Rachel
Rain. Rain. Rain.
It's been pouring for three days in a row. So much so that Alec — my boss — has closed up the food truck due to lack of foot traffic on the beach. On one hand, I am thankful for the break. On the other hand, I am scared of what my next paycheck is going to look like.
Things continue to be complicated between Paul and I. I really don't know how to reconcile my feelings for him. I can't get enough of how I feel when I'm with him. Then there are moments like right now — in my car and driving by myself — that I feel guilty. Guilty for wanting him the way I do.
The windshield wipers on my little red Mazda are working hard to clear away the waterfall before me. I hate driving in this kind of rain but I have a date. Not with Paul. I blush just thinking about that. God… No. It's with Emily.
Emily Young invited me to get coffee. I didn't know what to say. She just called me this morning out of the blue and asked me how things were going and what my plans were and before I knew it I had accepted an invitation to a little cafe that recently opened in Forks.
The cafe is really nice; it's warm and cozy and reminds me a lot of the types of cafe I would frequent in Seattle. When I come in from the rain, Emily is already there. She waves the moment she sees me.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Emily smiles. The scar on her face causes her cheek to lift in an odd way when she smiles. Despite the disfigurement, she is still extremely beautiful.
"Sure," I smile back, politely, "I'll grab us some coffees. What do you like?"
"Absolutely not. It's my treat. I insist," Emily says, pulling her wallet from her purse before I can protest.
Emily orders us both hazelnut lattes. I don't really have a preference for coffee so I said I'd just get what she was getting. I'm in the habit of drinking it black because I had a small coffee maker in my dorm room but no fridge for cream and ants once got into my bag of sugar.
We briefly chat about the weather; how much rain we've gotten lately. How the summer often speeds by with only one or two good weeks of sunny days.
"I guess I'll just cut to the chase," Emily says after a moment of silence falls between us.
Here we go. I sip my latte. I wish the mug was bigger so I could hide behind it.
"Okay," I whisper, accepting my fake. She wants to talk about Paul.
"Sam told me that recently Paul displayed some rather… frightening behavior," Emily looks to me for recognition.
I nod. I know what she's talking about. The night at the beach. The light post. His bloodied head. Yeah. It was scary. Probably the scariest thing I'd ever witnessed.
Emily sighs, "I'm so sorry you went through that. And you should know that Paul is really, really sorry."
"I uh… well, I'm sorry too. We don't need to talk about this, Emily," I reply, nervously. It's bad enough that all of that happened. It's even worse because their telepathic wolf abilities expose all of their most personal experiences to one another. I couldn't even imagine what that is like. I wouldn't be able to cope if my thoughts were exposed. How violating.
"Honey… Sam mentioned that Paul seems to believe that someone hurt you. And well… you don't have to talk about it. But… I guess I want you to know that I understand," Emily covers her hand over my, gently, "and if you need someone to talk to-"
"Oh. Um. No, thank you. Emily, really. I'm fine…" I bring my lips to the mug.
"I was raped," Emily interjects.
I choke on my latte, "excuse me?"
"And I'm not telling you this because I'm trying to get the scoop on what happened to you for Paul or anything. I'm… I'm telling you because I want to be here for you and let you know that I understand," Emily's generous offer makes me feel guilty.
"That's… not what happened," I swallow and look around the cafe.
"Okay, I'm not prying. I swear," Emily replies quickly, "but I just want you to know that if you need someone to talk to. Obviously, I wouldn't discuss any of this with Sam or any of the guys. Paul didn't send me to get to the bottom of whatever trauma you've experienced. I promise."
"Look, Emily. I really appreciate- I mean… it's not really a big deal. And it seems like something bad actually did happen to you and I wouldn't feel right … it's not the same," I pinch my lips together, trying to form some kind of coherent sentence but feel as though I am coming up short.
"Maybe but maybe not. For the longest time, I thought it wasn't a big deal. That's just what I was telling myself," Emily smiled at me, sympathetically.
"Oh?" I nod.
"Well… you don't have to tell me what happened but, I'd like to talk about my experience if that's not too much for you," Emily explains, sweetly.
