by Rae Agatha
Some minutes later, he came up to the tunnel. The bush was there, just as she described it to the detective. Rick came closer and started looking around. There really were no lampposts within a few yards, the place was completely dark and deserted.
He wasn’t sure on which side of the tunnel Monica was attacked, but he had a feeling that since she was running for only about half an hour, she was probably going toward Recreation House. Rick walked to the bushes located on the east side of the tunnel. At first he scanned the ones on his left. Nothing there, no signs of assault, no broken twigs. He turned around and went to the right side. A strange feeling appeared in his heart. He knew. He knew it all happened there.
At first, Rick looked at the wall, behind the bush. This must havebeen where the son of a bitch started beating Mon while pushing her toward the wall. This was where he hit her head on the tunnel’s wall; Rick touched the place, at the height where he knew Monica’s head would be. He thought he could see small, caked dots of blood on the wall. He couldn’t tell for sure if it was in fact blood, because there were no lampposts anywhere near, but he knew it was possible - he must have hit her hard since she lost her teeth. Suddenly, he saw a shape on the ground, behind the bushes, about two yards away from him. Rick came up to it and bent his knees to see what it was exactly.
He froze.
Oh my God.
It was Mon’s scarf. The grey one with pink butterflies sewn to it. Rick couldn’t see the colors clearly, but just by touching it, by feeling its texture, by smelling its scent, he knew what it was. He took the scarf and was holding it in his hand for a minute not knowing what to do, if he should throw it away, leave it there or take it back home. The police did not take it, they probably thought it wasn’t useful for them, they already had the man’s DNA, but maybe they missed it. On the other hand, how would it be helpful, it was Monica’s scarf, it most probably fell to the ground when the son of a bitch was beating her up. No, he did not want that around his house. He was sure Monica wouldn’t want it either.
Rick, still holding the scarf, walked toward the wall again and touched it one more time. He felt his stomach was about to turn upside- down, he leaned on the wall and squatted. He looked around. It was almost 10:00 p.m. and there was nobody there, walking or running. It must have been like that two nights ago. Nobody helped his wife, because there was nobody there. Nobody heard her crying out for help. He covered his face in his hands and, holding the scarf between his fingers, and felt he was about to scream; the feeling of powerlessness was practically eating him alive.
VI
Monica and Rick walked out of the hospital the next day around 10:00 a.m. He helped her put on her clothes, and they left the building. Monica was holding her husband tight, covering her face, ashamed of what she looked like. He kept on telling her nobody would pay attention to the bruises and the swollen cheek, but she wouldn’t listen. They got a taxi and about forty minutes later they were home.
“I need to take a shower, a long shower in my own bathroom,”
Monica said.
“Of course. Go ahead. Do you want me to make some coffee or something?” Rick asked.
“Yes, coffee will be fine, thank you.”
Monica went to the bathroom, slowly undressed herself and looked at her reflection in a glass shower door. This was the very first time she was able to see herself fully and not just from her shoulders up. She had bruises not only on the inner side of her thighs, but also on her back. They had yellowish and greenish edges, meaning they were slowly fading. Monica discovered one more bruise under her right breast, it was also in the disappearing phase.
She walked into the cabin and poured warm water on herself. She closed her eyes and allowed herself just to stand there, allowed the water to sooth her body. It was calming her down.
Rick was preparing coffee and got some chocolate mousse-cake from the fridge. Just as Monica liked; coffee and something with chocolate. He had no idea how to behave around her; if he was supposed to be cheerful and talkative or be quiet and give her space, or act as if nothing had happened. He turned the radio on and was cutting the cake when he heard the bathroom door closing. Rick turned around expecting to see Monica behind him, but she wasn’t there. He put the plates away and, licking the chocolate off his fingers, walked to the bedroom. She was lying on the bed, looking bluntly ahead. Her hair was wet, she had a wrapper on.
“Mon?” He said softly and walked closer to the bed. She looked at him, but he wasn’t sure if she was really present or if she was in fact somewhere far away from him.
“What is it?”
She did not reply.
“Do you want me to bring you the coffee here?”
“No, I don’t want any coffee, sorry. I don’t want anything.”
“Okay.”
“Just let me sleep a little, okay?”
“Of course.” He kissed her and silently walked out of the room.
Monica covered herself with the quilt and fell asleep.
***
Rick spent the entire day at home. He walked into the bedroom a few times to make sure Monica did not need anything, but she was only sleeping, thus he decided that he might as well write some more pages of the new novel. In the afternoon when he was proof-reading the written pages, he heard Monica screaming from the bedroom. He immediately dropped the papers and ran to her. She was still sleeping, but she was crying out for help in the sleep.
