A Night to Forget

by Jessica Wood

  It was. My eyes fluttered open and Brandon’s gorgeous face stared down at me. I started crying again the second I realized it was him. He covered me with a towel and held me close to him as I heard him call the front desk. I saw Mike’s body unconscious on the floor with blood on his face, and the sight of him made me flinch.

  The next 30 minutes passed in a blur. Two police officers showed up and took Mike away after Brandon told them what he saw. He convinced them that I was not in a state to give my statement tonight and that he’d bring me in tomorrow morning to give it.

  After the police left, Brandon carried me in my towel to his room when I told him that I didn’t want to stay in my room. He gently sat me against the head of the bed and sat down next to me, holding me against his chest.

  “Everything will be okay, Emma. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Ever again.” I felt him hold me tighter against him and I felt a sense of relief wash through me. Brandon made me feel safe and protected.

  “Please don’t leave me,” I begged.

  “I won’t,” he whispered softly in my ear. “I don’t know what I would have done if he—if I didn’t get there when I did. I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

  “How—how did you get in?” I asked in confusion.

  “The door latch had the door ajar, and I heard you screaming from my room.”

  “This feels like de ja vu,” I muttered to myself.

  “What do you mean by that?” Brandon asked. I looked up at him and concern filled his eyes.

  I paused before answering, trying to decide if I should tell him. Emma, this is your chance. He just saved you from being raped, he deserved to know.

  “Can I tell you something, Brandon?” I asked hesitantly as I looked up at him.

  “Yes, of course. You can tell me anything,” he said as he held me closer.

  “Well, remember when I mentioned during our lunch that I started volunteering at SFWAR?”

  “Yes,” Brandon said.

  “Well I volunteer there because … because, in many ways, the cause is personal to me.” I paused. There was silence, and I looked up at him. I saw his eyes flicker from confusion to understanding as he realized what I was suggesting.

  “Were you raped before this, Emma?” There was a sharp undertone of anger in Brandon’s concerned voice. “Was it that guy tonight?”

  “No, no it’s not like that,” I cut in. “And no, It wasn’t him and I wasn’t raped. Well, it almost happened, but—”

  I paused and thought about what I wanted to say next. I decided not to tell Brandon about my mom, and only told him the story of what happened to me almost four years ago that night during freshman year. The memory of that night would always stay vivid in mind as one of my worst nights of my life. That was the night John—my then boyfriend—forced himself on top of me, broke my jaw, and almost raped me.

  I met John at a frat party freshman year. He was a charmer and all the girls seemed to want him. I was impressionable then and was flattered when John noticed me that night and asked me out. After two weeks of dating, I trusted him and thought he was a nice guy. Then at a house party one night, he pulled me into one of the bedrooms to make out. He was drunk and high on ecstasy. After a few minutes, he started to get really rough on me. He had ripped my clothes off, and I begged him to stop. But instead of stopping, He forced his hands all over me—on my breasts, in between my inner thighs, and inside me. I remembered crying and screaming for him to stop. But he didn’t listen. Instead, he tried to shut me up and he punched me several times in my face and knocked me unconscious. When I came to, I was in a hospital room with a broken jaw, five stitches, and a number of severe bruises. Luckily for me, someone had walked in on us and saw me covered in blood, passed out, and naked while John was undressing himself. They had immediately called 911. John was arrested and charged with assault and attempted rape, and I was hospitalized for a week.

  During my entire story, Brandon remained quiet and focused, showing a mixture of concern and rage in his eyes. By the time I finished, I realized that my whole body was shaking and tears were rolling down my face. Brandon pulled me closer to him and held me with both arms as I cried in his embrace.

  “I’m sorry.” I finally said, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “It’s just been four years since that night, and I should be over it.”

  “Emma, that was a traumatic experience, and you just had to almost go through that again. That’s not something you can easily get over. You have every right to still be upset over it. I just wish I could make that pain go away. I wish that had never happened to you.”

  Brandon’s hand brushed through my wavy, blonde locks as he held my face against his chest. We stayed in that position for a long period of time, and I felt my body slowly relaxing.

  Finally, I looked up at him and whispered, “Thank you for being you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, thank you for listening to me and understanding. I haven’t always received this kind of understanding from men.”

  He kissed me on my forehead—his lips were firm and soft against my skin. “Thank you for sharing that story with me,” he whispered back. “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy one to tell, and I feel honored that you could trust me with that piece of your past.”

  I looked up to meet his eyes. “Thank you for saving me tonight.” Impulsively, I leaned up towards him and kissed him. He kissed me back. Our kiss was soft, sweet, and emotional.

  After a few minutes, I pulled away, wanting to honor his request to take things slow. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

  He held me closer, “Emma, who are we kidding? Who am I kidding? You know very well that I want to be more than just your friend. I want to be everything to you, because it’s becoming clear to me that you’re everything to me.”

  He held my face with his hands and pulled me towards him. His lips were soft and gentle against mine, and I felt the tenderness through his movements. His hands brushed through my hair and I felt all of my fears melt away with his touch.

