Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) (28 page)

“And this is for the first time you emailed me your phone number. One of the best days of my life.” Dipping his tongue, he circled the rim of my bellybutton. “You said, ‘I can have more—”

“Of you now,” I whispered, finishing his sentence, tears streaming down the sides of my face.

My memory of that email was probably one of the most vivid memories I had the trembling of my hand as I’d held the mouse and hovered my cursor over the send button, wondering what the hell I was doing. Wondering why I was drowning in doubt yet drawn to wanting more of him in my life.

H smoothed his hands up my stomach and lifted them just slightly before reaching my breasts, holding them suspended, his fingers twitching before they settled on my bra.

I held my breath and froze.

“You wanted more back then, so I gave you more,” he murmured, his eyelids closing as his fingers began to massage.

I thrashed beneath him and screamed, “I gave you more as well.”

“But not enough.” He leaned forward and picked up the scissors. “I need more.”

“What are you doing?”

“I need to take everything off.”

“Why? NO! No, you don’t.”

He lifted my bra away from my chest and cut it, the hitch of his breathing not going unnoticed as he pulled it free and dropped it to be with my shorts. “Fucking perfect, love. So fucking perfect.”

He placed the scissors back down and moved his hands over my chest, his fingers touching my breasts, their feather-light caress turning hungry as he kneaded me.

“I hate you!” I sobbed. “I hate you for doing this, and I hate you for infiltrating my heart, because you don’t deserve to be in there.”

He groaned, his eyes fixated on his hand’s movements. “You welcomed me, love. I didn’t infiltrate it.”

I swallowed that sickly feeling in my throat known as the bitter truth. “Well, you can leave now. You’re no longer welcome. I hate you for doing this. I hate you for making me hate you. You’ve ruined everything,” I cried.

“Your body doesn’t hate me, Emily. Look at it.” H nodded toward my chest. “Your nipples are hard, and I can make them even harder.” He leaned down and blew on my skin. “You’re hot and flushed, and you’re panting, love.” His lips surrounded my nipple, his tongue lightly swirling in circles. “And,” he said, letting go with a delicate pop, “you keep licking your lips.”

H reached up and traced his finger over my bottom lip. I shook my head, trying to prevent him from doing so.

“Stop it. Just stop. Please!”

Ignoring me, he dragged his finger down my chin and neck, settling it on my hip. “And I bet that if I slid my finger inside you, you’d be drenched.”

“You’re wrong,” I spat, gritting my teeth.

“Am I?”

I didn’t answer. It was pointless. He was going to test his theory anyway. And as much as it disgusted me to admit it, he was right. I was wet. He was turning me on just as much as he was terrifying me, and my body enjoyed his touch just as much as it despised it. I couldn’t deny it, and didn’t understand it … I didn’t
want
to understand it.

H sat up once again and grabbed the scissors, and knowing what was going to happen, I burst into tears, everything inside of me shattering. But strangely enough, I didn’t fear him entering my body uninvited. What I feared was losing a part of me I’d cherished for two years, a part who’d saved me and brought me back to life, and a part I had ruined by trying to supress and deny it.

I feared losing my friend.

My confidant.

He sliced my panties free and discarded them. All I could do was cry and try to cover myself up by rotating, failing because his straddled body had me pinned.

“Mm,” he hummed, shaking his head, his eyes feasting on me. “Let’s see how wet you are, shall we?” His voice was cocky yet stern, his tone, relaxed.

I didn’t answer him again, just kept my eyes pressed shut in the hope that the darkness would swallow me, even though I knew that it wouldn’t. My senses were on too high an alert for that to happen.

His weight lifted from my body, and the bed dipped beside me, his warmth sidling up to my side. “You have a very pretty pussy, love.”

I shook my head, not wanting to listen to his words. Not wanting to let them affect me like they always had. His words were now embedded with betrayal. They were nothing.

“You don’t believe me?”

I continued to ignore him.

He chuckled. “I’ll show you.”

H trailed his finger down my bikini line, circling my pussy before trailing it back up again. I flinched.

“So soft. So smooth.” He scissored his fingers and spread me open. “So pink. So shiny.”

Shut up. Please! Just shut the fuck up.
My sobs were uncontrollable, and my legs locked straight.

“Try all you like, love, but you can’t hide from me. And you won’t want to when my tongue licks that sweet flavour of yours.”

“I h … h … hate you.”

“You hate me because you love me. Because I’m right, and because you don’t want to admit it.”

“No!” I screamed.

The bed dipped and the mattress wobbled, and I felt him place his hands on either side of my face. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded angrily.

“No!”