“Let me go, don’t do it, help!”
“Monica! Wake up!” Rick jumped to her and put his hand on her forehead. “Monica!” She opened her eyes, fearful, confused.
“He’s here, Rick, he’s here!” She grabbed his shoulder nervously.
“It’s okay, you’re at home, Mon,” he said calmly. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Monica started breathing deeper and her facial expression started changing; it was no longer so tense. “I was afraid he was coming back,” she finally said and started crying. She reached her arms to him and he hugged her stroking the back of her head. It always calmed her down.
“It’s over, Mon, it’s okay, you’re safe, calm down,” Rick was talking to her quietly.
“What time is it?” She finally asked.
“It’s almost 6 p.m.”
“Oh my God, so how long was I sleeping?” She said blinking and rubbing her eyes.
“About five or six hours.”
After a few minutes, she finally said, “I’d love to eat something.”
“Come on,” he smiled. “Let’s make some dinner.” Rick reached his hand and helped her get up. He left to the kitchen, Monica got dressed and soon she was there with him. She looked calmer, more peaceful.
“We don’t have too many meal options in my condition,” she said pointing her swollen cheek.
“No, but I’ve thought of something.”
He took out two packages of frozen peas from the freezer and threw it to boiling water.
“You just sit and relax, the dinner will be ready in maximum fifteen minutes.”
“Oh really?” She smiled. “Okay then, surprise me.” Monica sat by the kitchen island.
Rick threw the peas to a blender cup, added some sour cream, butterand nutmeg and mixed it all together. He poured the green cream to soup plates and put them on the table.
“Voila!”
“Wow. This looks great.”
He smiled cheekily and gave her a spoon. “Surprised?”
“Totally,” she admitted and slowly started eating. “It’s really good.”
“I’m very glad you like it.”
“Steve and Gary are coming in two days, you know?” Rick said when he sat next to her.
“They are?
“Yes, on Saturday. They’re coming for a weekend.”
“That’s great, your mom must be very happy.”
“She is. She’s planning to prepare dinner.”
Monica looked at him. “I’m not going out anywhere, I’m sorry, Rick.”
“Nah, I
know, it’s okay; we’re not going anywhere. I already told her.”
“You can go, no problem.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s okay.”
“Did you tell her what happened to me?” Monica asked seriously.
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
She put away her spoon and leaned on the chair, visibly unhappy.
“Come on, Mon, how could I not tell her? She was planning to prepare the dinner with you this weekend. What was I supposed to tell her?”
“No, I know, I understand, it’s just that, you know – I don’t feel too comfortable with the fact that people know what happened.”
Rick was looking at her, focused. “Well, not people, it’s not like I was walking around the city telling everyone. It’s my mom we’re talking about.”
“Who else knows?” Monica asked.
“Alice and Marty.”
Monica sighed and propped her head on her hand. She was clearly unhappy, but did not say anything.
“Are you angry with me that I told them?” Rick asked a bit surprised.
“No, it’s not that. I know it would be out sooner or later, it’s just that, you know, I don’t feel very comfortable about it. I just kind of feel it was supposed to be my decision if I want anyone to know. And when to tell them.”
“Mon,” he said and grabbed her hand, “you did nothing wrong. None of the things that happened to you were your fault.”
“Do you really believe that?” She asked him sadly.
“I know that, I don’t have to believe.”
“Then I envy you, because I am not so sure. If I hadn’t reacted, I wouldn’t have to look at my face covered with bruises or think about a dental appointment to have my teeth rebuilt.”
Rick wasn’t sure what he could have said. Once again he recalled the people in the bar and he thought that they wouldn’t have any problem with facing their ignorance. Monica, on the other hand, was having doubts whether she did the right thing by intervening. He scoffed and resumed eating. He finally said:
“Look, I am proud of you, I am proud that you are so righteous, so brave, that you stood up and wanted to help a person in need. Nobody should ever feel ashamed or guilty of such actions. I know that none of the horrible things would have happened if you pretended you didn’t see the man was in trouble, but tell me – knowing what was going on and just passing by, would that allow you to sleep at night?”
Monica was looking at him for a moment, thinking of what he had just told her. “No,” she finally said. “But I could have run further and just call the cops. I didn’t have to do anything myself, I did not have to risk.”
She was right, he knew she was. That was true, it would have been smarter; she still would have helped, but she would have been safe.
“Maybe not,” he sighed. “But, does it change anything?”
Monica resumed eating. “I’m sorry, Rick, I really don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to see anyone, at least as long as my face looks like this.”
“No problem, of course.”
