[Summary of ch.33: Feeling guilty at his inability to do anything for Susan, make her happy, Luka decides to try to touch and caress her in bed. All goes well at first until Susan returns his touches. This sickens Luka, and brings back memories of his experiences in Matenda. As he has before, he seems to black out briefly. When he comes to again, he finds himself lying on the bathroom floor. He tells Susan more details of those experiences, of the beating and the rape, in more detail than he had ever spoken of them (or even remembered them) before. Then, exhausted by this ordeal, he returns to bed and falls asleep.]

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He woke to bright sunshine. His body ached. As if he'd been beaten. The analogy, popping into his head -- too apt -- made him shudder, sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. He squinted at the clock. 12:45. What time had he gone to sleep? He hadn't noticed the clock of course. But he remembered that Susan had come to bed at about 10:30. Surely he hadn't spent more than an hour in the bathroom. Had he really slept for over 12 hours?

Susan wasn't in bed with him. Of course she would have gotten up long ago. And she had a shift today. She was working a lot of shifts. As long as Luka was working only erratically, they needed the money. (Susan had been quietly contributing to the household expenses, though Luka had initially objected -- his own scanty paychecks were barely covering his medical bills. He'd been better off, financially, not working at all, and collecting disability. But he needed to be working.)

Luka got up, slowly, shakily. He needed a shower badly. He stank of sweat. Into the bathroom, turn on the shower, strip off tee shirt and shorts.

There were footsteps behind him and Susan's voice. "Luka! You're up!" Luka turned, startled, and saw Susan looking equally startled, and a little embarrassed, and she looked quickly away. And Luka realized that he was naked, that she'd never seen him naked. "Sorry," she said.

"Not your fault. I should have closed the door." Luka was a bit surprised to realize that it didn't bother him to have her see him ... only to have her touch him. Still, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "I'm decent," he told her. "I thought you were working today."

"I called in sick."

"You don't look sick." Tired, he thought, but healthy enough.

"I didn't want to leave you alone," she explained gently. "Not until I was sure you were ok. You didn't sleep so well last night."

"Nightmares?" Luka was surprised. He didn't remember dreaming at all -- thought he had slept like the dead.

"Oh yeah..." Susan managed a smile. "Thought the neighbors were going to wonder what we were up to! Why don't you take your shower. I'll make us some lunch."

"You can go to work if you want. Catch the second half of your shift. I'm fine here. Really."

"They got someone to cover for me." Susan stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind her. And Luka got into the shower. Of course Susan wasn't going to go to work. She would stay; insist that they talk about last night.

Last night. Luka shuddered again. Swallowed the bile that suddenly burned his throat. What had happened? It had been going so well. He had been doing so well -- not feeling any particular pleasure himself, it was true, but giving Susan pleasure, and that was what mattered. And then ...

Luka turned up the shower, so the water pounded harder on his body, washing the sweat away. But it couldn't wash the rest of it away. Would he ever feel clean again?

Dressed, Luka went into the living room. Susan had lunch ready. He wasn't hungry. He was never hungry. DeAngelo kept giving him handouts, talking to him about the importance of eating properly, keeping his weight up, staying well nourished, keeping his strength up. But it was so hard to eat at the best of times. And this was not the best of times. He was still queasy, from last night, and from the knowledge that he was going to have to talk about it again. But he sat down and picked up his sandwich. If he went through the motions of eating it, Susan might be fooled. And if he had to talk about last night, better for him to start the conversation, get it going in the easiest direction.

"I'm sorry, Susan," he said. "You must feel awful."

"About what?"

"Last night." Susan didn't answer. "I mean ... you put your arms around me ... and I go and throw up. That can't make you feel very loved."

"I know that it had nothing to do with me," Susan said quietly. "You weren't reacting to ... my hands. I know that you love me."

"If I loved you ... I should be willing to do whatever it takes ... to be able to show it. I shouldn't be so afraid."

Susan didn't answer for a minute, took a bite of her own sandwich. Finally she said, "You did a lot of talking last night Both before and after you went to sleep. Do you think you could talk to a counselor again now?"

"I don't know. It's easier ... talking to you."

"You need to talk to a professional. I'm not a psychiatrist, Luka, and I'm certainly not a specialist in this kind of thing."

"What kind of thing would that be?"

"Post traumatic stress ... sexual dysfunctions ..." Susan smiled a little. "I think you've got quite a long list going. I'm happy to listen to you, but I'm not enough, and I'm sensible enough to know that. You need more help than I can give you."

"I'm just ... scared."