  Suddenly, I moved away from him. I don’t know if it was the events of this evening or his confession that he wanted to be with me, but I knew I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I knew I had to confront him.

  I looked at Brandon, and he looked at me with concern and surprise.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I want to ask you something. Will you be honest with me?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. I sensed a slight hesitation in his voice.

  “Do you remember me from Cancun?” I asked. The directness of my question made me cringe inside, but I had been waiting to ask this question for so long—to long, and it felt liberating to finally ask him, regardless of how he would respond.

  “Yes. Yes, I do remember you from Cancun.” His warm brown eyes were sincere, and I was taken aback by his equally-direct answer.

  “So why have you been acting like you don’t know me when we slept together in Cancun? Do you know that you were my first? That you took my virginity?” I felt the outrage that I had locked up inside for the past eight months pour out as I spoke. I looked at him, silently forcing him to look at me as he answered my questions.

  As I had expected, Brandon looked at me in shock when he heard my questions. But what I hadn’t expected was what he said next.

  “Emma … Emma, I’m not sure how to say this …, but we didn’t have sex in Cancun.”

  Chapter 15

  Brandon’s words shell-shocked me to my core. Why would he say such a thing?

  I sat there in silence and looked at him in belief. He waited for me to respond and joined me in my silence.

  “But—but, we did have sex,” I said incredulously. “Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember that night? You took me to that canopy bed on the beach to watch the sunset?”

  “Well, yes, I do remember that. The Omni hotel is a client of mine
, and I was in Cancun helping them set up some promotional events, including the VIP party you attended. I heard that you had missed the booze cruise and was one of the VIP guest. Then I saw you alone at the bar. You seemed so sad that night, you were actually crying, and I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for being the cause of that.”

  I laughed to myself at the irony of those words. He was the cause of my tears, but not because I missed the booze cruise.

  “So you do remember me?” I asked.

  “Yes—”

  “But you don’t remember having sex with me,” I interrupted him.

  “Emma, we didn’t have sex,” he said again.

  “But …”

  “When we started talking at the bar, you said you were going to go watch the sunset, have a few drinks at the bar, and walk around. I thought I’d keep you company to make sure you were going to be okay. I took you to the canopy bed because it really does have one of the best sunset views in Cancun.”

  “So we were on that canopy bed? Then we did have sex,” I demanded.

  “Emma. No, we really didn’t.” His voice was patient, but there was confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Maybe it was someone else during one of the other nights you were in Cancun?” he tentatively suggested.

  “There was that guy we bumped into on the beach—what did you call him?” Brandon chuckled, “Oh yes, Mr. Muscle Shirt Man.”

  I laughed at the memory of the sun-burnt guy, but then quickly cleared my throat.

  “No, there was no one else. I was a virgin when I met you. You were my first … and my last,” I admitted.

  “Well, if that’s the case, then you should still be a virgin, because we really didn’t have sex, Emma.”

  He must have saw the pain and confusion in my face, because he continued, “I’m not saying I didn’t want to have sex with you that night. You looked amazing, and for a drunk, you were quite adorable and charming.”

  I smiled, but looked at him in confusion, unsure of what to think. “So what do you remember from that night? What happened on the canopy bed then? How could we not have had sex? And if we didn’t have sex, how did I wake up half-naked in your bed with you next to me the next morning?” All of my questions rushed out of me in one breathe.

  “Well, we did kiss, and it was probably one of the best kisses of my life—until that is, our kiss the night of our dinner.” He smiled at me and I could tell he was telling the truth.

  “But after our kiss, I told you that you had a little too much to drink and I wanted to take things slow, and we just laid there and watched the sun set. I remember that your head was nestled against my chest. I can still remember the way your hair smelled and the way you felt in my arms.” He looked at me and his eyes were warm and full of emotion. “It was one of my favorite moments in Cancun.”

  “Then what happened,” I asked tentatively. This is not how I remembered our night to be.

  “Well, then it started getting dark, and when I looked down at you, you were passed out. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. I couldn’t just leave you there and I didn’t know where you were staying, so I carried you to my hotel room. When we got to the room, you mumbled something about needing to sleep in a t-shirt, that you couldn’t sleep in your dress. So I put one of my t-shirts on you, and after it was on, I zipped down your dress.” Then he smirked at me. “Don’t worry, I was a complete gentlemen and didn’t see a thing. You have no idea how difficult that was for me,” he said as he winked at me.

  “So I passed out?” I said in complete disbelief.

  “Yeah you did.” He paused and then asked, “Why did you think we had sex?”

  “I—” I couldn’t speak. I was in shock as the reality of what actually happened that night in Cancun set in. Was it really all just a dream? “But it was so vivid,” I said aloud.

  “What was?” Brandon asked. I looked at him and realized that I said my thoughts out loud.

  “My dream. I, uh, well … I think when I passed out, I dreamt that we had sex.” My face was hot with embarrassment as I admitted it.

