by KD Robichaux
“He must’ve taken off his jeans before he attacked me. I kicked him with every ounce of strength I had in me. But it did absolutely nothing. And then he—”
Her words stop abruptly, and I force my eyes open to see what’s happening in the video. She’s fighting with herself, appearing like she’s trying to make the words come out, but they just won’t.
I want to jump into the screen and wrap her in my arms, tell her she doesn’t have to say any more, and that everything will be all right now. I’ve got her. But instead, I see Doc hold his hand out to her. She eyes it warily, and it makes me think about the way she jerked away from my touch the night she came to Club Alias. And it all makes sense now, why she appeared shocked, maybe even a little repulsed by the physical contact.
But then finally, she slowly, delicately places her tiny hand in Doc’s huge one, and as if the contact electrocutes her, she jerks, and then she crumbles.
She cries so long and hard that my heart crawls out of its hiding place in my gut and up into my throat where it lodges itself, causing me to be unable to swallow. An unfamiliar stinging starts at the backs of my eyes and in my nose, and I find myself having to fight back the tears filling my eyes.
“Let it out, Vivian. Let it all out,” Doc tells her, but I don’t want her to. I have never experienced such unbelievable pain in my life, more devastating even than when she had obviously lied and told me she cheated on me. Then, she was the enemy; she was the one who had hurt me. But now… now, knowing the truth, that this had happened to my baby girl….
But I don’t look away. I don’t fast forward the video. I sit through every second of her heart-wrenching sobs, until she finally exhausts herself, and Doc prompts her, “All right, Vivian. Finish your sentence. And then he… what?”
I watch her close her beautiful green eyes, and then finally, after a sigh that seems to leave only enough oxygen for her to respond, she says the words I already know are coming and will change my life forever.
“And then he raped me.”
I can’t.
I see there are twenty-two minutes left in the video, but I can’t take any more. At least not right now. So I pause it and just stare at the computer screen.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to think.
My… my beautiful wife.
I had been the only person who ever touched her. She had been completely innocent before I made her mine. And then someone took her sweetness, her caring and nurturing personality, and they’d used it against her. My baby girl, so naïve, didn’t want to leave some drunk motherfucker alone, because of a story I’d told her. And he fucking—
No.
I can’t think about that right now. If I think about that… no, I just can’t.
Why? Why had she lied to me? Why had she told me she’d slept with someone?
And now that I think about what she’d told me all those years ago—“We were all drinking. I had too many to drive home, so I stayed with Sierra and her roommate. I… I did something horrible”—I should’ve known something was up. “I was drunk. I… I slept with someone.” I had been so shocked by the words that came out of her mouth that I didn’t take the time to think about their deception. It didn’t click in my head that Vi didn’t drink. It never dawned on me that even on her twenty-first birthday, she had a virgin strawberry daiquiri, so why would she all of a sudden be drinking at a party?
The mouse in my hand cracks, but I’m so internally distraught right now that I barely register the sharp plastic stabbing into my hand. What I do register is the video begins to play once more, and all the questions running through my mind are answered.
“…and then Corbin called a couple of days later. He was always so protective of me, so possessive, but in a good way. But… he had a darker side. I could see tiny hints of it, a facial expression here or a snide comment passed off as a joke there. I could see that if he were pushed, that dark side he hid so well would surface, and he could probably do some pretty serious damage—to whatever person set him off, or to himself. It was the damage to himself that I was worried about, and that’s what made me lie to him.
“I knew… knew as clearly as if I had a fucking psychic glimpse into the future that if I told Corbin I had been raped, he would murder Alan. I knew it in my very soul. If I told him the truth, there would’ve been no stopping him from actually beating my rapist to death. And then Corbin would’ve been sent to prison. Or, in an alternate scenario, Corbin could get hurt. If he was so upset when he went after Alan, not thinking straight, then it was possible that Alan could get a one-up on my husband. I couldn’t risk that. I had to keep Corbin safe. I had to keep him from getting hurt, or being sent to jail for the rest of his life. So… I lied.”
