Goode To Be Bad

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Anyway, he’d been sick the week before, so we’d skipped the lesson. For four years it was the only reprieve I’d had except holidays. When I arrived, he didn’t even pretend we would have an actual music lesson. He locked the front door, pushed me into the sitting room, and just…went after me. Pushed me over the couch, yanked off my underwear, ripped them, and hurt me in the process. And just…” a ragged, horrible sound. “Just railed me. Bare. As always. Right there in the sitting room, those lacy curtains barely obscuring anything. He was just…an animal. And this time, he didn’t stop. He came inside me, and it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life. He was…he was on top of me, and he said…I remember the smell of his breath and the way his voice sounded when he said ‘yeah, baby, you’ve always been my favorite, Sexy Lexie,’ and that was when he came, calling me Sexy Lexie. Somehow, it was worse than all the other times combined. Why, I don’t know. I think maybe because I knew by then how pregnancy worked, and that I’d probably get pregnant. Being seventeen, Mom had had the talk with us girls, and boy was it detailed. We talked about our cycles, and if we were going to have sex it should be protected, but that we should also understand our fertility cycles. Typical Mom overachieving situation. But thanks to that, I knew I was at my peak fertility. And he’d come inside me. Without a condom. And that I was going to get pregnant.”

  She sobbed, and I reached out, wanting to comfort her, but she waved me away.

  “Just listen. I’m…I’m okay. It’s just a terrible memory. Just listen.” So I sat on the floor next to her, dying to comfort her, touch her, hold her, be angry for her. “He finished and told me to go to the bathroom and clean up. I did, and when I came back, he had a Plan B pill. I realized then he’d been planning this, and he was ready. He told me to take it. Watched me take it. And that was when I just…lost it. I slapped him. Hard. I was shaking so bad, I could barely function, and it was a rage unlike anything I’d ever felt, before or since. Just…hate. I hit him and hit him, and he tried to stop me but I was just…insane. And that was when he hit me back. Just full on punched me across the jaw. Knocked me clean out. When I woke up, he wasn’t anywhere to be found, and my jaw hurt so bad, and, I still…I still had his cum leaking out of me. So I went home—I was driving myself by then. I made up some excuse about a fight at school or something—not sure Mom believed me, but she didn’t push it.”

  She reached out, took my hand, squeezed.

  “I never went back. I stayed at school and lied about going. My parents had been mailing him the payment for years, and I guess he kept cashing them even though I wasn’t going. He wasn’t about to raise any flags, obviously. I was about to graduate and I’d been making plans—I’d been accepted to a bunch of colleges and universities, but my plan was to move to Nashville and work and get a job as a honky-tonk gig player and write songs and all that. I’d been talking about it nonstop, because I was just so excited to get away. I figured once I could get away I could start over. Be someone else. Be a Lexie that hadn’t been raped every week for four years, and never told a soul. I could become someone else, somewhere else. And that was when Dad came up to my room while I was playing and told me I’d never make it, that I just wasn’t good enough.” Quick, sharp pause. “If he hadn’t died, I don’t think I’d ever have forgiven him for that. I still haven’t, really, but his dying changed things.”

  “Goddamn,” I breathed.

