Author's Note: Sensitive subject matter. This chapter deals with Melfi's rape. I tried to be as sensitive as possible, and to make it as realistic as I could as someone who's never personally been through such a traumatic experience.
Lately, a good night for Jennifer Melfi was one during which she did not dream. The nightmares had started earlier in the week, Monday night after she had come home from work and passed out, exhausted, on her sofa still wearing her suit. Hours later, she had been woken up by her own screams, covered in a cold sweat and thinking of someone that she had no desire whatsoever to remember.
It had been almost six years since she had been attacked in the parking garage at work, yet she still bore the scars, physically and emotionally. With each spring and autumn, the changing of the weather caused the joints in her knee to ache to the point where it hurt to walk, and the pain forced her to recall the incident that had caused the damage.
More devastatingly, though, Jennifer didn't ever feel truly safe. When she was home alone, she sometimes still jumped at even the slightest of noises. In her office, she sprang up from her desk to lock the door if she was working after hours and heard footsteps in the corridor. Despite all of that, though, Jennifer had done a remarkable job of carrying on with her life after the rape; even Elliot had confessed to being impressed with the strength of her will. Her resolve, though, did not erase the memories that lurked just beneath the surface of her subconscious, crippling emotions locked up in a box in the back of her mind, just waiting to be freed.
That box had been opened Monday morning, when she had arrived at her office at the same time as one of her "neighbors," another psychiatrist who had his private practice in the suite next to hers. Though they saw each other rarely, both had greeted one another and made small talk prior to opening up their offices for the day. Just as Jennifer was ending the conversation in anticipation of the arrival of her first patient, her colleague had given her the bit of news that had sent her reeling for the rest of the week.
"Oh, hey, Jennifer," he had said, "I know you work late sometimes, so I just thought you should know. You should call security and have someone escort you to your car if you're going to be working after hours."
A cold, prickling sensation rose in Jennifer's stomach, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she asked, "Oh, why? What happened?"
"Well, they're saying that a woman was…sexually assaulted…in the parking garage. She was a patient; I don't know whose, but she was walking to her car from an appointment when it happened. The police were all over the building the other night, but from what I hear, they never caught the guy."
Just then, Jennifer's first patient of the day had arrived, so she had been forced to quickly pull herself together, but she knew that she had been silent and distant throughout the appointment, her mind going astray down all sorts of horrible, terrifying paths. Alone in her office between sessions, with the door firmly locked, Jennifer had gone through everything in her mind, allowing herself to remember the assault in full for the first time in six years.
She had tried to comfort herself by rationalization: It had been years since her own rape, and the attack had been random; if she had been in the stairwell just five minutes earlier or later she never would have crossed paths with the man who had brutalized her. Anyway, what were the odds that, six years later, Jesus Rossi would still be hanging around the same building? Despite all of the logic behind her reasoning, Jennifer was not reassured. What had he been doing there, anyway, six years ago? Even if Rossi wasn't stalking the parking garage of her building, another woman had been assaulted and the perpetrator not apprehended, so obviously the danger was still there.
The fears and painful memories had haunted not only Jennifer's waking hours for the past week, but had begun to permeate her dreams. It was now Friday, and she had slept a grand total of perhaps ten hours throughout the last four nights. The lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll not only mentally, but physically. She and Tony had not seen each other in almost a week, and Jennifer knew that he had noticed the change in her when they met for dinner earlier in the evening. His eyes had registered concern upon seeing her, and he had asked if she'd been sick.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Jen, but you don't look so good," he said. She brushed it off, muttered excuses about stress at work, demanding patients, lack of sleep, but she had been distant and jumpy throughout dinner, and she knew that none of that escaped Tony's observation. When they had arrived at her house, he pulled her close and asked if there was anything she wanted to talk about. She'd been touched, but not ready to discuss what was truly bothering her.
"I'm just exhausted, Anthony," she said instead, "I need sleep. Are you going to stay with me tonight?" He had agreed to stay, and they went to bed. It was rare for them not to make love when he spent the night, but Jennifer knew that she couldn't have handled sex just then. She had stayed awake pondering this long after Tony began to snore, and felt a fresh surge of anger that, all these years after the actual rape, it was still interfering with her life in such extreme ways. Frustrated, she had fallen into a fitful sleep and dreamt of Jesus Rossi.
She screamed as she felt his hands on her, tugging at her clothes, reaching under her skirt and tearing away her panties. The concrete stairs dug into her shoulders as she was pressed down by the weight of his body. Jennifer reached up to fight him, but her attempts at defense were weak, and the more she fought, the harder he pounded into her, wounding her, breaking her bodily and spiritually.
Jennifer woke to the sounds of her own desperate cries and a hand on her forearm. She was lucid enough to feel the softness of her own sheets, but still locked in the dream world where Jesus Rossi tormented her. A voice, familiar but too far away to help, said her name, and arms enfolded her.
"No!" she wailed, the idea entering into her mind that Rossi was in her bed, that he had found her where she lived and entered her home so that he could hurt her again. She lashed out, hearing a sharp crack as her palm connected with her assailant's face. Jennifer scrambled away, falling out of bed and landing roughly on the cold floor. She was beginning to regain consciousness when she heard that same familiar voice from earlier yelling expletives.
"Goddamn it! Son of a bitch!"
Jennifer heard someone sobbing, small, pitiful muted wails, and didn't realize that the noises came from her until she felt tears spilling down her cheeks.
"What the fuck, Jen?" Tony stepped into her line of vision. "What'd ya hit me for?"
The blaze of his anger extinguished itself when he saw her curled up against her nightstand in the fetal position, sobbing and shivering.
