Conflicting Hearts (13 page)

I nod my head to agree and stand up to watch as he situates the
blanket far enough from the fire that we don’t roast. He holds out his hand,
and I take it, but I can’t look into his eyes. Humiliation shrouds my entire
body over what happened.

He lies down on his back and stretches out his arms for me
to come to him. I don’t hesitate, and the next moment my head is on his
shoulder, his arm is around me, and he’s tenderly stroking me with his hand.

No words come out of my mouth, and he doesn’t pry. I let my
emotions take an opportunity to regroup, while I count the minutes before I
tell him the awful truth. I’m frightened to keep the secret locked inside any
longer. He has the right to know why. If he can’t accept my past, it’s better
to break it off before it goes any farther. Already, I’m grieving over the
possibility of losing him.

“Feeling better?”

His warm lips touch my forehead, and he plants a sweet,
gentle kiss on my cold brow.

“You want to talk about it?”

Some of the past I can, but not all of what it has done to
me as a woman. I’m too mortified to show him the totality of the broken child
within. I scrunch my lips together, close my eyes, and whisper my painful
confession.

“I was sexually abused as a child, Ian. The pedophile used
to give me that brand of candy, if I let him do to me what he wanted.” I hold
my breath waiting for his response.

Ian grasps me tighter in his arms. “Dear God, Rachel, what
the hell?”

A moment later, I find the courage to lift my head and look
at him in the face. His eyes are dark and intense. He’s clearly upset.

“How old were you?”

I bury my head back into his shoulder and hide. “Five, six,”
my voice trembles.

“Did this go on for long?”

“Long enough,” I reply.

“I’m shocked” His voice is terse.

“I didn’t know any better, Ian.” Why I need to defend myself
every time I tell someone is beyond me. It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t ask for
this to happen to me—it just did. “Please don’t judge me and think I’m
terrible.”

“Good God, Rachel, I don’t think
you’re
terrible.
That asshole was terrible. I would castrate the bastard, if I knew where he was
at this exact moment.”

“I don’t know where he is. It was a long time ago.”

“Did your parents know?”

“I don’t think so. He told me not to tell, so like an
obedient child I never said a word. I was afraid and filled with shame and
confusion. I hid it from them, but I think my brother knew.”

“Why didn’t he do anything?” Ian asks, his voice raised in
anger.

“I don’t know. He was young and clueless at ten or eleven
years of age.”

“Did you ever talk to him about it?”

“No.”

Ian sits up and looks down at me. His eyes are burning with
anger, but his face is empathetic. “Oh Rachel, what did that monster do to
you?”

Tears burn my eyes. “I don’t want to talk specifics,” I say,
turning my head to the side and looking down the beach. I put my hands up in a
t-formation. “Time out. You promised me time out, if I needed it.” My face is
wet with sorrowful tears rolling down my cheeks.

Ian tenderly touches me with his thumb and wipes them away.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel, that you had to endure such a terrible experience.”

His heartfelt words make me inhale a shaky breath, and I
look at him with profound respect for his compassion and understanding. My
bottom lip quivers. “I didn’t know any better, Ian. I was a silly, little
girl.”

He tenderly reaches over and gathers me back into his arms.

“Don’t leave me because of it,” I beg.

“Rachel, Rachel,” he softly assures me. “I have no intention
of leaving. It wasn’t your fault.” He kisses me on my cheeks and forehead.

No, it wasn’t my fault, but it changed me forever. My entire
life I’ve envied people like Ian, who are emotionally healthy, loved, and
untainted by another’s debauchery. In contrast, I’ve hated myself, wallowed in
shame and guilt, and wrestled with my need for bondage. Every relationship I’ve
had with a man has been unhealthy, until Ian came into my life. The thought of
losing him makes me cling tightly. He’s my lifeline, and I know it with all of
my heart.

Ian remains quiet, and continues to hold me in his arms. The
fire begins to burn down, but I don’t want to go. Now that my secret is out, my
fate is in the balance. I pray to God for mercy.

Chapter 12

The Weight of Shame

The shame I bear is so intense in Ian’s presence that I’m
having trouble dealing with it. I can barely lift my eyes and look at him
without cringing inside. It’s horrible. No one can tell me that this man will
not look at me any differently. My past has been exposed. My damage is evident.
His mind must wonder about every detail of the abuse, and now I fear that he’s
questioning whether to move forward in our relationship.

When the fire dies, we return to the beach house. His hand
is tightly holding mine, until we step inside.