  “Yeah.” She huffed, a laugh that was sad and angry and bitter. “Raped by my music teacher, and my own dad killed my dream. That day, then and there, I gave up on music. Went to U-Conn. Gradually, I started reinventing myself. I was painfully shy, modest, introverted, hated myself and didn’t trust anyone. Halfway through freshman year, I just…I was sick of being that Lexie The Victim. I said fuck this, and decided to be the exact opposite. Threw away all my clothes, and went to thrift stores and bought all new clothes—short skirts, revealing tops, see-through stuff, booty shorts. Cut off old jeans and khakis, I stopped wearing a bra. Started just saying whatever went through my head. Started just being a bitch to people I didn’t like, or to anyone who pissed me off. It felt good. Like I was reclaiming myself. I was no longer a victim. I did what I wanted. Started drinking. Going to parties. It was at a party that I had voluntary sex for the first time. In a bathroom of a frat house, super drunk. But it was good. It felt good to do that voluntarily. I did it again at the next party. Then sober, and that was even better. Because every time I had sex, I was trying consciously to erase the memory of John David Henley. I couldn’t drink him away; I found that out real fast. But sex? Sex did the trick. The more I hooked up, the more I could replace memories of Henley with other guys. Guys I’d chosen to fuck.” She sighed slow, deep. “It became the new me. Bold, aggressive. Exhibitionist. I’d dance on tables, flash the whole party. The wild college girl stereotype. I’d do keg stands in miniskirts with no underwear on. I had no standards—as long as I was remotely physically attracted to the dude, I’d fuck him. My only rules were condom, every time, and I’d never blow a guy to completion. I gave plenty of BJs, but I’d never let them finish in my mouth…for obvious reasons. It became sort of my calling card, I think. I had a reputation, and guys knew things about me. I was the crazy slut who’d fuck anyone and give amazing BJs, but you couldn’t come in her mouth.”

  That made me feel…uncomfortable. I’d always prided myself on not being jealous or possessive. But somehow, this was different. I said nothing, however.

  “I chilled out a bit at Sarah Lawrence. I realized I didn’t like the slut label, and started campaigning against slut-shaming, women’s rights, equality, all that, as well as being a little less overall slutty. But only a little. I believed in all that women’s lib stuff, still do, but…I don’t know…it was misplaced passion. I’d created this whole persona, this Lexie who was one big spiky armored shell. All slutty and a show-off and a flasher and a skinny-dipper in public pools in broad daylight, someone who could outdrink football players, and all that. It was a persona, my armor against the world. And then, at some point, it just stopped being a persona and was just me. Because I’d forgotten how to be the other me, the quiet shy little victim girl who let her music teacher sexually abuse her for four years.” She laughed. “I don’t even think that Lexie exists anymore. Henley fucked it out of me.”

  She turned on the chair and faced me. “So. There’s the story, the secret I could never tell. You are the only person, aside from Henley and me, who knows about it.”

  I looked at her, love and compassion in my eyes, fighting for the right words. “Lex, I…I don’t know. I want to hunt down and kill that fucker, slowly. I want to get Crow to come with me, because that guy can be colder than fuckin’ ice. I want to hurt that motherfucker, and make the hurt last.”

  “That won’t fix me,” she said.

  “I know.” I sighed, rubbing my face. “It’s just how I feel at this moment. I want to kill that guy. I hate that that happened to you.”

  “Not as much as I do.”

  “Obviously.” I reached out, and she let me take her hand. “I know there’s nothing I can do to change that, or to fix you. I think…I think you should see a therapist. And I’m not joking. I have had therapy in the past and I know it can help.”

  She reared back. “You have?”

  I nodded. “Yep. In Dallas, between tours. My partying on tour was becoming a problem, and my lifestyle of taking advantage of groupies was, too. I don’t mean take advantage in a nefarious way, they were always throwing themselves at me, and I only hooked up with the ones who threw themselves at me. I just mean the opportunity was there and I took advantage of what was offered.”

  She squeezed my hand. “I know, Myles. You don’t have to explain that.”

  “After what you just told me, I feel like I probably should be more honest about that part of my past.”

  “I can smell a predator a mile away. But you’re a good man, Myles.” She smiled at me. “A really good man. The best. And a sexual pr
edator is the last thing you are.”

  “I want to be able to help you, Lexie. I want there to be something I can do to make it better.”

  She slid off her chair and onto mine, and curled up on my lap, her head on my chest. Snuggled close. “You can do this. Just hold me.”

  “This I can do.”

  “It means more than you understand, Myles.” A soft breath of relief. A sniffle. Tears in her voice. “I can’t believe I told you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Thank you for telling me.”

  “Was I at fault? For not saying something right away?”

