We both smile and enjoy a brief moment of peace. I notice her shiver, and I stand to retrieve a blanket from the camper. A now sleeping Henri doesn’t even flinch with my movements. Jen, though, looks at me questioningly.
“Stay put, I’ll be right back.” I grab the warmest, softest blanket I can find and wrap it around her when I return to our campfire. The embers are starting to burn down, so I add another log to the fire and stir it around to get it going again.
“I believe you owe me a story now, my dear,” I tell her, as I settle down next to her once again.
She snuggles down into the red, fleece blanket and turns her body into mine. “Just any story, or do you have something in mind?” she asks.
“I have something I want to know about, but I’m not sure how you’ll feel about telling me.”
Jen looks both nervous and confused. She’s not sure where this is going, I don’t either, but my curiosity to ask is too tempting. As horrible as last night’s attack was, I don’t think it was the cause for Jen’s restless sleep. I can’t help but dig into whatever it is which plagued her dreams. There is something else below the surface, and I feel like I need to know what it is in order to protect her, to have access to her guarded heart.
“While you were asleep last night, I kept checking on you,” I begin to explain. Her left brow raises in concern and I shift gears momentarily. “Not in a creepy stalker way. You had me worried, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I had a horrible night, Casen. Did you expect me to have a glorious sleep and fairytale dreams?” she asks sarcastically, now on the defensive.
“No, but what I saw was something entirely different. The events of last night triggered something for you, something you’ve buried. I want to know that story.”
“There’s no story there,” she states confidently, although her actions suggest otherwise. She will no longer look me in the eyes and her body has moved away from me, allowing an undesired space between us.
“Please don’t lie to me, Jen. I offered complete honesty, even though the truth is terrifying as hell for me. Please don’t play that game with me.”
She still refuses to look at me, but instead of retreating and letting her disengage, I push harder. “Who is Preston? You kept shouting his name in your sleep.”
Her head whips around quickly in my direction to look at me, her eyes wide. Even with the overwhelming warmth of the blanket and the fire to rosy her flesh, all color drains from her face. “What did you say?” she mutters, so low I can barely hear her.
“Preston? Is he a boyfriend, someone who hurt you, someone you lost? He means something to you, I just want to know in what way.” I try to ease my tone, as I don’t know if this person is a good something or bad something. Either way, I feel like I need to know this if I’m ever going to really know her.
“He’s someone I wish I could forget, someone I wish I had never met,” she says through gritted teeth.
“So he’s a past tense?” I ask, searching for a little clarification.
“I haven’t seen him in years, but what he did fucked up so much of my life, every day I battle to forget.” Her lips begin to tremble, but instead of the sadness one would expect, hers is a tremble of anger.
“What happened, Jen?” I say smoothly, moving closer to her and grabbing her hand like she had previously done for me.
“He stole everything from me.” Her anger flares once again. “I lost my family, my friends, and for a long time, my sanity. He’s not someone I care to remember. His name is a reminder of the innocence I lost.”
“Please let me in,” I plead. This is her story and I won’t force her to share it, but I want to be the one who gets past this barrier, this gate which has locked the real Jen away.
She takes a deep breath, and looks away from me as she begins her story. I understand the feeling; this memory is as harmful to her soul as my memories are to mine.
“It was the summer before my senior year of high school. I was so excited to be finishing up and heading off to college. I was a good kid. I never stayed out past curfew, never would have been caught in the back of some guy’s car, I didn’t drink. My father demanded perfection, and I made sure to live up to those expectations. When the most popular guy in school asked me to go to a party, it was a given that I would accept his invitation. I was so excited, my best friend Amber, or at least I thought she was my best friend, was excited for me even though I knew she really liked him. All the girls did.”
I feel my body overheat as I recognize the direction of this story, but I try to hide my anger and disdain for this asshole who broke her.
“What did he do?” I ask as controlled as possible.
“I have no real memory of it. The doctor my aunt took me to said more than likely I’d been drugged. The only people who filled my cup that night was Preston and Amber, so you do the math. I woke up the next morning in my car with torn clothing and a horrible headache. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I truly understood what happened to me.”
I squeeze her hand, willing her to continue. “What really happened?”
“My father was sent photographs. Horrible pictures,” she mumbles, looking away and brushing a tear from her cheek. It takes her several moments to collect herself enough to continue on. I don’t push, I don’t encourage. I just wait. She needs to tell her story in her own time, without me forcing any more of it out of her.
“I was a good kid, Casen,” she finally says. The sadness dripping from her words weaves into my soul. I can’t help but want to rip out my own heart to give it to her, just to erase this pain of hers. “Those pictures changed everything. The guys’ faces weren’t in the shots, it was only me who could be seen. They had me laid out naked on a kitchen table, doing unimaginable things.”
“Did your parents call the police and press charges?” It seems like a no-brainer type of question, but judging from her reaction to the attack at the concert, there is no simple answer with her.
“It was an election year, and the pictures were meant to scare my father away from campaigning. Instead, my father called in some favors and swept it under the rug. That also meant I needed to disappear.”
All emotion has drained from her as she recounts the rest of the story as if she’s detached herself from it. I can relate. Retell without reliving, it’s how I survived for a long time, but it doesn’t heal anything. She’s avoided dealing with her parents. Just like the other night, she ran.
“Disappear?” I ask.
“I went to live with my aunt to be homeschooled my senior year and then went to college at CSU. My parents pretended like it didn’t happen. Even when I tried to explain, they didn’t believe anything illegal had happened to me. The only one who believed me was my Aunt Maggie. She’s the only one who really cared about me. But you know what? I learned a lot about who I can depend on, and what loyalty means. Now you know why I’m such a bitch. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” She shrugs like the story she just shared is not some big deal. She’s distancing herself again, and it blows my freakin’ mind.
“Hold on here. First of all, you’re not a bitch. Difficult yes, but not a bitch. Second, Preston was one of the guys, but nothing ever happened to him? How is that okay by any stretch of the imagination? Just like the fucker from Friday night, he should be in jail.” I stand from the log and pace in front of her. Henry takes notice and follows me in my continued stride. My pissed level is skyrocketing. I hate that she was hurt, but her acceptance of the lack of consequences takes my anger to a new level of rage. The system doesn’t always work, but I think you have to give it a chance.