The weight of his forehead rested on mine, and he sighed, his lips touching my tear-stained cheek. “This is for the first time I fell in love with you.”

Lips touched lips, his air becoming my air. There was no force, no tongue, just a quiet desperation in the way he held my face. “You said, ‘I think of you and you save me’.”

I opened my eyes and found his, and there was no denying that he loved me. I could see it in the very depths of the haunted hazel staring back at me. Within them I saw that his love was immersed in pain, because he knew what he was doing was wrong. I could see that. I could see by the way his brow pinched, and by the way he kept looking down. I could see his regret. Feel his regret. But all of it was masked and dominated by his desperation to make me see it.

“Yes, Mike, you saved me. But you destroyed me the moment you drugged me. And you’re killing me slowly for every second you keep me tied to your bed, taking from me what isn’t yours to take.”

“Then just admit that you love me. Fucking be honest with yourself for once.”

“I can’t admit what isn’t true.”

“But it is true. You’ve just forgotten.”

I furrowed my brow. “Forgotten what?”

“Think, love. Think to what you said ten months ago when you thought I was going back to my wife.”

Blinking, I didn’t know what he was talking about until a chill suffused my skin and recollection clawed its way inside my heart, tearing it in two.

He smiled, but it wasn’t one of triumph. It was one of relief.  “You finally remember, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. Now you know why I’m doing this. Why I had to.”

My head slowly moved up and down, nodding of its own accord.

“Because you told me to.”

I tried to say no, tried refute him.

“Sure you did,” he said, touching his lips to mine. “Tell me what you said.” 

“No!” I whispered, shaking my head. “I don’t want to.”

His lips found my earlobe and nibbled. “Just say it. This will all go away if you just say it.”

My chest wracked as I surrendered to him. “I said if things don’t work out with your wife, f … f … find me, kid—” I sucked in a breath. “Kidnap me, and take me away—”

“Your world is much better than mine will ever be,” he said, finishing my sentence and untying my hands.

H lifted me to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around me, my body limp against his chest, my head lifeless upon his shoulder.
This is all my fault. All of it.

I’d welcomed a complete stranger into my life and into the dark recesses of my mind. I’d played with him there. Let him play with me. And I’d used his desire to satisfy my own.

This. Was. All. My. Fault.

The bounds around my ankles loosened but I physically couldn’t move. I was in shock. Stunned. Guilt had taken command of my mind, and the will to fight no longer seemed reasonable.

“I’m sorry,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I’d even said it.

H lifted me into his arms and carried me out of the room and into another. His room. With his bed and his things. He laid me down on the mattress, my arms falling limp. It was as if I was there but I wasn’t; I could breathe but inhaled no air. It was as if my punishment was to feel everything … without feeling anything at all.

It was as if I’d died awake.

Kneeling on the bed beside me, H undid his belt and buckle and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down his thighs and freeing his cock. He leaned forward and kissed me, except this time he teased my lips apart with his tongue, stroking me lazily.

I didn’t fight it.

I didn’t do anything. 

I just let it be what it would be.

And that was when the sound of a door crashing, and the thunder of footsteps and yelled commands played about me like a dream.

Was this all just a dream?

If I pretend it never happened,

I hope that one day,

I’ll truly believe it didn’t.

The days following my kidnapping were a blur. Hospital. Police Station. Home. Counsellor. I’d spun through a whirlwind of emotions—sad, empty, confused and angry. But most of all, I’d been lost, adrift in a sea of what-the-fuck and floating through rapids of guilt and self-deprecation. As much as I’d hoped deep down inside that what had transpired with H had been a horrible crazy nightmare, it hadn’t been.

He abducted me—fact.

Tied me up—fact.

Sexually assaulted me—fact.

Shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces—fact.

All of it was
real.

What was also real were the police officers breaking down the door to H’s apartment, arresting him and rescuing me before he raped me.
God.
I still shudder when I say the word ‘rape’ and H in the same sentence, because it hurts so much. But here’s the thing—in H’s mind, it was never going to be rape. He truly believed that once I’d become aware of the fact I’d ‘told’ him to kidnap me, and when I stopped resisting him, I’d give consent, and that I loved him and wanted to make love to him. Or at least that was what he’d shouted with desperation as they’d whisked him away in handcuffs.

Those words.
His words
. They would forever penetrate me to the core. Each and every one of them like leaves blowing around in my mind, never to be carried away with the breeze. They swirled and settled, swirled and settled, haunting me. And I knew they always would. I also knew I’d have to live with that and endure it for the rest of my life. It was my penance for playing with fire to begin with.