"Jennifer…baby, what's the matter?" He reached out to her, but she shrunk from his hand.
"Don't. I don't want to be touched." Jennifer wanted her own little personal bubble to herself. She wrapped her arms around her own body and sucked air in through her nose, concentrating on the breathing exercises that she taught to her patients but had never thought that she would have to use herself.
Tony knelt on the floor several feet away from her. "What's wrong? I woke up 'cause I heard you screamin' and cryin' in your sleep, so I tried to get you up and you slapped the shit outta me."
"I had a dream," she explained.
"What kinda dream?" he asked.
"A bad one."
"Well, obviously, but what was it about?"
Jennifer looked up at him, turning over and over in her mind the question of whether she should tell him or not. So many times in the past she had wanted to, if only because she knew what would happen if she did, the action he would take if he found out what had been done to her and by whom. This, Tony's ability to "fix" the situation for her, to erase, if not the memories of what Jesus Rossi had done, then the man himself, had been the same reason she had not told him. Now, as Jennifer looked into Tony's eyes, the eyes of the man she loved, she wanted him to be aware of what had happened to her, not so that he could avenge her, but because she knew that after she finished her confession, he would take her in his arms and she would be safe.
She stretched her hand out to him and he took it. As she curled her fingers through his, she began to tell him everything, every last detail, squeezing his hand and speaking through tears whenever her story became too painful.
"Goddamn, Jen," he said when she finished, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Why would I have?" she asked, "You were just my patient back then."
Tony seemed to accept that but did not let the issue go. "Yeah, but I coulda done something. The cops fucked up and failed you; I wouldn't have."
"And that's exactly why I couldn't tell you. It wasn't your job to avenge me."
"Yeah, well it damn well is now. You're mine, Jen, mine to protect, and when I find that piece of shit..."
"Anthony, no!" Jennifer cried.
"Why not?" he asked, "He hurt you; he deserves to fucking rot. He deserves to die."
"Anthony," she said, her voice severe and her eyes panicked, "Don't do anything. I didn't confide in you so that you could...could...I don't want..." Her voice broke and more tears came, and he shushed her and pulled her close, picking her up off of the floor and straightening the covers as she climbed back into bed. He slid in beside her and held her, stroking her hair and whispering to her reassuringly until she, exhausted and overcome with emotion, fell into a deep sleep.
He lie awake long after she closed her eyes, watching Jennifer as she slept and boiling with rage. The woman that he loved had been wounded, violated in the worst way and then left to suffer alone, silently. As Jennifer sighed and rolled over in her sleep, Tony vowed to make sure that the guilty party paid for the crime that had been committed against her, to see to it that she was vindicated.
One Week Later...
Jennifer looked at the clock on the mantle of her fireplace and wondered where in the hell Tony was. It had been hours since he had left, mumbling something about having business to take care of. She hadn't asked, because she hadn't wanted to know, but now, as she began to feel his absence more acutely than ever, Jennifer thought that maybe she should have.
Tony had been almost constantly by her side in the week since she had confided in him. He conducted his business during the day, and met her at her office in the evenings to walk her to her car, then he followed her home and stayed the night with her. In the last week, Jennifer had grown used to his presence, and even when the constant togetherness began to annoy her, she knew that he was staying close to make her feel safe, and was grateful to him for it.
A knot of fear began to grow in Jennifer's stomach. It had been ten o'clock when he left; now it was twenty minutes after one and there was still no sign of him. What if something had happened to him, and the next time she saw him was when he was lying in a box, cold and dead? Jennifer sat with these thoughts for half an hour more until finally, the doorbell frightened her out of her reverie. Her heart hammering in her chest, she went to the front door and looked out of the peephole.
"Anthony," she said, opening the door and wanting to yell, to tell him how scared she had been, how she had just been sitting alone waiting for him, that the dinner she had made had gotten cold hours ago and why in the hell hadn't he called. All of that was silenced when he took her in his arms, crushing her to him and kissing her forehead. With a sigh, Jennifer melted into him, unable to stay angry when he was holding her so tightly, when he was whispering her name as he kissed her cheek and when he smelled so good, like soap, like cologne and laundry detergent, fresh and clean.
"Where have you been?" she asked, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He didn't reply, simply stood with her in the doorway, holding her as if trying to reassure himself that she was real. Early autumn's night breeze blew in through the open door, raising goosebumps on Jennifer's skin.
"Never mind where I've been," he said, finally letting go of her, closing the door and leading her over to the sofa. She leaned against him when they sat, craving the comfort of him close to her.
"You remember the first night we were together," he asked, "When I told you I'd keep you safe?"
Jennifer looked up at him, expecting him to say more. When he didn't follow the statement up, she knit her brows together in puzzlement and said, "Yes, I remember."
"Just wanted you to know I meant that," he said, taking one of her hands in both of his and looking meaningfully into her eyes, "You're safe now, Jen. No one is ever going to hurt you again."
As the implications of his words sunk in, Tony watched the expression on her face go from shock, to fear, to relief and then to gratitude. The grim satisfaction that Jennifer felt scared even her, and she shivered as she realized what Tony had done. She knew that he had done it for her, because he had seen how she suffered with the memories and the anxiety and had wanted to relieve her of all that.
"God, Anthony," Jennifer whispered, winding her arms around him and shutting her eyes tightly to dam back the tears that threatened. He pulled her onto his lap, stroking her back and placing a kiss on the top of her head. After what seemed like an eternity of simply letting Tony hold her, Jennifer raised her mouth to his and claimed his lips, pouring all of her emotions into the kiss, because she knew, as she sat safe and secure in Tony Soprano's embrace, that she had never loved him more.