as he
looked back to her.

"Fine," she said and shrugged her shoulders.
It really didn't bother her.

"Okaaaay," Michael said drawing out the word
as he continued to wrap his head around the situation. "This is the
part where you might want to give me more information."

"What's to tell?" she asked. "I was
raped."

"Do you know who did it? Did they catch the
guy?" Michael asked.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"Apparently it does," he replied. "Melanie, I
don't know what to do with this. Please help me understand."

Melanie thought about it for a moment. The
memories did not weighed heavy on her, and she was more concerned
with Michael's reaction, but the damage was already done. Michael
knew the truth; he might as well know the details.

"I was twenty-two and raped by my Uncle," she
said plainly.

Michael sat upright; he was speechless. That
was also to be expected.

"He got me drunk one night—very drunk—and
then raped me. I couldn't fight him off. Hell, I wouldn't have been
able to stop him even if I was sober."

"Did you tell anyone? Did you call the
police?" Michael asked.

Melanie shook her head. "Nope, not at first,
I just told my parents. They believed me but didn't care. They
thought it was my fault and took my uncle's side. I threatened to
press charges and that's when they shipped me off here."

"What?!" Michael said as he stood rapidly and
began to pace. "You're joking right?"

Melanie became wide eyed. This reaction was
not expected. No man had ever reacted this way to her story. Hell,
the few she had told had acted as if she were pregnant. They
couldn't leave her presence fast enough.

Michael continued to pace, and when she
didn't answer he stopped and stared. She realized he was waiting
for a response and she shook her head; she wasn’t joking.

Michael began to pace again. He stopped
suddenly as he came to a realization.

"And that's why he pays for some of your
rent?" he asked.

Melanie nodded as she absently plucked at her
pillow. "And why he arranged a job for me with his friend, who just
happens to be an attorney."

Michael began to laugh in an odd manner; it
was not a laugh of joy or happiness, but one of derision.

"You know, I love my brothers, but if any one
of us tried that bullshit the others would personally take him to
the police, and the police would need to get medical attention for
the idiot."

Michael was serious and began to pace again
as he thought about the situation. After another minute, he turned
to her.

"Melanie, you have to press charges," he
said.

"I don't want to," she replied calmly.

Michael became confused and Melanie
clarified.

"Look Michael, I really don't care much about
it. I was twenty-two, I was drunk, and I barely even remember it.
I'm not traumatized by it; hell I've had dates worse than that. I
wasn't raped on those dates, but I've dated some real losers. And,
even though my dad is an ass, I make him pay for it. He paid for my
college, my career, my move, and now my rent. We were never a close
family, and now I use them and they pay dearly. That's much more
than I would get than if I put my uncle in jail. Besides, I might
lose in a trial, especially if my dad sticks up for his
brother."

"So, you're using them?" Michael asked
skeptically.

Melanie nodded.

"For money?"

Another nod.

"And you're okay with the rape itself?"

Nod.

"And you won't press charges?"

A slow headshake.

Michael thought about it for a moment and
then took a seat on the bar stool near the island kitchen. Melanie
watched him carefully. He was an odd man. She was uncertain what to
think of his actions. So far, he was a novelty, and so far, he had
not broken her heart. She tilted her head back and forth as she
watched him. She debated about revealing more and figured why the
hell not.

"I also reported the rape. According to State
law, I have ten years to file charges if I choose. I'm sure my
family is waiting for that time to be up, but until then I use
them."

Michael listened to the news and assimilated
the information. Melanie had never revealed this level of detail to
anyone. No one had wanted to know. Michael smiled and chuckled.

"It's actually quite brilliant," he said with
admiration. "You could quietly blackmail them for years, and it
would merely look like a father being kind to his daughter. Then
you could still file charges and put the bastard away."

"I won't do that," she said.

"Why not?"

Melanie just shrugged. "Oh, it's family. It's
complicated. Besides, I barely remember it, like I said. I don't
have any anger over it, not even for my dad and mom. I just use
them and laugh once a month when I get the check."

"So, why tell me?" he asked carefully.

"You needed to know I'm damaged goods," she
said.

Michael gave her a quizzical stare and then
became skeptical. He eyed her carefully.

"I must have missed something. Didn't you
just say you were okay with all of this?"

Melanie nodded.

"Then in what sense are you damaged?" he
asked.

It was Melanie's turn to look confused.

"Did you become this spunky artistic person
because of this rape?" he asked, his eyes went over her form and he
appeared curious or confused. Melanie couldn't tell which.

"No, I've always been like this," she
answered.

