What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  Grace shakes her head, a vacant look behind her eyes.

  ‘About six months after it happened, Mia told me. She didn’t want me to tell our parents, because she didn’t want them to blame her.’ I run a hand over my hair. My eyes water, but I keep the tears in check. ‘I didn’t know what to say or what to do to help her…’ I trail off as all the memories come crashing back.

  ‘What happened?’ Grace’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

  I look up at the ceiling. ‘She killed herself.’

  Grace gasps and slaps a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  I’m sorry, too, because I should’ve done something. Anything. I just didn’t know how to at the time. But now I do know what to do and how to do it. ‘It was hard to deal with, but the grief of losing her has got easier over the years.’ I stop, because I can’t tell her the rest of the story. It’s so messed up she’ll think I’m no better than the bastard who did this to her. ‘Mia’s the reason I wanted to become a counsellor. At the moment, as you know, I’m doing the grief counselling and working with young offenders, but I want to specialize in rape counselling. I don’t want to see someone else go through the same thing. So, if I can help you in any way, Grace, please let me. Whatever you went through, you went through alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace

  I can’t believe what he’s just said. My heart clenches with pain for him and his sister.

  He looks up at me, his gaze steady. ‘I’ve never told anyone before why Mia killed herself. Even my parents still don’t know, because she made me promise not to tell them. I’ve only told you this because it might help you to talk to someone.’

  I want to take away the pain that’s in his eyes. And I know how crushed and broken he must feel, because I feel it, too. Every day.

  ‘You can’t change the past,’ he says. ‘But you can change what happens in the future. Healing yourself doesn’t mean the damage never happened. It means the damage no longer controls your life. You will be OK, Grace. It may take a bit of time, but you will be OK.’

  The way he says I’ll be OK—so calm, so patient, so full of conviction—makes me believe I can be OK.

  ‘I want to talk.’ The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. And just like that, my body betrays me again, except this time I hope it’s for a good reason.

  Once I get it out there, though, I can’t take it back. I can’t hide anymore. A part of me still thinks I’m not ready. It’s as if I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move and I might fall over the edge and never be able to climb back up. But what he’s told me has given me the courage to share this with him. I have to talk to someone before I go completely insane. He’s already seen me in full panic mode, so it’s not as if I can hide it, and somehow he intuitively knows what’s happened to me anyway. Why would he have shared that story with me otherwise? Somehow, this stranger knows exactly what I’m going through. Maybe it’s because he’s seen a lot of people go through the same thing with his job.

  He patiently waits for me to say something. I stare into his warm eyes, and somehow I know this is the right thing to do.

  The only thing I can do if I want to move on.

  It’s now or never. I know I’m not getting better, and this is my one real chance.

  I sit opposite him, not quite believing I’m feeling OK being alone with him in here. I actually feel comfortable with him. He’s shared his darkest moments with me, and part of his strength has just seeped into me.

  He looks down at the table as if he’s trying to give me the time I need to start. The thing is, I don’t know where to start.

  The silence stretches out between us. Footsteps sound in the street outside, commuters rushing home. Cars drive past the shop. Horns blare. A siren wails in the distance. And still he sits and waits.

  ‘I was attacked,’ I finally say as my finger traces a line along the surface of the table. And now the words are finally out there, they’ve got a force of their own and keep coming. I have to get this poison out of me before it totally destroys me. ‘He was my boyfriend. I was seeing him for two years, and everything was great at first. At least, I thought so. Looking back, it probably wasn’t, but…’ I trail off. Maybe I was so desperate for love, I was trying to find it anywhere. ‘He came in the shop one day. He was in his last year at uni studying to become a lawyer. I was so surprised when he was interested in me. Shy, quiet, naïve Grace, who was a bookworm and worked in a coffee shop. He chased me from the moment I met him. I was flattered because he was so confident, intelligent, and charming. He swept me off my feet, and I fell under his spell, which obviously clouded my judgement at the time. Before I began to see him for what he was, it was too late. And maybe it was because I was shy, quiet Grace that he picked me. I was someone he could dominate and control, and I was just a stupid idiot looking for love and affection, whose weakness he could take advantage of.

  ‘Gradually, he became possessive. I couldn’t go out unless it was with him and his friends. I had to wear what he wanted me to wear. Do what he wanted to. But I thought I was in love with him, and I thought it was normal. I’d never been in a serious relationship before. Any relationship, really.’ A familiar band of panic tightens across my chest, and my hands shake so I wring them together to try to stop it. ‘He’d never been violent before that night. We’d been to a party with some of his rugby friends, and he was pretty drunk. When we got back to his house, he started having a go at me, saying I was flirting with some guy there. It wasn’t true, but nothing I said to him made any difference.’ My voice drops to a whisper. ‘He just kept getting louder and angrier and then…it all happened so fast, it was hard at first to really comprehend what was going on…’ All the breath has left my body. I’m lightheaded, so I hang onto the edge of the table for support, but I have to carry on. Have to get this out finally. ‘He hit me across the face. He plays rugby, so he’s a big guy, and it was really hard. I was so shocked, I froze. I couldn’t move at all. He threw me on his bed and…’ I can’t say it. I can’t say the word.