I run my hands over my shaved head and close my eyes. She was absolutely right. If she’d told me she had been raped, the very second I returned home from Afghanistan wouldn’t have been spent on the airfield’s tarmac hugging and kissing my beautiful wife who held a Welcome Home sign. Oh no. It would’ve been me gunning for the motherfucker who had taken my sweet girl’s light.
All this time… all this fucking time….
Ten years I’ve spent both loving and hating Vivian. Watching her from a distance, scrutinizing her every move. And the whole time she dealt with this truth on her own. This fucking tragic… awful thing had happened to such an angel, and what had she done? Only thought of me. Wanted to protect me. Wanted to keep me safe, out of jail.
“What did you tell him when he called, Vivian? And what did he say?” Doc asks. I hear he’s trying to keep his voice in its normal calm tenor, but I can tell he’s shocked by this turn of events.
Vi looks into her lap, where her hands are wringing. “There’s no way I could pretend nothing had happened. I wouldn’t be able to keep this secret to myself, not from Corbin. He was my soul mate. Plus, even the thought of him coming home and sleeping with me, not knowing another man had been inside me, made me feel guilty as hell. He used to tell me constantly how much he loved that he was the only one who’d ever touched me.” She smiles and glances up at Doc. “Corbin was my first real kiss. I gave him my virginity when I was eighteen. He was my first and only love.” Her eyes move back to her fidgeting fingers. “The only thing he ever asked of me was that I stay loyal. I would always scoff and roll my eyes at him. As if I’d ever want anyone else. Oh my gosh, Dr. Walker. You have no idea.” She sighs almost dreamily. “He was so freaking gorgeous. The most handsome man I’d ever seen. Still to this day, I’ve never laid eyes on another man who would even hold a candle to Corbin Lowe.” She side-eyes Doc, and murmurs, “No offense.”
Doc forces out a chuckle. “None taken.”
“Just… it’s needless to say that I would’ve never willingly had sex with anyone other than my husband. He was my everything. No other men even existed. But… I had to tell him something. What could I possibly say to let him know he was no longer the only person I’d been with, without telling him I’d been raped, which would have either gotten him hurt or put away for the rest of his life? So I lied and told him I’d been drunk and slept with someone.
“I guess I was hoping he’d forgive me and we could move on from it. Part of me thought maybe our love for each other would be enough to keep him from leaving, that we could get through anything. But knowing it was his one deal-breaker, it wasn’t that shocking when he finally spoke the last words I ever heard him say to me. ‘I’ll have the divorce papers sent to you.’”
Every word she says rings true. As she explains her train of thought from all those years ago, I know in my heart everything is exactly right. I knew she would’ve never cheated on me. It’s why I asked her to marry me in the first place. I knew I was the center of her universe, her every thought orbiting around me. And it dawns on me. This. This is where my decade-long obsession with following her must’ve birthed from. My stalkerish compulsion to always have my eye on her, to alwa
ys know she’s safe, to know her every move. It’s because I knew, gut deep, I’d made a mistake. Somewhere deep inside me, I knew jumping the gun and sending her those divorce papers was… fuck, it was wrong. And because I’m a dumb fuck, instead of admitting it and working things out with her, I followed her around this long like a goddamn psychopath. I snort at my decisions, my mistakes, so pissed off with the old me I could knock myself the fuck out. My actions had been my way of dealing with the guilt of never giving her a chance, after she had put all her trust in me. She’d trusted me to keep her safe, yet I’d dropped her like a hot rock.
I jump in my seat as a hand squeezes my shoulder. I glance up from my misery into the face of Doc, who has nothing but sympathy in his eyes. It’s a look I normally detest from anyone, but right now, admittedly, I need it.
“You couldn’t have known, Corb,” he tells me, his voice low.