  I knew I couldn’t give her the knee jerk pacifying answer. “Honestly, no. You were thirteen. He was in a position of power. He had your dream in his hands. He was the authority, and you were a child. A girl. Someone who didn’t know any better, who was put in a horrible, impossible position. I mean, obviously, for your own sake, I wish you had been able to tell someone, but I know from having heard similar stories that telling may not have made it any better or even ended things. Having met your mom, though, I’d like to believe she would have believed you.”

  “I can’t tell her, Myles.”

  I pulled back. “What? Why do you say that? I think you should. She needs to know.”

  “It’ll crush her. She’ll take it as her own failure.” A sniffle, a sob. “I was good at hiding it. She couldn’t have known, but I do admit she knows there is something I’m hiding.”

  “There’s a part of me, possibly a cruel part, that wants to say she should’ve just known, and that maybe she is a little culpable. That she should have been paying closer attention to you. That your mood changes, your withdrawal, were signs that something was wrong.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a different conversation.”

  “Yeah, it is.” A sigh. “I’m tired, now.”

  I lifted her, stood up with her, and carried her into the bedroom. I lay on the bed with her and cradled her from behind, holding her tight.

  I drifted, and thought she was long since asleep.

  “Myles?”

  “Yeah, Lex.”

  “Now that you know, you have to promise me a few things.”

  “Okay?”

  “You won’t tell anyone else. It has to be on my terms, and my time.”

  “Of course, Lex. It’s your story to tell, not mine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And the other promises?”

  “Just one.”

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitated. “You can’t feel sorry for me. You can’t tiptoe around me, or try to baby my feelings.” She twisted. “You can’t be afraid to touch me. To have sex with me. You can’t hold back from being aggressive like you are, like I like so much. I like that. It doesn’t re-victimize me, I don’t have flashbacks.” A pause. “Well, the first time I swallowed for you, there was some of that. But it’s better now. And I think the more I do things he used to do, the more I’ll put him in the past.”

  “Lex, you mean—”

  She rolled to face me and touched my lips. “I chose to blow you, and to let you come in my mouth. I knew what I was doing, and I did it for both of us. For you, because I was being skittish and weird about other sexual stuff, and I wanted to give you something you’d like to make up for it, and for me so I could get rid of the stigma of that act. I even thought that maybe you’d stop trying to find out what had happened, stop trying to make me…do this. Which I realize now was what I needed to do more than anything. So the point is, Myles, when you came in my mouth, yes, I was fighting fucking awful flashbacks the entire time. But it was you, and I knew it. The next time, it was just you and me, and I enjoyed doing that to you and seeing your reactions. How much you liked it. And I’ll do it again because I like making you feel good, I like watching you go crazy.”

  “Jesus, Lex. Now I feel bad.”

  “Please, please don’t. The worst thing you could do is feel bad. About anything we’ve done together, or for me.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

  “What I choose to do, I do because I want to.” She rested her hands on my chest, and I tightened my hold on her. “I will have sex with you bare, Myles. I will. To erase the last of what happened.”

  “Not just for me, though.”

  She sighed. “Yes, for you. But for me, too. It will be…” She blinked, swallowed hard. “Because when we do that, it’ll be making love. Something I’d thought was impossible for me.”

  I smiled at her. “I like the way that sounds.”

  “Me too.” She let out a breath, soft and contented. “Do one thing for me, tonight, please?”

  “Anything.”

  “Just hold me, like this, all night.”

  “Easy.”

  “And maybe…” she hesitated, swallowing hard. “And maybe, at some point, you could tell me you love me. I like how that feels.” She snuggled closer, tucking her head under my chin. “Not now. Not when I expect it. But when I don’t.”

  I laughed. “Funny girl.” I kissed the top of her head. “There’s nothing I’d like more, Alexandra.”

  “Call me baby.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  I touched her chin, kissed her lips. “Lex, baby. You are so strong. So brave. And I’m proud of and amazed at the woman you are, for all you’ve come through.”