  ‘He raped you?’

  I flinch at the ugliness of it.

  ‘Saying the word doesn’t bring the act to life or condone it. It lessens the fear and shows you’re in control, not it.’

  My gaze meets his for a fleeting moment before looking away. ‘Yes. I was raped.’ I nod up and down uncontrollably. My cheeks are wet with tears.

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe anymore. I gasp for air, but my shoulders shudder so much it’s impossible. I’m having a heart attack. I think I’m actually going to die, and maybe that would be easier than trying to stay alive.

  ‘Just breathe, Grace.’ Ben’s voice is steady, completely calm. ‘Look at me and breathe, OK? You can do it.’

  I look up to his face, but this is a bad one, and I can’t focus. I clutch my chest and lean forward, hunching my body over my knees, battling to get my breathing under control. I can’t feel my hands anymore. An ache in the back of my skull hammers away like a pneumatic drill.

  ‘Breathe with me. Come on, Grace, you can do this.’ He takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out. ‘Grace, you’re OK.’

  Something about the way he says my name, or how he’s so calm and sure, makes me finally see him properly. My chest heaves in erratic gasps, but I try to concentrate on his eyes.

  ‘In. Out. Nice and deep.’

  I find myself following him. Breathing to his rhythm. I don’t know how long it takes, but the grip on my chest gradually relaxes, and I stop shaking.

  ‘You’re doing great.’ He smiles. ‘Just keep breathing, OK?’

  Sensation tingles back into my fingers. I wipe my cheeks with them as I keep my gaze locked onto his.

  He pushes the paper napkins on the table towards me in silence. He doesn’t ask me if I’m OK, which would probably have finished me off. Instead, he tells me I’m OK in a soothing voice.

  ‘You’re safe, Grace. It
’s not happening now. You’re here with me, and you’re OK. You’re just having a flashback, which can happen. It’s important to know why these panic attacks are happening and why you’re feeling how you are. If you can understand why, it’ll help the process.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I take a tissue. I must look a complete mess, but he hasn’t batted an eyelid. He looks like we’re just having a casual chat about the weather or something.

  I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, which sounds so loud in the silent shop.

  ‘Why are you sorry?’ he asks. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s his fault.’

  ‘It is my fault!’ I cry. ‘If I’d done something differently, it wouldn’t have happened.’

  He pauses for a moment. It’s something I’ve noticed about him. He seems to think long and hard before he says things. Like he’s not just talking for the sake of it, and anything he says must have some kind of meaning.

  ‘No one asks to be raped,’ he says. ‘It’s just a myth. A lie.’

  He leans forward slightly, holding eye contact with me, but it’s not intimidating in any way. All I see is understanding and sincerity shining through.

  ‘If you were burgled, would you blame yourself? Would you think it was your fault simply because you happened to own a house?’

  For some reason I laugh, because that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. ‘No.’

  ‘So why do you blame yourself for being raped?’

  ‘Because I didn’t do anything to stop it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t scream. I didn’t try to run, and I didn’t say no.’ My voice is louder, defensive.

  ‘I’m sure you know about the flight or fight response?’

  I ball up the soggy tissue in my hand and look down at it. ‘Yes, and I didn’t do either of those things. That’s the point! Which means it’s my fault. I must’ve wanted it to happen subconsciously.’

  ‘There’s also another response to trauma or attack. It’s where the body freezes. Similar to a rabbit caught in the headlights, or an animal that plays dead to fool a predator. It’s a subconscious action, which means you had no control over it. It happened instinctively. It’s also a survival reaction, just the same as flight or fight.’ He tilts his head. ‘So you can look at it another way. Instead of blaming yourself, look at it that not screaming or fighting back kept you from being beaten, or worse. It actually kept you alive.’ He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks, his words are precise and clear. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ His gaze holds mine, unwavering.

  Something inside me shifts, then, and it’s as if the world is blurring in front of my eyes before reshaping itself and coming back into focus.

  Because hearing all that from him, hearing the quiet certainty in his voice that it wasn’t my fault, gives me hope.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben

  As she tells me her story, the anger inside rages at full force. I clench my fists under the table so she can’t see them. If I want to be good at my job, I have to control it, which is why I beat a punch bag now instead of fighting in a ring. Well, that and because the last time I punched someone, I destroyed my whole life.

  My heart cracks into a million pieces. Her pain and hurt are like shards of glass, stabbing me all over, which just makes me want to comfort her. Protect her. Take it all away.

  I want to give her a breather, some time to compose herself. And I need to do something with my hands before I punch the wall, so I get up from the table. ‘I’m going to make you some hot chocolate.’

  I heat the milk in the microwave to save turning the machines back on. I add spoonfuls of hot chocolate into two mugs as she sniffs and blows her nose.

  I put a couple of cookies from the box on the counter onto two plates and take them over to the table. The microwave pings, and I pour the heated milk into the mugs, stirring well to get rid of any residual powder, then sprinkle them with chocolate powder.

