Olivia's Trek (1) (17 page)
Olivia Carter
The text on my phone reads, ‘Sitting in the coffee shop in the lobby with a newspaper. I know you’re in conference room three. Going to keep walking past the room and I’ll come right in if I see/hear anything. Be safe. G’
The table in the room has obviously been arranged for a strategic business meeting, which I guess this is, well, sort of. God, I don’t know where to sit. I don’t want Lucien to sit beside me, so I opt to sit at the window opposite the door with the safety of the large table between us. The walls are all glass anyway, so Gabriel can get a good look when he goes past.
It’s only after I sit down that I notice the room temperature. If it’s warm when no one is in it, then it’s only going to get warmer with extra bodies. Shit, too late. I have no idea where the thermostat for the air conditioning system is located. Saharan it is then.
My heart jumps when I see the panther like figure walking past and heading towards the door, my heart throbbing in my ears as he pushes it open. I try to stand but my legs are too shaky under the table, so I stay seated, clasping both hands in a prayer like position.
He’s very sweaty and anxious when he comes into the room, pausing to take a breath prior to nodding an acknowledgement at me and before heading towards the water fountain in the corner of the room.
I have a sudden urge to go to the washroom but stay absolutely still watching him gulp down two paper cups of water. Lucien Borgia looks more like he’s having a panic attack than I am, so paradoxically, I’m in a situation where I’m asking him, “Are you all right, Lucien?”
He manages a small smile before loosening his tie, still looking very uncomfortable.
“Do you want a minute to recover?” I’m automatically making sure that he’s okay.
Standing up and pointing to the seat opposite me, I beckon to him to sit down. Alarmingly, I realize that the water fountain is on the same side of the room as me. It feels like there is a tight band around my ribcage.
“It’s good to see you, Olivia. You look really different. Is it your hair?”
I don’t say anything.
“Well, you look great.”
“Don’t,” I say. The floor feels like its moving away from my feet for no reason.
“Look, I’m really glad you said you wanted to meet up. It really hurt me, you messing around with drugs and stuff and bad people and all. I’m glad that you’re back and that rehab worked.” He still hasn’t looked me in the eyes.
“You know what you did, Lucien. I want to know why.” For the first time since the rape I feel like I’ve gotten back some of the power that I had lost. I’m in charge of the conversation.
My mind flicks back to the moment I guided the mouse toward his photo on Facebook, and the little pointed hand hovered over his face. Fear and anger swelled up, but determination won out and I clicked “Add Message.” He replied within minutes. Stunned, I wondered if he had forgotten that he had raped me, or if it was more likely that he thought I had.
“I hope that night has haunted you. I was naïve and a virgin.”
Lucien Borgia’s eyes were always black, but I’d never noticed how cold and flat they were until now. A shiver passes through me as the Navajo medicine man’s rules about never looking a coyote in the eye rang loud in my ears. I withdrew my eyes from his face, focusing on his throat instead.
“I just … I mean, you liked a little wrestling sometimes, maybe an ass slap here and there. I guess I just got carried away.”
I thought back to how I would sit in my room thinking that it was my fault and that I could have prevented it by not going over there in the first place, not staying as long as I did, certainly not drinking and not kissing him.
Gabriel’s voice interupts my thoughts and I flick back to us sitting on the red, dusty ground in Utah as he told me, “What happened to you was not your fault. You had no way of preventing it from happening. You cannot control the actions of another person. You can only control how you let those actions affect you.”
“Olivia, are you okay?”
I jump at Lucien’s interruption. I had rehearsed in my head what I would say to him 10,000 times since it had happened and more so all of last night, but it’s so different actually sitting opposite him. He’s not the scary, gigantic ogre in my nightmares.
Once Lucien realizes that I am calm, not shouting, not crying, although the lump that I have to get past in my throat in order to swallow is becoming exquisitely painful as time goes on, he relaxes and we talk for about two hours. I don’t even give a second’s thought to Gabriel walking past the glass walls from time to time until Lucien mentions that some guy must be lost because he’s walked by about four times.
“Lucien, I’ve never felt this cold, never laughed when someone on TV was beaten to a bloody pulp. I miss sleep, and the ability to feel safe in my own house. But I will heal. I will feel safe again one day.”
“I-I’m so sorry Olivia, I just don’t know what …” Large teardrops are falling from his eyes.
At that exact moment I don’t think I could be more repulsed by the pathetic person that was actually in front of me. “I’m disgusted with you for the person you’ve become.”
“No, please, don’t say that. I’ll do anything …”
I stand up, my legs growing roots into the floor. “I’ve already emailed you a letter. It should be in your inbox when you get home. Please read it. Now please leave.”