“I’m tired,” I announce. I’m not really. My only thought is
to hide, so I don’t have to look at him in the eyes.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” he agrees. He walks into the
kitchen and sets down the unused contents of the paper bag. I see him reach
inside, grab the candy bar, open the lid to the waste container and throw it
inside. Ian turns and looks at me.

“I’ll never buy another one of those again.”

I’m having trouble watching how this has affected him
emotionally. The man is such a tender creature that I’m convinced he’s
horrified by my confession. The beauty of our relationship is marred, and I’m
deeply saddened.

“What are you thinking?” His face is pensive with narrowed
eyes.

“Anger. Confusion,” he says, looking down at the floor.

“Toward me?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not angry toward you, but my
mind is filled with questions.”

“What kind of questions?” I hold my breath and wait for his
answer.

“For starters, why you stayed in an abusive relationship
with your ex-husband after what happened to you as a child?”

He brings his hand to his hair and rakes his fingers through
his wind-tousled locks.

“Second, what you said about how you want sex.” He brings
his eyes up toward me, and I feel like a whore. “Is that why you want it rough,
because you were treated that way as a child?”

How insightful Ian Richards has become. I am amazed over his
perceptive psychological conclusion. Emotionally, I shut down. His questions
about my behavior have breached my weak defenses, and I can’t find the words to
answer. As I look at him, I have this sinking feeling he’s slipping away from
me. He thinks I’m perverted. I am perverted.

“Time…time out,” I whisper. I turn around and run upstairs
to the loft.

“Damn it,” he utters in frustration.

I reach the landing and run into the bathroom, close the
door, and lock it. I need a safe place.

“Rachel!” he frantically calls after me. I hear his loud
footsteps ascend the stairs.

“Time out, Ian,” I yell. I back up against the bathroom wall
and stare at the door handle.

“Rachel, please, let me in. I won’t pressure you, I
promise.” He knocks on the door. “Rachel, answer me.”

I can’t talk. My throat and chest are constricted. No air is
entering my lungs. He turns the handle again, and I hear him tearfully plead
with me.

“Open the door, Rachel. I’m worried about you.”

Any moment I’m going to pass out. I can feel it coming. The
room is whirling around, and dark blotches dance in my field of vision. I
unlock and open the door. As soon as I do, I fall into Ian’s arms. He picks me
up and carries me to the bed.

“Enough for today,” he says in a soft voice. His fingertips
gently brush my hair away from my face. I feel a tender kiss touch my cheek.
I’m relieved he can still caress me without disgust. It’s difficult to look at
him, so I keep my eyes shut.

“You need to rest, sweetheart.”

He pulls off my shoes and socks and then bends over me.
“Open your eyes.”

I do and look into his dark blue gaze. “You want me to
undress you or do you want to do it?”

There’s no strength left in my body or mind. “You,” I say,
and then close my eyes to hide again. I feel his fingers unbutton my blouse. He
lifts me up into his chest, and I slip my arms out. I’m left in my bra as he
lowers my body back onto the bed. Ian unzips my blue jeans, tugs them down my
legs, and leaves me in my panties. My body shivers in shame as he covers me
with the blanket. His kind hand tenderly strokes the side of my head.

“Sleep, sweet princess. Sleep.” He kisses my lips lovingly,
turns off the light, and heads downstairs. I roll over and cry myself to sleep.

* * * *

My eyes shoot open, and I look at the clock. It’s three a.m.
I can smell the ocean air inside the house and hear the loud sound of the waves
outdoors. I sit up in bed and look out the vast windows. The sliding glass door
to the patio is open, and I see Ian sitting in the dark. I feel chilled when I
crawl out of bed. Quickly, I dress in my blouse and blue jeans and head
downstairs.

The inside of the house is cold, and Ian seems oblivious to
the temperature sitting outside in his tee shirt. Quietly, I approach the open
door and stand there until he realizes I’m nearby.

“Hey, what you doing out of bed?” He glances up at me with
sad eyes.

“What are you doing off the couch?”

“Just sitting,” he says, in a low voice. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I stay in the doorway, hesitant to approach. His attention
returns to the ocean, and I hear him sigh.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, Rachel, come and join me if you want.”

I’m relieved by the invitation and walk outside. The deck is
cold against my bare feet, but I don’t care. Slowly, I make my way to the empty
chair next to him and sit down. I lift my head backward and am amazed at the
sight. Every star in the heavens twinkles back at me, and surprisingly I feel
small and insignificant, in spite of the uncomfortable moment between us.