As if by some miracle, my rescue had been the result of my phone dialling Brad when it fell out of the pocket of my shorts and onto the floor. From that point, Brad had heard everything that occurred and called triple zero, informing Emergency Services that I was in grave danger. They’d traced my whereabouts by triangulating my phone, and that was how H and I ended for good.

It was now four months later and the day of his sentencing, and I was just about to enter the courtroom for the judge’s decision. I wasn’t required to attend, but I wanted to. I felt I should. I’d testified on H’s behalf and requested leniency, but at the same time I knew in my heart that he deserved incarceration for the crime he’d committed against me. He also needed psychological assessment and treatment.

Hearing a thud on the frosted-glass panel beside me, I looked away from the bathroom mirror and to the blurred shadow interrupting.

“Em, you alright in there?” Cori asked, her concerned but reassuring tone reminding me I was not alone.

“Yeah. I just need a minute, okay?”

“Okay, hon. But that’s all you’ve got. The hearing is about to begin.”

I closed my eyes momentarily then washed my hands one more time, something I did quite often. My psychologist said that I’d developed this compulsion because I felt dirty as a result of what had happened with H. She said that in my mind, washing my hands was a process of purification I’d become dependant upon, and that when I no longer blamed myself for what had happened, the compulsion would subside.

I hoped she was right—my hands were sore. 

Opening the door, I stepped out of the bathroom and into the busy hallway of the county court building. Women and men dressed in suits and robes rushed about, carrying briefcases and pushing trolleys stacked with case files and legislative literature. They wore concentration and nonchalance as well as they wore their attire, while those seated or leaning against the hallway walls wore anxiety and impatience as they waited quietly. Those people constantly checked their watches and paced back and forth, while others murmured in low conversation, hugging loved ones and offering support.

It was quite the sombre atmosphere, and one I didn’t like.

Spotting Cori waiting with Brad at the door to the courtroom, I manifested a smile. It was what I was supposed to do, so I did it. “Okay, let’s get this over and done with,” I said, avoiding eye contact and quickly moving past them to enter the room.

Brad’s hand shot out and gently clasped mine. “Em, look at me.”

I raised my eyes and met his, struggling to keep mine dry and emotion-free.

“Breathe,” he whispered, cupping my cheek. “It’s okay. Cori and I are right here beside you. And we can all leave at any point.”

I managed a small smile, and this time it was genuine. “I know,” I said, softly, turning my head to lightly kiss his hand. “But I need to do this. I need to be here for me … and for him.”

Brad swallowed heavily, and I could tell he didn’t like my reasoning. It was no secret that he disagreed with me taking responsibility for the part I played in H’s and my relationship, nor did he agree with my feelings of contrition. But it didn’t matter what he thought I should and shouldn’t feel, because he hadn’t known H like I had. And I knew that in the end I hadn’t known H like I thought I had either, but I had known a part of him that was my anchor. A good part. A selfless part. A part I still held dear. I didn’t want to let that part go. I couldn’t. He’d meant too much to me to ever release my clasp and willingly relinquish it.

Leaning forward, my wonderful, supportive, understanding boyfriend kissed my forehead. “Okay, pixie. Whatever you need and for whatever reason.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I willed them away. For the past four months, Brad had been the most amazing pillar of strength anyone could ever ask for. Both he and Cori had jumped on a plane the very day I was kidnapped so that they could be by my side during my recovery. I’d borne no physical wounds, yet the wound sustained to my heart was more devastating and painful than any visible injury could ever be. It had debilitated and stripped me of any joy I possessed.

It had destroyed me.

As days passed and then weeks, I’d learned, with the help of my psychologist, how to cope with the hurt, and slowly put myself back together again. It was also during that time that the details and truth behind H’s identity came to light. Some of our neighbours had been present when the police had arrived at the scene, therefore fragments of fact mixed with rumours and hearsay had spread rather quickly. The Wild Nights crew had been informed of the incident so that Cori and Brad could be granted leave, but I’d managed to keep my work colleagues and family in the dark. They didn’t need to know

I’d felt so ashamed,
still
feel so ashamed. And I feared I always would. I’d played a high-stakes games of seductive fuckery, a game I’d enjoyed and thrived upon, one that had ultimately led to obsession, emotional destruction, and a man losing his freedom to live an unencumbered life. I’d let our game become
real,
despite telling myself over and over that I hadn’t. I’d welcomed him into my private life.

That was my mistake … my fault.