  She blinked. “Dammit, you weren’t supposed to make me cry again. I’ve cried more today than in my whole life.”

  “It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. It doesn’t make you weak.”

  “Sweetheart, too.” She sighed, and it was a relieved, almost happy sound. “From you, it’s okay. I don’t hear him.”

  “We’ll erase him from you, bit by bit, together. As long as it takes, whatever it takes.”

  “Promise?”

  “I swear on Betty-Lou, my most prized possession.”

  She took that seriously, as weird as it was—she knew what that guitar meant to me. “What did I do to deserve a man like you in my life, Myles?”

  I laughed. “I wonder that about you, Lex.” I ran my thumb over her lips, wanting to kiss her, but knowing she just needed to be held. “I think we’re made for each other. We just…deserve each other.”

  “I can’t say I’m suddenly okay, but…I feel closer to okay than I have since I was thirteen.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Lex. You deserve that.”

  She slipped her arms up and around my neck, toying with the back of my head. “Sleepy time now.”

  “Okay.”

  And so we slept.

  Lexie

  It was late morning when I woke up. I was rested and contented— I remembered the night before with crystal clarity and knew with utter certainty that telling Myles had been the first and biggest step to healing. I knew also that the road to true healing would be long, and yes, I’d have to see a therapist to really root out all the shit I’d buried so deep and for so long. I knew I had to tell Mom, and that it would crush her maybe worse than Dad’s death had, that she’d interpret it as the worst failure of her life. And I wouldn’t be able to deny it completely; the truth was I did blame her a bit for somehow not knowing, and protecting me.

  One thing I did know for sure was that Myles loved me—truly loved me. He, more than anyone, had seen me at my worst and still loved me. That thought brought tears to my eyes. Without him I wouldn’t be where I was today…confident about the future.

  And I knew that I loved him. With all my heart. I loved him.

  I let all this roll around in my head as I woke up. Myles was outside and I could hear him splashing around. I got up and looked out and saw him swimming up to the hut, saw his hands, and forearms, and then his whole beautiful body, naked, with the water sluicing off him, over his abs and down his sharp V-cut. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my thighs involuntarily clenched together as heated need pulsed through me.

  It still didn’t seem possible, or
even right, that he was mine. That in a second he would enter this hut and I would get to do whatever my imagination allowed.

  I couldn’t believe that I could be his.

  That I wanted to be his. It wasn’t about possession, I now realized—it was about belonging. And what a difference. Subtle, but powerful.

  He shook off, brushed the water from his skin and ran his fingers through his hair. Stood with his face to the morning sun, smiling—happy to just be alive, I think.

  Then his eyes opened, and he turned and looked at me—still covered with the blanket.

  He smiled at me—bright, happy, loving. “Hey, beautiful. Sleep good?”

  “Amazing.” I couldn’t help but smile back.

  He didn’t quite frown, but his brow tightened. “How are you feeling?”

  I smiled to soothe the worry. “I’m great, actually. I feel like a huge burden has been lifted off me. I know it’s not all suddenly, like, all better. Or fixed. It’s going to take time. I’ll have regressions, and flashbacks, and the memories are still there, but…it’s not a secret anymore. Now you know, and you accept me anyway.”

  “Accept you, and love you more than ever.”

  I melted a little bit. Felt warm. Tossed off the blanket. Felt the warm rushing buzz of satisfaction as his eyes narrowed with desire and his chest lifted, and his cock immediately twitched, and began hardening.

  “More than ever?” I whispered.

  He nodded, jaw clenching as his eyes raked over my nude body. “Yeah. Way more.”

  I blinked at him, lazily sultry, smiling. “Come here and show me.”

  He prowled toward me, cock swaying and growing with each step. Muscles shifting under his skin. Eyes devouring me. He was a vision of male beauty, dominant alpha sexual aggression that combined perfectly with sweetness and understanding. I wanted him more than ever—wanted to kiss every inch of him and hold him and be held, wanted to ride him and be under him. Wanted to feel him inside me and hear him whisper three words…