"I know. But ... honestly Luka. Compared to what you've already been through, can this be anywhere near that bad? You survived that ... you can do this. You are so strong!"

"No. I'm not." Luka spoke the words so quietly that he wasn't sure Susan heard them. But he got up and went to the desk where the phone was, took the yellow pages from the drawer. If he was going to have to do this, best do it now, before he lost his nerve.

"Eat your lunch first," Susan said. He hadn't actually eaten a bite of his sandwich.

"I'm not hungry." Luka knew that if he ate anything before making the call, he would just bring it back up again before he finished.

P ... physicians. Subsection, psychiatrists. There were pages and pages of them. Luka flipped the pages back and forth, not really seeing them.

"Why not just call Carl," Susan suggested. "I'm sure he can recommend someone."

"No, I don't want to see someone he knows." Again, the old fear, irrational as ever, that people would know ... find out. He had to see someone new, someone he had never seen before -- someone he would then never have to see again.

A small display ad caught his eye. Dr. Brian McGrath. Specializing in PTSD. And he was in Wilmette. A long way from County. He'd surely never seen him before. Would never see him again. Luka took a deep breath, picked up the phone. He would call, then he would go throw up. Then maybe he would try to eat some lunch.

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Susan turned out the light, got into bed. "Good night."

"Susan," Luka said, turning to face her. "Last night ...."

"We've talked enough about last night."

"No. It was fine, at first. When I was touching you, kissing you ... you liked it?"

"Yeah, of course I did. But not if it was too upsetting for you."

"That's what I'm saying. That wasn't a problem. It was ok. I can touch you ... I just can't stand to BE touched. This stuff is my problem, Susan, it shouldn't have to be yours." He drew his finger along her collar bone, but Susan shook her head.

"I don't think it's a good idea. Not until you've talked with Dr. McGrath. He'll probably have some ideas ... might want us to wait. It's just a few days."

"Please," Luka said. "You've been so patient. Don't think I don't know how hard this is for you." His fingers lightly stroked her neck, and her lips, and Susan's eyes closed, and he felt her tremble a little. She was, he thought, a normal, healthy woman, with normal desires. How hard must it be for her to lie beside him all these weeks, never touching more than his hand, never getting more than the most chaste of kisses. He knew it wouldn't take much to convince her.

He kissed her, let his hands tangle for a moment in her hair, like silk in his fingers. Then back down to her face, her throat, her breasts. Her body was so soft. And as Luka took her lips from hers so they could follow the path of his hands down her body, Susan made soft sounds of pleasure in her throat. He nuzzled at her breasts, feeling her nipples harden under his lips. His hands moved further downward to part her thighs, move the nightshirt aside so he could stroke her bare skin.

But for Luka, it was all still automatic. He was doing all the things he remembered having done in a different life, when he had been a different person; a person who might have found physical pleasure himself in touching a beautiful woman, in doing these things. But tonight ... he enjoyed watching Susan's growing excitement, hearing her sighs and soft cries grow more intense as he learned what kinds of touches seemed to please her most. Knowing that he could make her happy, give her pleasure, satisfy her ... bring something to the relationship ... did bring him some small sense of pleasure, of satisfaction. But even this seemed distant, detached. It might have been another man doing these things, giving the woman he loved pleasure. Even this was something he was not yet entitled to enjoy.

But Susan must not know that. While she would have to know that he felt no sexual pleasure, he couldn't exactly hide his lack of an erection, she couldn't know that he was anything but content ... pleased. And he was content, he told himself firmly. This was what he had set out to do, and he had accomplished it. What more did he want? Content was enough. Happiness ... satisfaction ... could come later.

When Susan was drowsy and relaxed from her climax, he kissed her and said, with what he hoped was a wicked smile, "Is that enough? I can give you another if you like. My hands have an unlimited supply."

Susan smiled back. "One's enough. It was lovely. We'll save the rest for another night."

Luka lay down again beside her. Usually after making love, he thought, remembering back into that other life, they would hold each other ... caress each other a while longer as they drifted off to sleep. When they hadn't -- when he hadn't, it had been when the woman had been someone he hadn't cared about, a prostitute whose hour was up, or one of the quick fumbles in his car. No! He wouldn't think like that. This was something completely different. This had been completely unselfish, all about her pleasure. What could be better, more selfless than that? No, he couldn't hold her, wrap his body around hers. But this was a start. More would come later. And maybe, if he kept trying, he wouldn't even need Dr. McGrath to get there.

He was suddenly aware that Susan was looking at him, concerned. "You ok?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I'm great. I had fun. Now go to sleep."