Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t weird at first. I mean, maybe it was, I don’t know. He stuck to working on my art with me. Helping me with drawing, critiquing pottery, stuff like that. But gradually, we got closer. He wrote me notes, long notes, about how smart I am and how amazing we are together. He said he wanted to make things with me, real things, not just school stuff. I was fifteen, and he was probably in his thirties, and I thought I was special.”
I glance over at Marco. He’s staring straight again, his jaw tense, his fingers white on the steering wheel. I force myself to keep going.
“He kissed me one day after school. We were standing together near the kiln, and he turned to me, brushed my hair from my face, and put his lips on mine. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sort of stood there. It was like my spirit left my body. But he wasn’t satisfied, he just kept going. I didn’t scream, you know? I don’t think I told him to stop. I was in shock, I was paralyzed, I just let it happen to me because I looked up to him and I was so afraid of what might happen if I didn’t. He kept saying I was special, over and over, I was special, special, special, and I remember staring at the kiln as he did it to me, watching the light inside glowing dull amber and orange. There was a painting tacked to the wall, this Picasso, a bunch of ears and fingers and teeth, and sometimes I think I’m just sculpting that print over and over again.
“I didn’t cry until I got home. My brother Angelo found me curled up in my closet. He said I’d been there for a while, but I don’t really remember. I told him everything. He was so mad, he went straight to my dad, and then there was the police and the lawyer. Ethan got arrested and went to prison, and three years after that a member of the Famiglia brutally murdered him in his cellblock. I was told it was slow and very painful.
“But anyway, that Nicolas guy looked exactly like Ethan, or at least similar, and I just, it all hit me again.” I try to smile, but I can’t muster the energy.
Marco’s silent. I let the story end there. I could tell him more: the years of therapy, the fights with my mother, the struggle to feel sane again. I lashed out as a kid after it all went down, and I could never get back that trust again, and in the end I decided it was easier to stay away from people, to sculpt, to hide. I’d hit first and fight like a beast and never, ever take shit, not ever again. But mostly I just hid. That way, nobody could hurt me.
“I’m so sorry,” Marco says. “If I had known—”
“How could you have? I don’t go around announcing to people that I was raped by my art teacher when I was fifteen. Not exactly an easy thing to talk about.”
“Still.” He blows out a long breath. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really. I feel better already.” And it’s true: in times past, I’d be an emotional, shaking wreck for a whole day after a panic attack, but I’m starting to feel more like myself already, barely an hour later.
“I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“It was strange, you know? My dad, he was so mad for a while, but I was the youngest and a girl, and sort of an afterthought. He got over it, then everyone else got over it, and I thought I did too. Then tonight happens.”
“Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy, and I’m glad you feel like you can trust me enough to share.”
I smile a little and put my hand on his leg. He takes my fingers into his and squeezes, and we hold like that for a while as we get deeper and deeper into the city, winding our way back to his condo. Once he parks next to my car, the thought of driving back to the oasis and going into my cold, empty, quiet house feels like an impossibility, and I hold onto his hand tighter.
“I don’t want to go home,” I say, looking at him.
Marco’s head tilts. “Do you want to come inside?”
“Yes. Please.” I lean across the car and kiss him. I run my fingers through his hair. This, right here, this is what I’ve been looking for all this time. A simple moment, a good one. I feel unburdened and free. I can choose, and my choice matters. “Do you mind?”
“Baby, no part of me ever wants you to go home,” he says softly, brushing his knuckles across my cheek.