“I did know, Doc. Something in me knew. It has to be why….” I shake my head, unable to finish, but he does it for me.
“It’s why you’ve always watched her. It’s why you came back, took the job I offered you, and moved in right across the street from her. This is why you could never let her go,” he says, though it’s more to himself as his eyes look through me, putting all the pieces together in his mind. After a moment, he focuses his gaze again. “So what now?”
My face hardens. “Now, we find that motherfucker.”
FOR THE FIRST time since I started these sessions, I sit calmly in my spot on Dr. Walker’s sofa. As tough as it was to reveal all, now that I have, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It makes me almost regret not doing it sooner, if not with my first therapist, then with one soon after she retired. But something tells me it probably wouldn’t have had quite the same effect as it did with him. I don’t know of another therapist who would have spanked me out of a panic attack.
“All right, Vivian. Today is your last required session with me, but know that you are welcome to continue coming if you see fit to do so. I have quite a few people from the club who continue their weekly appointments with me,” he assures, and I think I might just take him up on his offer. “I’ve already sent Seven my approval letter for your membership request. So I’d like to take today as an opportunity to discuss my findings, if you’d like my professional opinion?”
“Of course,” I state, adjusting in my seat. I pull my leg up beneath me to get comfortable and settle in to hear what he has to say.
“First off, I’d like to reassure you that you are not alone. There are thousands of cases where survivors of a sexual assault end up participating in BDSM,” he informs, and it surprises the hell out of me.
“Really? I mean, you’d think that someone who has…” I clear my throat, still unused to saying the words aloud. “…been raped would want to stay far away from sex involving… ya know, the stuff that goes on in that kind of relationship.” My face turns hot. “The spanking, the tying up. I always thought that would make it worse for someone who had been put through what… what I went through.”
“Quite the contrary. So many survivors claim BDSM is healing for them. And yes, at first glance, one would think all that would be a trigger for the survivor, as opposed to being therapeutic. But just think about it. BDSM is a power game. In the books you write, who actually has the power?” he asks, a small smile on his lips.
I think for a moment, visualizing my characters, and realization hits. “The submissive. They can end a scene by just saying their safe word.”
Dr. Walker nods approvingly. “Exactly. They are the ones allowing it to happen at all. Therefore, they hold all the power. Now, that’s not to say a survivor can’t find the role as a Dominant just as therapeutic. You might not find it appealing, but I’m sure you can imagine how empowering it would feel to be the one in control of a scene.”
“Oh, for sure. I guess that’s why I find it so surprising that I still want someone else to have control over me. I just don’t have the desire to ever dominate anyone. I thought something was wrong with me that I have these… needs, especially since my control was taken from me against my will,” I confess.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Vivian. Your desire to give up control comes from wanting to give it freely, to be the one to hand it over instead of it being stolen from you.” As he says the words, it all becomes so clear in my mind. It all makes so much sense. He goes into further detail, and I have a feeling it’s because he knows I crave information.
“When someone who has been sexually assaulted takes on the submissive role in a partnership, on the surface, one could argue they’re recreating the abusive experience by having the power taken from them and being subjected to the pain, the humiliation, the violence of the act, which could obviously expose them to PTSD. But, in a real BDSM relationship, the sub, as we stated before, has the power. They’re the one who creates the rules beforehand, what they give the Dom permission to do, how far they want them to go, and, just like you said, when to use their safe word to bring everything to an immediate halt.”
I absorb everything he says like a sponge, hanging on his every word. Seeing my utter fascination, he continues.
“In a proper BDSM relationship, there is established trust and understanding between the Dom and sub. So in your case, as the sub, you are then able to be submissive, but in a situation where you remain safe and in control of what does or doesn’t happen to you. So you, as a survivor of sexual violence, having this type of control in a scene can theoretically be empowering. Therefore, it can be healing, because you would basically be rewriting the story of what happened to you a decade ago. On the other hand, other survivors take on the Dominant role as a way of feeling they are the one who is in control, because they are the one doling out the sadism. Use that information for your next book.” He smiles, and it’s infectious.
