He’s a good friend of Dillon's, and I don’t want to get the police involved. I crawl into the shower and sit there trying to wash away the dirty feeling I have of Adam touching me and fucking me.
Shit! I don’t even know if we used a condom.
The realization brings a real level of panic and I crawl out of the shower.
Housekeeping is knocking, and I’m told checkout is in less than an hour. I cry harder, then do the only thing I can think to do: I call my best friend. CeCe doesn’t answer, but I leave her a message, crying my way through it. “I’m at The Clift Hotel, and I don’t know what to do. I have no memory of last night. I think he slipped something in my drink. I’m getting a cab and heading home.” Through the string of tears, I can barely get out, “Call me.”
I search for what seems like forever for my panties but I can’t find them. I put my pants and sweater set on from the night before and pull my hair into a wet ponytail. My hands are shaking, and I keep seeing a reflection in the mirror next to the bed of Adam fucking me from behind.
What the fuck did Adam do with my panties? Fuck it! I need to get home and away from here.
As I prepare to walk out the door, CeCe calls. “I’m on my way. I should be there in five minutes. I’ll meet you out front. We’re going to the police station and reporting the son of a bitch.”
I feel so much comfort in knowing CeCe is on her way and can help me sort through this. I hurt everywhere, and I wish I had a toothbrush; I can still taste his cum in my mouth. I find the bank of elevators and take one down, thankfully alone.
The doorman holds the door for me as I exit to Geary Street and wishes me a good day. The sky is gray, and the fog leaving a light mist seems incredibly oppressive. I’m struggling to keep it together when I see CeCe come to a screeching halt in her red convertible Mercedes, jump out, and come rushing up to me.
I start crying as I walk into her arms for a comforting hug.
“What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I broke rule one of the single girl codes. I ordered a drink, went to the bathroom and that is the last thing I remember. I have snippets of memories, but nothing concrete.”
Bringing me in for a tighter embrace, CeCe is crying, too. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I’m mad at myself.”
“You trusted Dillon’s friend. I probably would have, too, honey. We need to get you to the hospital, or at the very least the police station, report the incident, and get a rape kit done.”
“No! He’s Dillon’s friend, and I don’t want anyone at the office to know.”
“Are you sure? I really think we need to do this in case you change your mind later.”
“No. I’ve already showered and washed away any evidence. I just want to go home.”
“Okay, let’s get you home and changed.”
CeCe drops me at my place and helps me into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to file a police report?”
There is a silence to my soul; the weight I carry is overwhelming. The blame I place is squarely at my feet. The time I can’t account for puts a chill in my blood. A coldness brings my brain to a standstill. Part of it is anger, and part of it is pain. I can endure what Adam has done to me, but I can’t sleep through night after night without seeing the visions and knowing something went terribly wrong. It’s no one’s fault but my own, and for that, I have to learn to live with my colossal mistake. “No. I can’t take any more humiliation.”
She hugs me. “Honey, you can’t blame yourself. He drugged you. This wasn’t your fault.”
Trying not to cry again, all I can do is nod.
“I’m going to sit with you as long as you need me to.”
“I love you, but I want to be alone. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. You know I’ll be here if you need me.”
Reluctantly, CeCe leaves. Once she does, I curl up with Molly on my couch and cry, not only because of the violation but because the personal security I’ve always had is gone. I know a run would do me good, but I can’t even bring myself to go out.
CeCe calls and checks on me, and I assure her I’m fine, even though I’m not.
***
In the days since my date with Adam, insomnia is the companion that won't quit. Time has taken on a different form, more plentiful than it ever has been. The quiet moments cause me to relive all I did wrong, to search for the missing pieces in my memory. He’s a friend of my friend. In all these wakeful hours, a shock lingers that I suppress. I can't quite let it surface because every time it comes close, my nightmare solidifies, causing all hope to fade and the sick feeling to return to my guts.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dillon
Something is off with Emerson. She isn’t her typical happy and playful self, and she’s spent the last two months working fifteen-hour days seven days a week. Each time I’ve asked her to do something with me outside of work, she politely brushes me off.
The circles under her eyes are dark, and her clothes are hanging on her because she’s lost too much weight.
She doesn’t seem to want to talk to me, so I do the only thing I can: I make an appointment with her for lunch under the guise of discussing a prospective client.
As we sit down at the restaurant, I place a napkin on my lap and begin to peruse the menu. The waiter pours us glasses of water, and I take in our surroundings. I’m not sure I know where to start. I can tell she’s nervous as she fingers the sides of the menu. I debate how to ask what’s bothering her, so I begin with a softball question. “How are things going at the firm?”
She looks up from the menu, glances around nervously, and says, “Fine.”
Fine? I pull out all my boyish charms, move my head to the side, and ask with a crooked smile, “Fine?”
With a half smile, she says, “Yes, fine.”
She clearly doesn’t want to tell me what’s bothering her. Because she doesn’t share the possibility that one of our clients or someone from the staff has screwed up, I deduce that it’s personal. We’ve always had a strong connection, so I attempt to take a different approach. “What’s wrong? You’re working yourself to the bone. Please tell me. Is the work too much? Are you regretting the sale?”