Taking Brad’s hand in mine, I walked into the courtroom and took a seat near the back just as a court officer escorted H into the room. My hand clenched, gripping Brad’s tightly, my wrist trembling as a wash of emotion hit me in full force. I hadn’t seen him since the abduction because he’d pleaded guilty at his mention, and therefore no trial had occurred.

I’d tried not to think about him, tried not to remember the moments we’d shared and how I’d overlooked or not seen what had been coming. I’d tried but failed. 

H sat down, his wrists in handcuffs, the standard-issue navy remand overalls swallowing his once burly frame. His head was hung. His postured slumped. And seeing him so withdrawn, unfocussed, and miserable stirred everything that encompassed me. I felt sick, hot. My stomach lurched, my head spun, and I realised being in the room with him was much more difficult than I’d expected it would be.
You can do this, Em. You’re stronger than you realise.

I’d seen my psychologist every few days and we’d made a lot of progress. But as I sat in that courtroom and took in the shell of a man I’d once considered my strength and saviour, the reality of everything that had happened weighed down upon me.

Heat rising to the surface of my cheeks, my chest tight and constricted, a panic attack festered within. My legs shook, and I was just about to stand and flee the room when the clerk entered from a side door and addressed everybody. “All rise for the honourable Judge Jenkins.”

Brad stood, his hand in mine, guiding me to stand with him. I complied and focussed on the middle-aged, overweight, and balding judge.
Yes, focus on him, Em.
He seemed grumpy, and I didn’t know what that meant.
Is he grumpy at H? Is he grumpy at me? Maybe he’s grumpy because of the God-awful wig he’s wearing? Or maybe he’s just grumpy all the time?

“Em!” A light tug of my hand drew my attention to Brad, who was once again sitting and trying to pull me back down to sit with him.

“Oh, sorry,” I said with a meek smile.

Cori squeezed my leg and whispered, “You okay?”

I looked over at H who had resumed the same head-bowed position, then I turned to my best friend. “Yes, for now.”

“Good girl.” She squeezed my leg again and kept her hand resting there. The contact reassured me.

The judge cleared his voice and positioned the microphone in front of his face. “Mr Michael Adam Rydesdale, you have pleaded guilty to two charges, one of Abduction or Detention, which carries a maximum penalty of five years imprisonment; and the other, Assault with Intent to Commit a Sexual Offence, which carries a maximum penalty of ten years imprisonment.

“The circumstances giving rise to your offending in this instance may be summarised as follows: At approximately eight-thirty a.m. you entered the elevator at yours and the victim’s, Miss Emily Cassandra Davis, residence, and placed a rag soaked in chloroform across the victim’s face, rendering her unconscious. You then carried her to your apartment and secured her by tying her wrists and ankles to a bed. It was then that you forcibly kissed her, removed her clothing with scissors, and proceeded to touch and place your mouth on various parts of her body, including her legs, breasts and vagina.

“Many times during her detention she requested you stop and let her go. You did neither. Instead, you continuously coerced her to admit she loved you and to give you consent for sexual penetration, of which she did not. At one point, when Miss Davis stopped resisting you, you untied her and carried her to your bedroom where you proceeded to undo your pants and reveal your penis in preparation for sexual penetration without your victim’s consent.

“Following your arrest, you denied intent to rape when questioned by the investigating police. You stipulated that you loved Miss Davis and would never hurt her. That your intent was to make her remember that she’d asked you to kidnap her via text message, and when she did recall that conversation, she stopped resisting you, which is when you believed consent for sexual penetration was given. You also stated that you thought she loved you.

“The court notes that you and Miss Davis had been in contact with each other via text message for thirteen months, and prior to that via a professional website by the name of SexyTexts, where Miss Davis hosts a channel.

“The court takes into consideration your high levels of remorse, good behaviour while in remand, and no history of a criminal record. The court also takes into account the Victim Impact Statement of Miss Davis.”

The mention of my VIS made me glance over at H, finding that he too was looking back at me. I wanted to look away, unable to handle his gaze, but when my eyes focussed on his, we spoke to each other. Except at first, I wasn’t exactly sure what we were saying. All I knew was that I didn’t feel anxious anymore.

It was funny how eyes could convey what words and the body couldn’t. They had their own language … their own understanding. They had the power to express feeling and emotion, and the emotion that H’s eyes currently expressed was that he was truly sorry for what he’d done. That he now realised he’d gone too far and was ready and willing to accept his punishment.

He was at peace with it.

Don’t ask me how I knew this by just looking at him. I just did. I also tried to convey my apology to him, for keeping him tethered to me, for leading him astray, and for tossing the tether aside when I’d felt guilty and scared. I tried to convey that I never intended to lead him into doing what he felt he had no choice to do.