A few weeks ago, you couldn’t have paid me to believe I’d be smiling during a therapy session, after having told a doctor I’d been raped. But here I am.
“I… I have something else I need to talk about, if that’s okay?” I ask. I had weighed not bringing this part up, but having confessed everything else to Dr. Walker, I figure it can’t hurt.
“Certainly,” he prompts, gesturing with his pen before grabbing his notepad from his side table.
“I haven’t…” I shift on the couch cushion, suddenly embarrassed by what I’m about to say. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and decide to just blurt it out. “I haven’t had sex since that night. I’ve been in relationships, and when it would finally come time to be intimate, as soon as they’d put their hands on me, I’d freak the fuck out, leave, and fall off the face of the planet. Never talk to the person ever again.”
I see a flash of surprise cross his face before he hides it behind his professional expression. He writes something down as he speaks. “You haven’t had intercourse in ten years?” he confirms.
“Correct,” I whisper, and my tone draws his eyes back to me.
“Vivian, there is nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. From what you’ve told me, and from the many, many cases I’ve studied, the inability to be intimate with someone after having been raped is completely normal. Particularly from what you divulged about your past. You waited until you were eighteen to ever become sexually active in the first place. In this day and age, that’s pretty mature, especially with hormones running rampant, and girls going through puberty at such early ages. You married the man who you gave your virginity to. He was the only person you were ever intimate with.” He pauses, looking me in the eyes seriously. “Now, do you understand what I just said? He was the only person you were ever intimate with. Meaning, you were never intimate with Alan. What he did to you is not being intimate. The word itself can be defined as ‘private and personal.’ Something you do willingly and freely. You only did that with Corbin. And from your telling of your past, it had been a big deal, a huge decision on your part. Your virginity meant something to you. You gav
e it to the one and only person you ever trusted, and had thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, only being intimate with him during your lifetime. So no, it’s not something you should be ashamed of.”
I nod vigorously. “Okay, thanks, Dr. Walker. Enough about that. Can you get back to the BDSM stuff?” I laugh nervously, uncomfortable thinking about Corbin and him being the only person I ever trusted. How sad is it I’ve never been able to trust anyone since, even ten years later?
“I can see that’s a prickly subject, one I’d like to revisit during a later session, if you choose to return. But yes, since you’re here right now as part of your club membership initiation, I’ll get back to the BDSM stuff, as you put it.” He gives me a look that says he’s a little disappointed I don’t want to continue where he wanted the conversation to go, but does as I requested anyway.
“In our first session, we touched on what BDSM is about. Sadism and masochism, which you have a lot of knowledge about because of the genre of your books. Needless to say, many survivors can find it difficult to engage in anything that results in sexual pleasure. They may feel guilty for getting aroused, thinking it’s in some way wrong to feel in any way sensual. Others, unfortunately, find getting aroused is a trigger. They have flashbacks, memories of their assault. And then there are others who just can’t become aroused at all and avoid sex. Do you have anything to say about this subject?” he asks in his therapist voice.
I think for a moment before answering. “I think I may be a mix. I can get aroused. I do. I mean, my career is based on arousing people with my words. I get turned on during my research. I…” I can’t believe I say this out loud, but just go with it. “I masturbate. But I do avoid sex with other people. There have been a couple of times when I thought I wanted to become intimate with someone I was in a relationship with, but when it came time to actually do it, nothing. Sometimes, there was absolutely no sexual desire, but every time, it was an overwhelming sense of… not fear, and not quite guilt, but just a sense of it being… wrong. Like I was in a situation I was not supposed to be in. I would get this feeling of being in a place I shouldn’t be and I just needed to leave right then. Like my flight instinct was going off.”