They didn’t say anything else during the dinner. Later on, she told Rick she would go to sleep again. Monica went to the bedroom and Rick thought he would write some more. Once he turned on the computer, he realized he was unable to focus on anything. He decided to watch some TV.
***
It was the middle of May. Monica was in a much better condition. She came back to work about two weeks after the assault, something which helped her regain the much-needed sense of balance and purpose. She healed completely, she no longer had any bruises on her body and her teeth were rebuilt. The only difference was that Monica was no longer jogging outside – she bought a gym package and was now a member of SLIM GYM chain.
Rick was finishing his fourth novel. It was already written, but he kept on adding something, rewriting sentences, making sure there were no typos; he was polishing it.
The day before, his agent called them in the evening and said there was a film studio preliminarily interested in filming an adaptation of his first novel. Neither him nor Monica could believe it – it was very exciting and they were both hoping the agents and lawyers would successfully tie up the negotiations. He had never expected he would have the possibility of seeing his characters coming to life. It was unbelievable. Moricka was supposed to go out in the evening and celebrate the news.
Later that day, Monica called him from work and proposed staying at home. She said she did not feel like going anywhere, that there wasn’t really anything interesting in the theaters on that day, so she had a wild idea of staying home with some Chinese takeout and perhaps play a round of Scrabble. He smirked and agreed. Why not, he would always kick her butt in Scrabble, so how could he refuse? (she would always claim it was all a matter of luck, of getting the right tiles, nothing else, he would always claim it was a matter of being him). Monica told him to watch himself and asked him to buy the food and wine for the evening. When she came back home, she saw two candles burning, a Scrabble box and two boxes of Chinese on the coffee table. Rick came up to her with a bottle of red wine in his hands.
“Hi, honey,” he said and kissed her.
“Hi,” she smiled and kissed him back. “I see you have everything ready here, huh?”
“Absolutely, just waiting for you,” he kissed her again and whispered straight into her ear, “Double letter premium, triple word premium, my God, I’m all shaking only thinking about it… oh, Mon, wash your hands and change your clothes quickly, I can’t wait until we start, I feel it’s my lucky night.”
Monica burst out laughing.
“We’ll see about that,” she said and went to the bedroom. Rick smiled and opened the bottle of wine. He poured some of it into the glasses, sat on the armchair and began setting up the Scrabble board when Monica came to him. He looked up at her and froze. She was wearing a very sexy set of underwear; black-lace-trimmed red push-up bra and hipsters and black stockings with garter belt. She had a delicate, short, see-through wrapper on her, which was flirtatiously sliding down her shoulders.
“You still feel like you’re gonna win tonight?” Monica said and walked toward him.
“No, not anymore, but I still feel it’s my lucky night,” he replied, leaned on the armchair and looked at her a bit cheekily.
It was the very first time since the assault that making love made its way back in their lives. They hadn’t talked about it at all, the only time Monica ever said anything was when she once told him she was glad she was unconscious when being raped, as having only the notion of what happened was difficult enough for her. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like being fully aware of such a traumatic event; feeling it, remembering the taste, the smell. That night, Monica decided she was ready to be with him again, that she at least wanted to try.
She sat astride him and he put his hands around her waist.
“This is just low, Mon. Winning a game in this way, ” he said softly.
“You can always tell me to change, you know, I am not forcing you to anything,” she whispered.
“Oh, by all means, please don’t do that. I am ready to face mydefeat, I think I even deserve it.”
“How about this,” she said kissing him delicately, “we’ll go to the bedroom and try to set the rules for tonight’s game, and, if we’re successful, we’ll see how they work out.”
“Yes, it’s a really good plan.”
They got up, and kissing, went to the bedroom. While they were undressing and caressing each other, a thought appeared in Rick’s head. It had been two months. Two. He recalled what doctor Anderson told him…
“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered.
Rick looked at her and moved to the side of the bed. He opened his drawer, looking for a condom. There wasn’t one. Obviously. Monica had been on the pill for years and they hadn’t had sex since the assault, so they hadn’t needed any extra protection until tonight. He looked at Monica again, not knowing what to say. She understood immediately.
“Oh my God, oh – wow,” she sighed and covered herself up.
“Mon,” he said apologetically.
“I forgot, I’m sorry. The three months. Jesus,” she got up and went to the bathroom.
Rick sighed heavily. He was now sitting on the bed, trying to figure out what to do. Monica soon came back, wearing the clothes she would always wear at home; the tracksuit pants and a tee shirt.
“I’m sorry, Mon, I – I forgot to buy them, the condoms,” Rick said, embarrassed.
“That’s not the point, Rick, I haven’t thought of it either, besides I understand you’re afraid. I – I just got upset, that’s all.”
