Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
He
had rung while following the taxi that apparently from the route taken was
going to drop her off at home.
He
assured me he would stay in front of our gates until I arrived.
I was home within
7 minutes, and entered the house through the terrace
’
s door, without flicking any light, while
she was still upstairs.
I
poured a glass of
Glenfiddish
to settle my nerves, to
do what I was about to do, without flinching.
I
couldn't let her leave.
((~~!~~))
And
here I was, waiting for her.
I
was her husband.
I
was her rapist.
I
had no choice.
I
couldn't let her go.
Let
’
s make one thing clear
…
Ethan
January 2004. Darling Harbour. Sydney.
Australia
.
“
What
’
s up with you?
”
she asked after waltzing in his
office, a few minutes after the Monday cabinet meeting was over.
“
How do you mean?
”
he replied, looking up from the report he
had been reading.
“
You seem distracted, absent even?
”
she explained.
He
sighed,
“
I
just have a lot on my mind.
”
closing his eyes, stretching his harms behind his head.
“
Well, it can
’
t be the next election, we
’
re not even mid-term, and the budget vote
is months away
…
so what is it?
”
she said, sitting on his desk.
He
felt her closeness and re-opened his eyes.
“
Anna, we are not pals, not even lovers,
what makes you think you have the right to ask me what
’
s on my mind?
”
he questioned, perusing her, from her
legs up.
Her
eyes narrowed on him and she coyly spit,
“
Well, I was good enough to fuck, but not
to share confidences with?
”
“
Precisely,
”
he responded coldly, seeing her wince at
the verbal attack.
He
added with another deep sigh,
“
Look,
I
’
m
sorry. I
’
m
taking this out on you and you
’
ve
done nothing, so let
’
s
forget it, ok? I
’
m
preoccupied, let
’
s
leave it at that.
”
but she persisted,
“
Ethan
you
’
ve
been working from home the past week, then went to New Zealand; yet, even when
you
’
re
here, you
’
re
not all here...
”
her voice trailed, her eyes showing actual concern, otherwise misplaced.
She
sighed heavily and asked, irritated,
“
Is it your wife? What has Vic done
…”
but he interrupted her, violently pushing
his desk chair back, standing up, and looking at her with a look that sent cold
shivers of actual fear down her spine, said in a voice that bore a matching
chilliness,
”
Anna, if you wish to keep working for me,
you will not mention my wife
’
s
name ever again,
”
While
the statement was made in an icy tone, he was staring at her, eyes blazing,
”
Understood?
”
he demanded as he saw her pale, his face
inches from hers, his cerulean eyes, the color of a glacier.
“
Yes.
”
she quipped in a small voice, standing up
from the desk, and leaving the room without looking back at him.
It
’
s only, once out, and his office door
closed, that she exhaled and readjusted herself with shaky hands. Putting her
cold and cool mask back on, she hurried down to her own office to get on with
her day but mostly to forget this encounter ever happened.
For
the first time since she
’
d
come to work for him, and got to know him, Anna realized Ethan McGregor was
unlike any other man she
’
d
known; he could and would hurt her, if crossed.
((~~!~~))
I am a rapist.
There
’
s no other word for what I have become,
what I
’
ve
done to my wife, the love of my life.
I
’
m still Ethan, the NSW premier, the
brilliant lawyer, the politician, but let
’
s not
sugarcoat
it: I raped my wife.
Yes,
I was drunk and impaired; yet, the fact remains. I took her against her will.
This was not one of our games where she pretended to resist me, only to make me
show her how much I wanted her.
No,
this was rape, plain and simple, and I am guilty.
And,
it
’
s
tearing me apart. No matter what I do, it
’
s always there; I can
’
t stop thinking about it.
It
’
s killing me.
That's
a story nobody wants to tell - that the rapist's life is as devastated as the
person he rapes.
And
no, I
’
m
not looking at making excuses here. I
’
m just saying things are complex.
No
one knows, but I have started seeing a professional. Two days after I returned
from my New Zealand trip, I had my first session. There was no other choice, it
was either talking to a doctor or talking to the police, I certainly couldn
’
t talk to my priest and Tom Collins wouldn
’
t help, it
’
s what got me in this mess in the first
place. I was completely crumbling internally, and just about to hand in my
resignation as Premier.
Vic
wouldn
’
t
talk to me, look at me, or be in the same room as me. And when I learned she
went to the police, I panicked. My first instinct was self-preservation, and
that
’
s
the reason I had the commissioner scrap
the report and then I threatened her, even though I had no intention whatsoever
to ever harm her again.
But
then the look she gave me the night of my return from Auckland prevented me
from sleeping. It was the first actual look that passed between us since that
fateful night, and it nearly killed me.
As
she was telling me I could do anything I wanted as long as I didn
’
t hurt her, it hit me; the depths of what
I had done to her, yes, but also, to us and ultimately to myself. The woman in
front of me that night wasn
’
t
my wife; she was a victim of my cruelty, a very afraid one. She had no
expression, no soul, and appeared uncaring of her own life, her look was
indifferent, void even, and I had done that to her.
Me,
no one else.
The
woman I loved and promised to cherish until I died, I had killed her spirit,
making her an empty shell overnight.
I
committed the most intimate of crimes, and in that instant, I realized the
extent of the consequences.
I
have great love for my wife and the regret and guilt I feel every minute
of every day are the only things guiding me right now.
I have been taught from a very young age that we have
choices about our lives and that we are responsible for what happens to us.
Here, I committed the deed that changed me and my life forever
;
it is my choice on how to deal with the aftermath.
There
were only two things to be done; either self-destruct, or trying to push
through the pain.
I
am a good man. At least, I believe I am. I want to be one. I am Ethan McGregor,
so really the latter option is truly the one, the only one. I
’
ll endure whatever is necessary, but I
swear to myself, I will reconquer my wife.
Whatever
it takes.
It
had always been my motto as far as she was concerned; whatever it took to make
her mine, to make her happy, to keep her
.
I
have no delusions. It is going to be painful, for me, and especially for her.
How can she ever trust me after what I
’
ve done? But, I
’
ll do whatever it takes.
((~~!~~))
The two men look at each other in silence,
each preoccupied with the presence of the other in the very same room.
“
You can start anytime you
’
re ready,
”
says Robert Michaellson, MD,
psychiatrist.
“
I just don
’
t know where to start,
”
replies with an unsteady voice, his first
time patient, Ethan McGregor, NSW Premier.
The
doctor smiles to put his patient at ease, and says softly,
“
The beginning is usually a good place
…
but, why don
’
t you tell me what caused you to seek for
my help? Maybe we can take
…”
“
I raped my wife.
”
is the calm sentence interrupting the
doctor spiel, shocking them both by its force and meaning.
The
two men stare at each other in silence; each knowing there will be no turning
back from this session.
This is not going to be a short-term therapy.
((~~!~~))
In the next session, they agree to weekly
appointments. More can be arranged if a crisis occurs.
“
I love her. And yes, my love is selfish,
but I do love her. She's my family, the family I want...the family I need. I
want to have children with this woman and make sure that she's always happy.
Yes, what I did was wrong, very wrong, and criminal even, but we all make
mistakes in relationships. I hope she will slowly forgive me. I
’
ll do whatever it take to make that happen
…”
his voice breaks, as he looks at the
doctor in front of him.