A/N: Ok, I said this was going to be vague and I guess it could be more graphic but this discussion about rape does include a fairly detailed account. Just a heads up and a warning for anyone who may wish to skim read it.
The silence was heavy, expectant, tense. Regina didn't say anything. She couldn't find any words that seemed remotely appropriate. She didn't want to say anything that might stop Emma from continuing. She didn't dare move. So she lay there, staring at the blonde's neck where taught tendons strained against the pale skin.
"I was thirteen when I went to live with Mary Margaret and David. They're the foster parents I was with for the longest and the ones I still visit at Christmas. They are the closest I've ever gotten to having a mom and dad. It was fine at first. There were four of us. Me, Vicky, Jack and Toby. We were all teenagers. The Nolans didn't do little kids. We all grew up in the system and we had our baggage but we muddled along together. Toby turned eighteen the year after I arrived and went off to college. Somewhere in Florida I think. I lost touch with him. We were never that close."
Emma paused, remembering the quiet, moody older foster brother whom she only knew for a year. She had liked Toby though. How different her life might have been if he'd not had to move on.
"When he aged out of the system, Mary Margaret and David got given another kid. I was fourteen when Neal came to live with us. He was older. Sixteen. He moved from Alabama. I found out later that the foster parents he had been with since he was five had started some sort of religious cult, brainwashing the kids they were taking care of into believing all kinds of extreme Christian viewpoints. The authorities finally got wind, shut it down and sent the foster children to new homes. Neal seemed ok at first. Quiet, kept to himself. He always did his chores and Vicky and I used to pay him to do ours. He was fine, I guess, until …"
The story stopped again. Regina had stayed stock still since Emma had revealed her secret but now she moved her fingers, ever so slightly, against the blonde's hip where they had been resting. It wasn't a prompt, it was a reminder that she was still there, that she was listening.
"I met Hattie in my English Lit class. I was nearly fifteen and a few of my friends had started dating but I wasn't really interested in going out with some spotty boy and getting groped in the back of a movie theatre. Then I realised it was the boy element of dating which wasn't appealing to me. I can't even remember who made the first move but Hattie and I started seeing each other. Everyone at school was pretty chill about it. San Francisco is a laid back place, so after a couple of months I brought her home to meet Mary Margaret and David. Neal, Vicky and Jack were there too. I thought it went well. Hattie seemed to have a good time. We all watched a movie together after dinner and then she left. I went to bed."
Once more, Emma needed to pause in her recounting. She didn't think about that night often. Nor the nights which came after it. The weeks, the months. She had dealt with her past; moved on. She would never be 'over' it, just like she would never be 'cured' from her eating disorder. But it no longer affected her in the way it once did. She had moved past that time and made herself a new life, far away from that world.
"At some point in the night, I woke up. Neal was on top of me. I froze. I didn't even scream. He was saying something, chanting. 'It is an abomination', 'it is an abomination', over and over and over. I realised what was happening but I couldn't move. It hurt. I was a virgin. Hattie and I had never gone beyond kissing. We never did, actually. Anyway, he … finished and stood up. He pulled down the baggy t-shirt I had worn to bed as if he was trying to protect my modesty or something. I remember he looked at me in the strangest way, like he pitied me but also despised me. Then he said something like 'don't worry. I can help you' and left. I lay there until I heard his bedroom door close then I ran to the bathroom. I tried to clean myself up. I was bleeding and he had left his … fluids. I wanted to shower but I didn't want to risk waking up my foster parents. When I got back to my room I changed the sheets, got fresh ones out of the cupboard and stuffed the bloodied ones into the washing machine. Then I went to sleep. Or at least I tried to."
A tear dripped down Regina's face and disappeared into the pillow. She forced herself not to say anything, not to gather the woman closer in her arms. She knew Emma needed to say this, needed to tell her.
"I got the Plan B pill the next day at my school. The nurse gave them out for free; no questions asked. I guess Neal thought about the risk too because the next time, he wore a condom." There was a dry chuckle. "I suppose he thought he was being responsible. It became routine. Every Thursday he'd come to my bedroom. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't tell anyone. The Nolans were the only good foster parents I'd ever had. I didn't want to leave. I thought I'd be sent away if I said anything. And Neal, well, Neal told me he was doing God's work."
Anger combined with Regina's sorrow now. She knew there were people in the world who believed homosexuality to be a sin but she had been lucky enough to never encounter anyone outwardly homophobic. Certainly no one had ever tried to fuck her straight.