  ‘Here, drink this.’ I put a mug in front of her and sit down opposite with mine.

  She’s shivering, despite the heat in the shop. She cradles the mug as if it’s a lifeline.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says softly, her eyes dropping to the chocolate as she takes a sip. Her face is pale, mascara smudged down her cheeks. She looks drained. Exhausted.

  But she also looks utterly beautiful to me.

  I don’t know how long we sit there. Just sit in silence as the tears dry on her face.

  ‘I’m so embarrassed,’ she finally says.

  ‘You have nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, you should be really proud of yourself.’

  ‘Why? I’ve just told a stranger disgusting things I’ve never told anyone.’

  ‘Because you’ve asked for help, which is the first step, and which also makes you very brave.’ I bring the mug to my lips. Swallow a mouthful. ‘So you didn’t report it?’

  ‘No. How could I? We’d been seeing each other for two years. I’d slept with him lots of times before. How would anyone see this as any different?’

  ‘But it is different. It’s completely different.’

  She stares down into her mug.

  ‘About four out of five rapes are actually committed by people you know, not by strangers. And half of those are committed by partners or ex-partners. Many women don’t report it because they think people will think it’s not “real” rape. If you slept with him before, then what’s the big deal, right? It’s not the same as some stranger jumping out of the bushes and raping you? But that’s not true. It’s another myth, another lie, and there are plenty of them out there. The bottom line is you didn’t consent to it. You didn’t want it to happen, and he forced you. That’s rape. Just because he was your partner doesn’t make you any less raped.’

  We drink in silence for a while, but the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. I don’t break it. She needs to get this out in her own time.

  Eventually, she says, ‘I didn’t report it to the police because his Dad’s the mayor here, and his mum’s a barrister. I knew if I told the police, I wouldn’t stand a chance of people believing me. They have the power to make me look like I’m lying. They’d say it was consensual, and it would’ve been my word against his. And I just wanted to forget it ever happened. I couldn’t bear to be touched by anyone afterwards, even if it was a doctor doing a rape exam.’ She sniffs. ‘After he raped me, he passed out, drunk, and I left. The next day, I got up for work as usual, trying to put on a brave face. Trying to make myself believe it didn’t happen. Except it’s not as easy as that. I’ve tried to forget, and it doesn’t work.’

  I bite my cheek before I can say anything, because the injustice of it all makes me see red. ‘And Lisa doesn’t know?’

  ‘No. I only met her when she started working here after it happened. All my friends were his friends, so it wasn’t like I could tell them what happened. And I can’t put all my shit on Lisa. It’s not fair.’ She wipes more tears away with the back of her hands. ‘But I don’t want to be the person I’ve turned into. I just want to be ordinary again. The Grace I used to be.’

  ‘The first step to healing is identifying the damage so it’s possible to decide you need to heal. You said you were attacked, but you weren’t. You were raped. There’s a big difference between knowing what it is and naming it. Naming and identifying it as rape is a big step forward. It gives the responsibility for it back to him instead of you keeping hold of it. You’re not a rape victim, Grace; you’re a survivor. And you’re not ordinary, you’re extraordinary for surviving.’

  ‘Survivor.’ She rolls the word around her tongue as if trying to commit it to memory.

  ‘And I’m going to say it again, because I really need you to understand this: it’s not your fault. So instead of taking the blame for this, give the blame back to him, where it belongs. He did this to you. You didn’t ask for it or want it to happen, and you didn’t deserve it.’

  She takes another sip of hot chocolate, looking at me over the top of the rim. A shadow passes over
her green eyes, and something sparks there.

  An idea?

  A realization?

  ‘How do I give the blame back to him?’ she asks.

  ‘There are lots of ways. Getting angry with him is one, but take out your anger in positive ways, like exercise. Running or hitting a punch bag. Your being angry doesn’t affect him in any way. All it does is affect you and hold you down.’

  For the first time since she started talking, that ghost of a smile is on her face. ‘Yeah. I think I could probably do with hitting something.’

  ‘Look, this is just the first step. We’ll work on this together. You’re going to get through this, Grace.’

  I hope she hears the absolute belief in my voice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace

  I wait for him to look at me differently, with disgust, but he doesn’t. Instead, all I see in his face is kindness, compassion, worry, and patience.

  Rape. Survivor.

  I think about the words, and I know he’s right. It’s taken someone else to say them before it sinks in.

  He slides his fingers across the table towards the middle and turns his palm upwards. It’s a simple, soothing, and comforting gesture.

  ‘You’re safe, Grace. I’m never going to do anything to hurt you. I just want to help you get through this. You can trust me.’

  I look at his hand and then search his face. I do trust him, and I do feel safe with him. I have ever since I met him, as irrational and weird as that sounds.

  Tentatively, I reach out and slide my fingers towards his. He engulfs my small hand gently in his big one, and we sit in silence. I don’t know why I’m allowing myself to touch him. It’s something I don’t do with men, but I’m surprisingly at ease with his touch. It’s compassionate. Energizing, somehow.