Lucien is now openly sobbing, his head in his hands as he splutters, “I’m sorry for what I did to you, but sorry just doesn’t seem to cut it.”
My heart is starting to twist at how he sounds. It’s the kind of voice that seems incapable of telling a lie, let alone any aggression. It’s the kind of voice that begs you to trust it, that pleads with you to trust it. I suddenly realize that it’s the voice of Lucien Borgia, the master manipulator. I stop listening.
I watch as Lucien reaches into his trouser pocket before taking a small, sparkling charm out of it. “When I told my mom I was coming to see you she told me to give you this. Please take it, it’s from her.”
I stare at the silver pendant with an angel on it and pick it up, my fingers gliding over its satiny finish. “Who is it?”
“It’s the Angel Gabriel.”
Email from Olivia Carter to Lucien Borgia
You made me a statistic Lucien.
I represent the one out of six American women who are victims of attempted or completed rapes in their lifetimes. I am among those victims who never reported their rape to the authorities. I am one of those victims who shouldered this secret in silence, feeling ashamed, humiliated and guilty. In fact, I didn’t speak a word about what happened to me until I ended up in Wilderness Therapy/Rehab.
You were my very best friend, my go-to person ever since I was adopted by Preston Carter, but you crossed the line of acceptable behavior, plunging me into the worst period of depression I have ever known.
After what happened in your bedroom on June 3
rd
, I couldn’t concentrate in school, I stopped eating, I had nightmare after nightmare until Ava helped me find a way out of the pain. I drank a lot, and started to abuse prescription drugs, but the memories of that afternoon, which I kept trying so hard to suppress, kept bubbling away under the surface of my skin.
It’s not about sex or having me by force, which by the way, is what DID happen and you know it. I know you threatened me before when I mentioned the “R” word, well here it is, you RAPED me. That was just the start.
You violated me both physically and emotionally. As if my self-esteem wasn’t already diminished from my childhood, I was always one who believed that true beauty came from the inside, and with that mindset I made myself believe I was beautiful. You, on the other hand, did not agree. Although you were raping me, you could not be satisfied and I felt bad. That is a sick concept my mind has yet to grasp. How I could actually feel bad for you. You made me feel helpless and for that I hated you. I hated every little tiny detail about you until it was over.
Lucien, you need to know that every aspect of my entire life has been severely affected from the split second that you decided to rape me. You always had a choice.
I never want to hear from you again, in any way, and I am sorry that you were ever part of my life.
I feel sorry for you because, somehow, I feel your problems are much bigger than mine ever were.
Olivia Carter
Lucien Borgia’s email reply to Olivia Carter’s email
My Dear Libby (Can I still call you that?)
I’m not really a bad guy.
Do you remember when I got my LSAT score: 176: 99.7 percentile out of 99.9. Top 3 in 1,000 LSAT test takers? How I bounced off all the walls and you calmed me down?
I get along well with my parents, who are still married (God knows how). I do not hate women or the world, or myself, for that matter. My female friends, as well as many of my ex-girlfriends, think I am a bright, caring, understanding person. But all of that did not keep me from, as you said, ‘violating’ you.
The hurt and pain that has been caused by my actions makes me so angry that I want to throw rocks at buildings and break the glass walls of those tall skyscrapers that I detest.
Through that entire afternoon, even though I was drinking, I know that I was in control of my body. The wine made me feel invincible and immune to rejection. At some point I must have decided that whatever I wanted I was going to take, and nothing was going to stop me. That’s the truth Olivia and I am deeply sorry for it. I wanted to have sex that night. I thought that I was entitled to have sex with you.
Usually after chatting to a girl and giving her a few drinks, I would do everything I could to make her go to bed with me. Usually they were willing. Sometimes it took a little more work to convince them. You know that I always had a secret agenda with women, but never with you, Olivia. You were always special and precious to me. I wanted to marry you one day.
I would do anything I could to seduce the others. I would use empathy, understanding, humor. I would show that I was a sensitive guy and use that for the sole purpose of bedding them. But not you, sweet Olivia, never you.
That afternoon, I loved how the alcohol made you less guarded, and you were so utterly beautiful that I lost all self control and forgot it was you that I was with.
The sex only lasted about a minute or two, and when it was over I felt unsatisfied and empty. I couldn’t be around you, to be reminded of how I had hurt the very person I loved. I would do anything for you, Olivia. I will always feel this way.
I will not contact you again and I am well aware of what could happen if you decide to do anything with this email. I plan on taking up my place at Harvard and will have to trust that you will delete this email after reading it.
Until I understand my own power, I will not use it. I never want to rape again.