"I didn't believe him. I knew I was gay and I knew that was ok. Deep down. But I was still confused. Hattie and I had only been together for a couple of months. I knew I liked her but Neal told me that was a mistake, that I wasn't supposed to think like that. I broke up with Hattie soon after it started. I don't know if it was because of what Neal said or because every time my girlfriend touched me I flinched. The ending of the relationship didn't stop him though. I tried to tell him he'd done what he needed to do, that I wouldn't date women again. He said he didn't believe me. To be fair, I was lying to him. I knew I would always be gay but at that time I couldn't imagine dating or being intimate with anyone ever again. The visits kept happening. I felt powerless, out of control. So, well, you know what happened next."
There was nothing more to say. Regina didn't need the details. She understood that Neal's actions had driven Emma to seek control in another area of her life. Food.
"Emma," she whispered, trying to keep the emotion which flooded her veins at bay. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks," the blonde said, her voice sounding hollow. "It's over. It's in my past. I don't tell people, friends or girlfriends. They don't need to know. But I wanted to tell you."
"And I'm honoured you did," Regina said, shifting a little closer and curling her fingers a little more tightly against Emma's hips. "Thank you for sharing that. I can't imagine what you went through."
"I don't want you to imagine it," Emma said, suddenly rolling away and climbing out of bed. "That's why I didn't want to tell you. I don't want you thinking of me like that." Strolling to the far side of the room, she threw open the curtains for the first time that day, staring out into the garden at the rear. "That's not who I am. That's not the person I want you to think of when you're with me. I hate being seen as a victim, as someone who was violated. A rape victim. No. That's not me. I'm Emma. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Emma," Regina implored, now sat up in bed, tears streaming down her face. "Emma, I do see you. More than that, I love you, Emma. I loved you before you told me and I love you now."
"Really?" Emma asked, turning around and looking sceptically at the woman before her. "Even now you know?"
"I love you," Regina repeated. "What you've told me hasn't changed that."
"It changes how you see me," Emma insisted. "It has to."
"No, it doesn't," Regina said, herself climbing out of bed and crossing towards Emma, stopping just short of the woman, unsure if physical contact would be welcome. "Emma, I see you for you. I don't see you as a recovering anorexic or a rape victim. I see you as a funny, intelligent, talented, kind, caring, compassionate, beautiful, complicated and loving woman who has burst into my life and made me happy again."
"Happy again?"
"I love Henry, more than anything, and he makes me happy in many ways. But you, Emma, you've brought a different kind of happiness, a different kind of love back into my life. I didn't think I'd ever experience that again. But I can, with you. I'm glad you told me about your past but I can promise you that those events are not going to affect our future. We have a future together, Emma, you and me. You, me and Henry. I just need you to believe me when I say that."
"I want to," Emma said. "I want to believe that. I'm just used to hiding this part of my life from the people I care about. No one knows. Just my therapist. And Neal. I never told anyone else, even after he aged out of the system and moved away. That was a year after it first happened. I was already dangerously thin. My foster family were more concerned with trying to get me to eat; they didn't care why I was starving myself. Neal's departure didn't change my eating habits. It had become deeply engrained by then. I couldn't stop myself even after he disappeared from my life."
"But you did stop," Regina reminded her softly. "You worked hard to get healthy again and you followed your dream and became a phenomenal chef. You moved on, Emma. And while I am glad you trust me enough to tell you about your past, I need you to hear me when I say that it doesn't change anything when it comes to how I feel about you."
"Really?"
"Truly."
"Can you make me a promise?"
"Anything," Regina said, stepping closer, itching to reach out and touch the blonde.
"Can we not talk about this again? You know now. You know what happened. I've explained why I became anorexic. Can that be the end of it? Can we never mention it again?"
"If that's what you want, of course," Regina nodded. "But before we close the book on this conversation, can … can I just give you a hug?"
Emma nodded and opened her arms. Regina flew into them, the sorrow which she had been keeping at bay bursting forth and her body shook with the force of her tears. Emma began to cry as well, the painful memories which she had spoken about finally pushing through the façade. She clung to Regina, holding her impossibly tight as she buried her face in the sweet-smelling hair, allowing herself just a moment to feel completely and utterly devastated by her own past.
"Are you sure Henry will be ok with this?" Emma asked, shifting from one foot to the other, the grocery bag balanced on her hip. After the intense conversation, the two women had returned to the bed but nothing sexual had happened. They had just talked and learned more about one another before finally getting up to shower and prepare for picking Henry up from school.
"Relax," Regina reassured, squeezing the fingers which were interlaced between her own. "He likes you. You're his personal chef."
"True."
The bag Emma was holding included all of the ingredients she was going to need to cook pizzas for Henry that afternoon. But first they had to collect the small boy. She looked around at the small groups of mothers, fathers and nannies, waiting patiently for their children to spill out into the colourful playground. Regina had smiled at a few of the other parents but made no move to engage in conversation. Emma briefly wondered why but then remembered that usually Henry was picked up by his child minder. Regina's job meant she probably wasn't part of the local mum's social network.