“The work is fine. Really.” She smiles once more, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
The waiter returns and takes our order, and we make conversation about each of the clients she’s working with. I’m impressed with the talent and recruiting plans she and her team are creating for our clients.
The conversation is good, but Emerson is keeping it professional and distant with me. Her laugh is stilted, and the sound drives a stake through my heart. When our food arrives, I watch her push the salad she ordered around her plate and maybe take two bites. I rib her about eating salad, but she only smiles halfheartedly. She isn’t eating, and she isn’t admitting anything, but she also won’t invite me into what’s bothering her.
I decide to take a different tactic.
“Hey, how are things going with Adam? Did you two ever get your date?”
Her beautiful blue eyes cloud over, and what seems like a look of panic crosses through them, but she only tells me “It didn’t work out.”
There is something there, I can tell. I’m hopeful that I can get Emerson to open up, so I push hard for her to meet me for a round of golf on Saturday.
She’s reluctant to go, but I tease her and she eventually gives in after I promise it’ll only be the two of us. I’m excited to spend more time with her, so of course it’s fine with me.
After we return to the office, I call and get us a tee time. Sending her an invite through our office calendar function, I also let her know I can stop by and pick her up Saturday morning.
I spend the afternoon thinking about our conversation, about how Emerson’s entire demeanor changed when I asked abou
t Adam. I figure it must have something to do with him. Once I get home, I call him, hoping to gain a little insight. After working our way through the gossip of some mutual friends, I ask him, “Hey, how did it go with Emerson?”
After a short pause, his voice becomes stilted. “Emerson? Who’s Emerson?”
Puzzled by his response, I explain, “She’s the woman I work with. You met her and mooned over her in college, and then I introduced you when we all hung out at the club, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Her. We went out months ago. I hardly remember that night. Must not have been fun,” he tells me, still sounding wooden.
My Spidey Sense is tingling. Something isn’t adding up, and I’m determined to get to the bottom of what happened between the two of them.
It’s 2:00 a.m. Saturday morning, and I’m watching Sports Center and relaxing, too excited about seeing Emerson to sleep. My phone pings, telling me I have a text message. It’s Emerson.
Sorry, not feeling well. Won’t be able to make golf today.
I text her back immediately. Hey. I’m up, can I stop by Lucca’s and pick you up some soup? Or the drugstore for some meds?
She doesn’t respond.
Something is definitely not right. She’s avoiding me, and I want to know why. It’s time to confront her.
As soon as it’s light, I run by the drugstore and get cold and flu medicine, then stop and buy a hot tea before driving over to see Emerson. All of the curtains are pulled close and I can’t see in. I can hear the television but can’t make out what show is playing. I knock on the door and Molly barks.
I knock again and call out, “Emerson? It’s me, Dillon.” I rest my forehead on the door and listen, but don’t hear anything. “Please open up. I’m worried about you.” She still doesn’t answer. I’m getting nervous that she may have passed out on the floor or is too injured to open the door. I hear a click but I can’t be sure. I try the doorknob and it’s unlocked.
When I walk in, Molly greets me with her tail wagging and her tongue full of dog kisses. I bend down and give her lots of attention, at the same time noticing Emerson’s house smells musty and stale. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see her curled up on the couch. “Hey, sweetie. Are you feeling okay?”
She looks so fragile. Her hair is a matted mess, her eyes are red and puffy from crying, and the circles under her eyes are darker than they were at lunch on Wednesday.
“I brought some cold and flu medicines and some nice hot chamomile tea.”
She takes it from me without saying anything and goes back to watching what seems to be an infomercial.
I’m not sure exactly what to do. She won’t look at me or talk to me, so I decide to join her on the couch and put my arm around her. She’s stiff at first but soon relaxes into me, eventually succumbing to a silent cry. I don’t press her on what’s bothering her.
It takes some convincing, but I get her into the shower and open up her house. When she emerges, she looks better, but she’s still not my Emerson. I can see she needs some sleep, but when I try to get her to her bedroom, she won’t go. I offer to join her on the couch and while she rests, and reluctantly she agrees. I sit with her the rest of the morning and hold her. She puts her head down on my lap and quickly falls sound asleep. I can’t find anything on television except a Harry Potter movie marathon, but I go with it so as not to disturb her.
It gets to be late afternoon and I’m hungry. I don’t know what Emerson has in her fridge, so since she likes burgers, I order us a late lunch from an app on my cell phone and have it delivered. She wakes with a start when they ring the doorbell and Molly barks.
“Don’t worry.” I soothe her by rubbing her arm and speaking in a soft voice. “I ordered us some lunch. You need to eat, Emerson.”
She seems disoriented from her nap and scared by the interruption. I wish she would tell me what has her scared. The smell of the burgers and fries fills her house, and Molly is begging with her big brown eyes. Emerson carefully looks at the burger, though it seems the smell wins her over when she takes a few small bites, eventually eating the whole thing.