  “Oooh.” Brandon was silent for a while. I looked at him and saw the expression on his face change from surprise to realization to understanding. “So this entire time, you thought we had sex?”

  I looked down at my hands and nodded.

  “Oh Emma, how can you think I would have taken advantage of you like that?” There was hurt in his voice that cause me to look up at him.

  “But you wouldn’t have been taking advantage of me. I wanted to have sex with you. I had been dreaming about it for months.” I looked back down at my hands when I admitted the last part.

  “Emma, but you were drunk. I would have been taking advantage of you if I allowed myself to sleep with you when you were drunk, especially if you were a virgin.”

  “I still am,” I said softly. Then I shuddered as I realized that if I was a virgin, then if Brandon hadn’t saved me tonight, Mike would have raped me and he would have been my first. I shook away the thought as I looked up at Brandon, grateful that he was here with me.

  I saw that Brandon’s brows were furrowed in confusion. “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure if I heard you correctly, but what did you mean just now when you said that you’ve been dreaming about it for months? Dreaming about what?”

  I felt my face grow hot again. “Um, well, you see … I’ve kind of been dreaming about you for a few months before I met you …”

  “Oh? Before we met in Cancun?” he asked with a perplexed look on his face.

  “Yeah, I know that sounds a little crazy, but I—um, I started having dreams about you before I even booked my tickets to Cancun, and—”

  “Sorry, let me get this straight,” Brandon said as he interrupted me, “You knew what I looked like before we met in Cancun?”

  There was a pause. “Yeah,” I said plainly as I looked at him. “I know that sounds crazy, but you look exactly like the guy that randomly started to show up in my dreams a few months before my trip to Cancun, and well … in those dreams, we were having sex,” I finally said.

  “You were having dreams about me? Sex dreams?” he said in bewilderment.

  I nodded. “Trust me, I know it sounds crazy. Imagine how I felt when I saw you in Cancun.”

  “Wow.” Brandon was speechless and I could tell his mind was racing through different thoughts. “I’m not sure what to say,” he chuckled, “I mean, I’d say that I’m flattered, but it wasn’t like you had a choice when I showed up in your dreams.”

  I laughed. “Well, I definitely wasn’t complaining.” I looked up at him.

  “Damn, I wish I had those same dreams too, so I could have been with you all those nights,” he said softly. He reached over to touch my face and his fingers moved a loose strand of my hair behind my ear before leaning down to kiss me gently.

  Then I realized something and pulled away from him.

  “Wait, so if you do remember me from Cancun, why have you been acting like you don’t know me? You’ve never brought up Cancun with me,” I asked, and I heard an edge of pain in my voice.

  To my surprise, Brandon smiled at me. “I guess the same reason that you have been acting like you don’t know me: I wasn’t sure if you remembered me.”

  I looked at him in confusion. How could he think that I wouldn’t remember him?

  As if hearing my thoughts, Brandon continued, “Emma, you were pretty drunk that night. When I saw you again on your first day at F&M, I couldn’t be sure if you remembered me. And because you were going to be working for me, I didn’t want to run the risk of embarrassing you by asking if you remembered that night in Cancun. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable when you’re around me or think that you did anything wrong during your spring break. Plus, I didn’t want you think that you did anything to jeopardize your career.”

  “But—but—” I paused and sat there silently for a while, trying to let his words sink in.

  “But I left you a not
e the next morning, asking you to call me,” I said softly. I looked away from him, trying to avoid his eyes, and in a softer voice, I asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I’m sorry, Emma. Trust me, I really did want to call you. And I’m sorry if I hurt you by not calling. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel the spark that we had. I thought about you a lot since that night in Cancun and before you started at F&M—”

  “So why didn’t you call then?” I interrupted him as I felt the frustration creep in. “If you thought about me so often, and you did get my note, why didn’t you just call me?”

  “There were two reasons. First, when I got back to San Francisco, I did think about calling you. But when I got into work the following week, Human Resources handed me the list of first year associates that would be coming to F&M in the fall, and I saw your name. Without knowing what state of mind you were in when you left me the note, I didn’t want to jeopardize your career at F&M. I didn’t think that was fair to you.”

  “You said you had two reasons. What’s the other one?” I asked impatiently.

  There was a pause.

  “Well, I was going through some personal issues at the time, and I just didn’t think involving another person in my mess would be the best for everyone involved.”

  I waited for him to explain what he meant, but no further explanation came. I opened my mouth, prepared to ask him what those personal issues were, but then closed it, wondering if that was a good idea.

  Then, before I had a chance to decide, he moved closer to me and whispered, “How was I?”

  I looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “In your dreams. How was I?” He gave me a devious grin, revealing his gorgeous dimples.

  I turned red. “Pretty amazing,” I said sheepishly.

  “That’s good.” I could hear a mixture of emotions in his voice.

  I looked up at him and our eyes locked. In silence, we looked at each other—really looked at each other, and it was as if we saw each other for the very first time.