“God, it’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ian reaches over and grabs my hand. He weaves his fingers
into mine and locks us together. He has no idea how much I need assurance that
I don’t disgust him. I hope he still wants me.

“Sorry about earlier and the way I acted.” I feel compelled
to apologize.

He looks at me with somber eyes. “You have nothing to
apologize about. I’m sorry for the way I acted. Frankly, it threw me for a
loop. Took me a while to process the shock, I guess.”

My face is expressionless as I look at him in the dark. I’m
hurting inside, but I don’t want him to know.

“Can I ask you one thing?” he earnestly inquires.

I inhale a deep breath. “Yeah, sure.”

“Have you sought professional help for this? I mean, seen a
therapist or doctor to talk about what happened to you?”

My eyes drop to my lap. I cannot look at him and lie. “I
told you before that I saw a therapist for counseling.”

“When you left your ex, right?”

“Yeah, and we talked about other stuff,” I concede in a
half-truth.

My sexual abuse was only fleetingly touched upon between my
counselor and myself. She had wanted to teach me how to say no and set
boundaries in relationships, but I shrugged it off. I was too spent after years
of an abusive marriage to start poking at another sore spot.

Ian squeezes my hand, and I’m reminded that we’re
intertwined as one. At that moment I realize I need something else besides
focusing upon my abuse. I need to learn how to receive love. The deep-seated
belief that anyone can love me eludes my comprehension.

No doubt, I’ll eventually sabotage our relationship,
particularly the closer we become. When you’re convinced that nothing ever good
happens in your life, you have a tendency to end a relationship before another
beats you to the punch. At least that way, you’re not rejected by another human
being. Being cast aside is more devastating than walking away on your own
terms. I only hope that I get to spend a few more months with him before it all
ends.

I turn and look at him. He’s still staring out at the dark
ocean, and I want to know what he really sees.

“Do you think of me differently now?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he impassively replies.

I wonder if he’s skirting the question so he doesn’t have to
tell me the truth. “Do you think I’m sick or something?”

A sigh escapes his lungs, while his dark eyes look pensively
into mine. “No, I don’t think you’re sick. My heart goes out to you, because I
can see it has seriously affected your life.”

I feel like a soiled piece of trash in his presence. My eyes
pull away from his, and I turn my gaze toward the dark ocean that mirrors my
soul. Tears threaten to fall, as I huff out my frustrated response from between
my lips.

“You’re right, it has affected me.”

Ian squeezes my hand. “Rachel, I don’t want it to affect
us.” He gently touches my chin and encourages me to turn my head. “Look at me,
sweetheart.”

Like a little girl, I obey his command and submit.

“I want to understand what makes you who you are,” he says
sweetly, as his thumb gently traces the edge of my jaw. His dark, expressive
eyes encourage me to trust. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you,
Rachel Hayward.”

My heart leaps into my throat. I know there are tears inside
of me, but they don’t come to my eyes. How can he love me? Men don’t love. I’m
convinced the male gender is incapable of the emotion, but Ian’s eyes beg to
differ with me. He looks so sincere, that I cannot deny his confession.

Embarrassed, I glance away from his intense gaze. I know
he’s waiting for me to acknowledge his words and express my own. My voice
trembles.

“I want to feel the same for you, Ian, but I don’t want to
be hurt either.”

“Listen, Rachel, I won’t ever lie to you. If I say I’m
falling in love, then I am. Believe me that there is no ruse on my part or
dishonesty in my words.”

I scrunch my brow as if I’m in pain, and my lips clamp
together. It’s so hard to expose my feelings when so much is at risk, but I
don’t want to spurn him.

“Me too.” My answer sounds elusive. “I mean I feel the same
way about you.”

I find the courage to look at him, and my heart is
overwhelmed by his loving presence. My mind runs rampant in conversation with
the powers above.
God, I do love him. Look at him! He’s my Prince
Charming—my dream come true. He’s normal, and he wants me. Can this really be
happening?

Ian flashes me an endearing smile and gathers me in his warm
arms. “Glad we got that settled,” he says in a relieved voice. He strokes the
side of my head with the palm of his hand. The peculiar feeling of tenderness
attempts to melt my heart.

“You’re a beautiful and wonderful woman, far deserving of
good things,” he whispers.

I don’t believe him. Ian kisses me, and I relent to his
sweet taste at three thirty in the morning.