“I can’t believe I slept for so long. I haven’t slept like that in weeks.”
I can’t help but think she even looks happier with a bit of sleep. And watching her eat her burger makes it almost as if the old Emerson is back.
After lunch, we go back to the Harry Potter marathon, though Emerson dozes as the movies play. Her phone pings, indicating a text message, and she groggily sits up and reads the text. I’m nosey and see it’s from her friend CeCe.
You still up for dinner and drinks tonight?
I watch her type into her phone, Sorry. Work is overwhelming. Maybe next time. But before she can send it, I stop her.
“Em, I’d love to see CeCe again. Can I join you guys for drinks and dinner?”
She thinks about it a minute and texts, How about 6:30 at Hudson’s? I’ll have Dillon with me, if that’s OK?
In seconds she replies, More than OK. See you then.
We watch more of our movie, and when it’s time, I make sure she jumps in the shower again and gets ready for the night. When she comes out, she’s stunning in a black sheath dress and the sandals I love. She looks fantastic, but the dress truly hangs on her. I’m becoming worried about her.
We stop by my place on our way to dinner so I can change. Hudson’s is a good spot, but I can get away with a pressed pair of khakis paired with a red-and-white gingham dress shirt with the shirt sleeves rolled up and my brown Gucci loafers.
When we arrive, I see a group of women with CeCe, a look of relief covering her face. She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “Thank you for getting her out of the house.”
Emerson’s friends are giving her hugs and asking why she disappeared from their social scene. I hear them ask if we’re dating and as she tells them we’re only friends, I can’t help but be a little disappointed, which is surprising to me as I don’t usually want anyone to think I’m attached.
Turning my focus on CeCe, I speak in a low voice so no one can hear us. “I’m worried about Emerson. Do you know what’s going on?”
Stepping back to look directly at me, she says, “She hasn’t told you?”
“No, and I’ve asked directly. I keep begging for her to tell me, but she shuts down.”
I don’t get an answer from CeCe as Emerson walks up to join us. She looks absolutely radiant, her glow back.
CeCe tells her, “You look terrific Em.”
She blushes. “Thanks. I got a bit of sleep today thanks to Dillon.”
The other women exchange looks of “I told you so.” Emerson is quick to set them straight, but they look like they’re having a difficult time believing her.
Dinner is incredible, and we’re loud and rowdy. CeCe is animated all night, quite outstanding at bringing Emerson into the conversation. We all work hard to get her laughing.
The restaurant is getting busy, so we agree it’s time to head out. Emerson excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and CeCe leans over and hisses at me, “During the date with your asshole friend, he drugged her and date-raped her.”
I am completely stunned by this news. I stutter, “Wh-what the. fuck? Adam?”
“Yesss. Emerson doesn’t remember much, but she blames herself because she trusted him. Apparently, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and we believe he must have put something in her drink because she doesn’t remember anything else after that. She refused to report it because he was your friend.”
My mind is racing. I’ve known Adam for over a decade. He was in my fraternity. We played football together. He’s a good-looking guy and has no problems getting girls. I remember his college girlfriend, Melissa. She was a knockout. He always has a date. Why would he think he needed to date-rape my Emerson? I mutter more for myself than for CeCe, “Holy shit! How is she not upset with me? I introduced them.”
Emerson walks up at that moment and asks, “Ready? I’m exhausted and want to head home.”
/>
I nod numbly, and we say our goodbyes to CeCe. Whispering in her ear during a quick hug, I assure her, “I’m going to kill that motherfucker. I promise.”
“I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dillon
I’m furious. What the fuck was Adam thinking? I want to hear his version of the events and how he can explain his behavior, but I need to calm down a bit before I reach out to him or it’ll get ugly, and most likely the police will get involved.
But first I need to take care of Emerson. She’s been violated in the worst way. I make a few discreet calls and am able to find an excellent therapist for her and make an appointment. CeCe makes sure she goes, and after a few weeks, we finally see Emerson on the mend. Now I think it’s time to get Adam’s bullshit side of things.
Me: Dude! Haven’t seen you in a while. Up for some basketball and drinks after work on Wednesday?
Adam: Abso-fucking-lutely! 6 at the gym?
Me: See you then. Be prepared to get your ass kicked.
Adam: Bring it on.
We play and I’m incredibly aggressive, Adam seeming a bit surprised by the rough play. I’ve knocked him down and thrown the ball hard at his testicles. He plays it off by asking, “Not getting laid? You’ve got a lot of anger, man.”
I’m seeing him in a new light. He’s talking about some girl he met last night and the great time they had. It seems like he’s sleeping with a lot of girls, and I wonder if he’s drugging them all.
After showers, we head to the Irish pub across the street from our gym and order a few beers.
I waited to talk to him, thinking it would help with my aggression, but I’m still incredibly angry. I can’t be soft in my approach, so I’m direct. “So, tell me about your date with Emerson.”
He’s definitely uneasy, looking around at everything but me. “Why? Did she say anything?”
I want to shove my fist in his face. “Nope, but she’s been avoiding me since.”
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 5