A bell rang from inside the building and seconds later what seemed like thousands of tiny people appeared. Henry spotted the two women before either of them saw him. Breaking away from Roland, to whom he had been chatting animatedly, he trotted over.
"Mom! Emma!"
"Hi Henry," Regina smiled, taking the backpack her son thrust at her. "How was your day?"
"Good. We did painting."
"I can see that," Regina said, eyes taking in the stained uniform, splatters of myriad colours on both his t-shirt and shorts.
"What are you cooking me for dinner, Emma?" Henry asked, looking up at the bag of food the blonde was still carrying.
"Something delicious," Emma grinned. "And you can help."
"Is it pancakes again?"
"Nope, but I can teach you some new things about cooking so you can help me make the food."
"Ok," Henry said. "Mom, can me and Emma play trains when I get home?"
"Of course," Regina nodded, reaching out and taking hold of Henry's hand. "If Emma wants to, that is."
"Emma, will you play trains with me?" the small boy asked, holding out his other hand towards the blonde.
It took Emma a moment to react but then she took the small fingers in her own and smiled. "Sure."
The trio set off down the street, Henry regaling both women with tales of his time in school that day.
After an hour of playing with Henry's trains, Emma suggested they choose a different game. That idea was quickly dismissed, however, and Regina shot Emma a sympathetic look as Henry announced that they were going to build a new track where the good trains would chase the bad trains. The brunette had set up a mini home office on the coffee table once they returned from the school run. Although she had taken the day off work, there were some emails which she had to answer so she had left Emma and Henry to their game and turned her attention to her laptop. It was also a great excuse to get out of playing trains, a game which seemed to have taken up half of her life over the past year.
The only alternate activity which made Henry break away from the web of tracks was Emma's suggestion that they get started on dinner.
"Yeah! What are we eating?" he asked, standing up and heading into the kitchen.
"Um, young man, can you tidy up first please?" Regina called. She had stepped on a toy train one too many times and she wasn't sure her feet could take another railway-related injury.
Henry grudgingly began to put away his creation, Emma helping out but making sure the small boy did his fair share of the work. Once all the trains and track pieces were safely stored, he turned to Emma and asked once more what their dinner was going to be.
"Pizza," Emma answered. "It's got tomato and cheese and chicken and capsicum on it. All things you like. And the base is a little bit like bread."
"Pizza," Henry repeated. He'd heard of that. In fact, Roland's father had cooked it for them once. Henry hadn't eaten it. There had been something strange on the top of it.
"Yeah," Emma nodded. "So why don't you wash your hands and then I'll meet you in the kitchen and show you how to make it?"
Henry disappeared to complete his assigned task without another word. Emma turned to Regina, eyebrows raised.
"A good start," the mother assured her. "Give me five minutes and I'll come and join you guys."
"No need if you have to do some work. I already have a sous chef," Emma said, waltzing over to her girlfriend and leaning down to kiss her.
"And I wouldn't dream of trying to replace him for a second," Regina laughed. "But I'd still like to come and join. I'll offer moral support by drinking wine sitting at the table."
"If you're really good, I'll let you decorate your own pizza," Emma teased, kissing the brunette once more before disappearing out into the kitchen.
By the time Regina had finished her work, Henry was already covered in flour and Emma was flitting between stirring the tomato sauce on the stove top and assisting the creation of the dough. She leaned on the door frame, watching the two of them interact. Emma explained what she wanted Henry to do in simple, clear instructions, keeping one eye on the bubbling sauce as she did so. Multitasking was part of being a chef in a large commercial kitchen.
"Mom, look!" Henry exclaimed when Regina finally made her presence known. "I made pizza."
"Very good," Regina smiled, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist as she stood between them, admiring their creations. "What's the next step?"
"I don't know," Henry admitted. "Chef Emma, what's the next step?"
"The next step, Chef Henry," Emma smiled, "is rolling out this dough into three circles which will be our pizzas."
"How?"
"With a rolling pin," Emma said. "Do you know where the rolling pin is kept?"
Henry shook his head and turned to his mother. "Mom, where's the rolling pin?"
Although she hadn't needed the tool in months, Regina knew exactly where it was and went to fetch it for her little culinary team. It was large and cumbersome in Henry's hands but Emma helped to show him how to hold it properly before sprinkling some flour on the work surface and breaking a portion of the dough off and place it in front of him.
The final result wasn't exactly a circle and fingertip indentations were peppered over its crooked surface. While Henry was perusing the array of toppings Regina had laid out on the table, Emma hurriedly flattened it out for him to ensure it cooked evenly. Then she carried his base over and spooned the tomato sauce onto the top, spreading it out to the edges.
"What's that?"
"What's what?" Emma asked.
"That," Henry said, finger pointing to a piece of onion.
Emma had cut the new vegetable up as small as possible but clearly the boy's eagle eyes had spotted them.