"Okay, then what?"

"Michael, I was raped by another man. I was
damaged. Do you really want to be with a woman that was raped?"

Michael stood from his stool.

"Is that what this is about? You think I
would be bothered by this?" he asked with confusion. "Melanie if
this doesn't bother you then it doesn't bother me. And by the way,"
he said as he held his hand aloft to make a point. "Damaged goods
means you have some serious mental problems. Not that you were once
raped by some idiot and couldn't care less."

Melanie tossed her pillow aside and crossed
her arms.

"I think some men would disagree. The three
men I told this story to had a real problem with it. It got to the
point that I stopped telling anyone. This isn't a problem for me,
but it seems to be a real problem for others."

"Ah," Michael said as he came to her on the
couch. "May I?" he gestured to the seat.

Melanie thought about it, squinted her eyes
with indecision, and then nodded. He took his normal place, put his
arm on the back of the couch and looked at her until she shook her
head with meek acceptance and curled up next to him.

"Hey!" she cried as she sat upright, "You're
still wet."

"Fine, pipsqueak, then sit over there."

"Nope," she said as she got off the couch.
"Strip, Mr. Angel," she commanded.

Michael smiled and of course complied. He
removed his shoes, his socks, and everything including his
underwear. He took the time to wrap a towel around his waist, and
Melanie took the time to hang his clothes over a line she had
anchored between two brick walls. Michael had never noticed the
line, but it didn’t surprise him that this little lady had one; in
many ways, she was provincial.

After being seated again, she rejoined him
and curled up on the couch. Michael sighed heavily. It was a
contented sigh, and he just enjoyed her head on his bare chest.

"Where were we?" she asked.

"I was going to tell you about my brother
David."

"Were you?"

"Yep," he said. "A few years back he was
dating a woman. She seemed nice enough and then they broke up. I
asked David why, and he said she was too tall. David's only five
foot ten and this woman was a little taller."

"Okay, that seems like a stupid reason to
break up with someone," Melanie said into Michael's chest.

"I agree. So, I asked David about it. He told
me he didn't have a problem with dating taller women, but they had
a problem dating shorter men. In essence, it wasn't that she was
too tall; but that he was too short. It was her problem not
his."

Michael began to stroke her hair and smiled
when he heard Melanie sigh with contentment.

"Same thing here, Melanie, I really don't
have a problem with this if you don't. So, some idiot boyfriends
had a challenge with it," he said flippantly. "I know men that
won't date plus size women, and I know men that won't date anything
but plus size women. To some people it’s a big deal, to others it
doesn't matter."

Melanie let the words sink in before
replying.

"I find it difficult to believe this doesn't
bother you, Michael."

"Well, I don't know how to prove it, and I
don't think I should try. I just want you back. I want that spunky,
flaky girl that I fell in love with; the one that tried to close an
office door with her foot while hopping backwards."

Melanie sat bolt upright and stared at
Michael. She was trying to work out what he had just said, and like
any man, even those idiot boys she dated, he misunderstood her
expression.

"What?" he said with a chuckle. "You don't
remember that?"

Melanie remembered it all very well, but she
wanted to hear how Michael had fallen in love with her.

"Remind me," she said with a smile as she lay
back down.

Michael chuckled and then began to describe
what he saw that first day they met. When he told her about the
tea, he teased her incessantly and was thankful he hadn't ordered
something complicated like a beer. That comment received a bite to
his exposed leg. This time it really did hurt, but he was man
enough to apologize and take his well-deserved bruise.

He spoke to her for an hour and she listened
and commented as needed; it felt oddly comfortable and
anti-climatic. When he was done with that first day, he told about
their first date and then moved on to unrelated topics such as his
work, and finding a Steampunk movie, and several other nonsensical
items. By the end of the hour, it all began to feel very normal
again, and Melanie couldn't pry the smile off her face. Eventually,
she pulled away and kissed him tenderly.

"Michael, I was wondering if you could help
me with something?" she asked in sultry tones.

She could see the fear instantly in his eyes.
He knew an odd request would be coming. Her eyes turned catty and a
grin graced her face as a hand began to massage his thigh. Her
fingers played with the towel, and she could see the cotton
material move as he began to harden.

"I have a very odd task for you to perform
and I have never had the courage to ask any other man," she kissed
him and smiled at the same time; the grin was more effective than
the kiss, and she ended up merely pressing her smile to his lips.
Fear was still present in his eyes, and she reveled in it as she
went to his ear and bit the lobe gently. She pulled away slightly
but kept her lips near him.