With love always, Lucien
Olivia Carter
I watch Gabriel’s long eyelashes blink furiously as his eyes flick backward and forward over the email as we sit outside a café waiting for our lattes to arrive.
“You’re serious about not going to the police with this? It’s a written confession, Olivia, and Lucien does not deserve to just get away with this. What about the next girl?”
The waitress comes over, her eyes widening in appreciation as she looks at Gabriel before laying down our coffees and asking if there’s anything else she could help us with.
I shake my head indicating no, but she still stands there irritatingly, waiting for a response from Gabriel until he looks up at her and shakes his head no.
“Gabe, just because I’ve been sexually assaulted I don’t owe other people shit. My only responsibility is to take care of myself in the best way that I can. I’m lucky that I have actually got supportive people around to help take care of me, too.”
I’m trying to come up with an answer to satisfy Gabriel, but I know that there’s nothing short of going to the police that will do this, so I continue, “You told me that it wasn’t my fault I was raped. Likewise how is it my fault if Lucien rapes other people? Huh? Surely, that’s Lucien’s fault.”
Gabriel rubs his temples and the stubble on his jaw before taking my hand in his across the table, nearly spilling over one of the coffee glasses. “But if you don’t report what happened to you, how does anyone realize how extensive the problem is? How does anything change?”
“Yeah and so I go report it and you really think that the whole of the Upper East Side will believe that the little half breed is telling the truth?”
Gabriel shifts uncomfortably. “Don’t call yourself that.”
“Well, smell the coffee, Gabriel, because that’s how it works here. I will be mocked, shamed and blamed for everything. And Victoria, who has done everything for me since I got here? What about her?”
His eyes are an intense azure blue as he speaks. “If you choose to go to the police, I will support you. That, in my mind is a brave and meaningful action against a crime that has been commited against you. But if you choose not to report? I may not agree with your decsison, or like it, but I am also here to support you.You’re right in what you say, Olivia. You’re in no way failing other women. Your only responsibility is to take care of yourself and I’m here.”
“You mean that?”
His grip tightens on my hand before he picks up his coffee with his other hand, taking a large gulp. “Yes, I do because the last thing the victim of a sexual assault needs is a damn guilt trip and that’s the last thing I would ever want for you, okay?”
I shut my eyes in relief and whisper, “Thank you.”
Gabriel’s eyes search my face with kindness, but I find it hard to maintain any eye contact in case the tears come and just allow myself to be comforted by his light stroking of my hand. I don’t know how long we sit like this before I hear a phone buzzing.
Gabriel takes his hand away and reaches inside his jacket pocket to check his phone and after looking at it, says, “Not mine. Must be you.”
I dip my hand into my bag and freeze as Lucien’s number flashes on the screen.
“Are you just going to stare at it or answer it? Let’s finish up, I’ve got a meeting at two o’clock I need to get to.” Gabriel polishes off the rest of his now lukewarm latte, leaving a trail of froth above his upper lip.
“H-hello?” I stammer as my heart pounds furiously and every single hair on my goosebumped skin stands vertically upright.
“Oh God, Olivia, please, I need your help. It’s my mom. I don’t know who else to call. He’s gone too far this time, I just, Oh God, please …”
“Slow down.What’s happened?”
I look over at Gabriel who is studying my face, his eyes hardening. I can’t let him know that it’s Lucien on the phone, not after the conversation we’ve just had.
“Okay, listen where are you? I’ll come and meet you there.”
“I’m so sorry, but you need to come fast. Come to the house. I’ll wait.”
I swallow and smile. “Sure, I’ll be straight over.”
Gabriel looks at me quizzically, wanting to know what’s going on. I just stand up abruptly, spilling my coffee over the table and in a panic make more of a mess trying to clean it up.
“Olivia, what’s going on?”
“Oh, everything’s just fine, really. I just have to be somewhere. Um, a waxing appointment. I totally forgot. Really, I’m such scatterbrain. Anyway I have to run or they’ll give my appointment to someone else,” I say, as I start backing away from the table in the direction of the door. My back slams into a waitress who is doing a balancing act with plates and glasses, sending everything flying in all directions.
“I’m so s-s-sorry,” I manage to say to the waitress before running out of the door leaving Gabriel standing, staring at me.
Making my way to Lucien Borgia’s apartment, every bit of me is shaking as I utter prayers in whispers, imploring God or angels to defend me in this horrid, bleak place I’ve found myself in. Gripping the charm of the angel Gabriel in my pocket until it feels like it’s cutting through my skin, my instincts tell me that yet again I have embarked on danger. My gut feeling screams at me to go back, to tell Gabriel who called, but my legs keep walking, fast, towards the Borgia’s residence on Fifth Avenue and 59th Street. Lucien was crying on the phone. He asked for my help.