"That's onion," Emma explained. "I use it to make tomato sauce."
"But tomato sauce is made of tomato," Henry frowned.
"Yes but you can add other things too. Your mom added capsicum to a sauce for you and you liked it, didn't you?"
Henry nodded slowly. That was true. "What is onion like?"
"It's … it's unique," Emma replied. "But it doesn't have a strong taste when it's cooked and we're going to have lots of delicious things on top so you won't be able to tell the onions are there. It's mostly tomato anyway."
Olive eyes regarded his future dinner with care. It was true, he realised. There were only a few visible chunks of onion.
"You said you'd try something new," Regina reminded her son gently.
"Pizza is new," Henry replied.
"Pizza is made of things you've had before though," Emma pointed out. "We used flour, sugar and salt like in the pancakes and the oil is what your mom cooks chicken in. And I know you drink water."
That was true as well, Henry realised. And he had promised his mother that he'd try something new. "Ok," he said at last. "But I only want chicken and capsicum and cheese on the top. I don't want that."
The final comment was directed to a plate of salami which Regina had made up while Emma and Henry were making the dough. She'd also halved several black olives, cooked the chicken breasts, grated a mountain of cheese and chopped capsicum, all of which had their own bowl.
"Deal," Emma said. "So the next thing we do is put cheese on top of the tomato sauce."
Reaching out, Henry grabbed a fistful of the ingredients and dumped it in the middle of the tomato covered circle. Emma spread it out as Regina smothered her laughter.
"Now what?"
"Now you add the chicken and the capsicum wherever you want them," Emma said, pulling both bowls within reach of the short arms.
With meticulous care, Henry covered one half of the pizza with chicken before arranging capsicum slices across the other half.
"Done!" he exclaimed. "Can I eat it now?"
"It has to cook first," Emma said. "I've already turned the oven on so it's nice and hot. We have to wait for about fifteen minutes so the cheese all melts and the base is cooked."
"Can I play trains while I wait?" Henry asked, bored of the kitchen now the creative part was over.
"Yes," Regina nodded. "But Emma and I will be in here making our own pizzas and washing up so you'll have to play on your own."
"Ok," Henry agreed, jumping down from the chair he had been standing on and racing out of the room.
"Wash your hands again please," Regina called after him before turning to her girlfriend. "Well, I think that was a success."
"He hasn't eaten it yet," Emma pointed out, sliding the boy's pizza onto a baking tray. "But he seemed to enjoy the process of preparing it."
"He had a great teacher," Regina smiled, kissing Emma lightly. "Is it my turn to make my pizza?"
Side by side, the two women decorated their own dinners, the remaining dough having been rolled out by the blonde. Once all three pizzas were ready, Emma put them into the oven, set the timer and turned to address the messy kitchen. Regina, however, insisted the younger woman sit down with a glass of wine.
"It's your day off," Regina scolded lightly when Emma tried to dry up the freshly washed items she had placed in the draining rack.
Emma wanted to argue, wanted to help, but she gave up when Regina shot her a look which said 'relax or else' and she retired to the small dining table, keeping her girlfriend company as the kitchen became clean once more. When the timer pinged, she pulled the perfectly cooked pizzas from the oven and set about cutting them into slices. Her own was topped similarly to Henry's with the addition of olives and a more even distribution, while Regina's was garnished with salami and capsicum only.
"Henry, your pizza is ready," Regina called a few minutes later, knowing the food would have cooled enough for the boy she predicted would race in and take a bite. While he was a fussy eater, Henry also had a big appetite.
When he did appear, however, it was with hesitation that he picked up the first piece. It looked different to how it did when he had left the room. It was hot. The cheese was too hot, in fact. The slice slapped back down onto the plate. Regina and Emma said nothing; not wanting to interrupt the exploration. Henry was regarding the cheese which, once a pale yellow, was now brown in places. He could see bits of red poking through the melted surface. Was that capsicum or tomato?
He glanced up to see both women watching him. They wanted to see him eat, he knew. Archie had said eating new food was important. He looked between his mother and Emma before back at his pizza. He had made this. Emma had shown him how to make this. That was pretty cool. And there really wasn't anything in there which he hadn't eaten before. Except the onion. He leaned closer. He couldn't see any of the new vegetable. Perhaps it had been cooked away in the oven. Picking the dropped slice back up, he took his first bite.
A/N: Interesting mix of responses to the previous chapter, by the way. Half of you saw the trigger for Emma's eating disorder coming. The other half were surprised. I hope, however, that the 'reason' (there is never a reason for rape) these events happened were at least a little different from what you usually read.
Also, when a friend of mine told me she had been raped, all I could do was cry for her the same way Regina cried for Emma. But it didn't for a second change how I saw her. As far as I was concerned, she was, and is, my closest friend.