I look down. This feels far too intimate. I've only just gotten to know her. However, something inside me does want to hear. Perhaps so I don't have to feel so alone… Like only bad things happen to me. I nod.
"Okay," Emily retreats her hand from mine and sips from her latte, "I was 14."
"Jesus chi- … I'm sorry," I slap my hand over my mouth.
"It's okay," Emily continues, "I was 14 and I'd started seeing this guy. My first boyfriend. We were camping with friends and — my parents didn't know boys would be there or else they would have never let me go — and someone brought vodka. I don't remember it happening. I just remember waking up sore and there was blood on my underwear. I was confused but I knew what he did… We stayed together for a few months. We even slept together a few times after that. I thought that… we'd already done it, what was the harm? I guess I thought that if I chose to have sex with him after that… it would be like I had wanted what happened the first time."
"That's awful," I swallow. I stare down at the table's wood grain. My experience doesn't even compare. Poor Emily.
"Yes," Emily laughs softly, "it is. And coming to terms with how awful it was, has done me a world of good. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter or it didn't count or it wasn't a big deal … that it didn't measure up to what other girls suffered through."
"Did you ever confront him?" I ask.
"Mm," Emily shakes her head, "no…" she bites her lip, "I've thought about it but… No, I haven't."
"I did," I whisper, "... didn't do any good."
Emily looks at me with kind eyes and her hand cover's mind once again. It feels good. Like a mother's touch. Something I haven't had since… the accident.
"I um," I feel compelled to talk, "I got stealthed," I whisper. My eyes dart around the cafe. We're basically alone and the barista is busy changing baked goods in the display case.
"What's that?" Emily whispers, lowering her voice to match mine.
"It's um-" my voice breaks. This is the first time I am actually putting what happened into real words and I can't seem to get my voice to work, I inhale a shaky breath, "it's when you're having consensual sex and during it… the um… the guy takes off the condom without your knowledge… Oh, forget it. It's stupid. It's not like what you went through like- … Nevermind. It's nothing-"
"No. It absolutely is not nothing. That is a serious violation of trust," Emily replies, squeezing my hand. "I can understand how that could be really upsetting."
"That's not everything," I inhale deeply. I can't believe I'm telling her this, "I… later, I found out I was pregnant. And well… I wasn't about to keep- … I had an … I decided to um… terminate," I whisper, not able to bring myself to say abortion. "And when I asked him if he took the condom off, all he had to say was 'would I do that?'."
Emily's eyes remain soft and caring.
I smile, "doesn't really count for much of an answer."
"No, it doesn't… Did he know? That you got… you know?" Emily asked, avoiding the word pregnant.
"Oh yeah. He paid for the… he paid for it to get taken care of…" I roll my eyes. "You know, It felt so safe. I knew him somewhat. I'd already decided that I wanted to have sex that night. I left my dorm room that night being like 'I'm ready to do this' and I bought condoms and… idiot."
"You couldn't have known that was going to happen," Emily rationalized with me. "Rachel, you're not an idiot. He betrayed your trust. You did nothing wrong."
I nod. I wish that I could feel that way. But I can't. Although, I am pretty certain he stealthed me — I recall the exact moment when I suspected he took it off during sex — he's never admitted it. I'll never know for sure. I do, however, feel lighter. As though the burden of this secret is not completely on my shoulders anymore. Emily can help me carry it around. And I can help her carry her trauma.
"Thank you," I play with the small white napkin under my coffee cup, "you were right. I did need this. Don't tell anyone, okay?"
"Of course. This is between us. Rachel, I want us to be friends. I don't know what is going to happen between Paul and you but as far as I am concerned, you're a part of this pack. We're a family."
A family. I have to admit. I like that. I like it a lot. I haven't felt like I was a part of a real family since… Well, since Mom. Emily and I talked a little while longer. We moved on from our traumatic first times with people who we thought we could trust and found lighter conversation. Although Emily is not much older than me, I feel a child-like love for her. She has this maternal energy about her.
The rain continued to get heavier and it was starting to get dark so we parted ways but only after she made me promise not to be a stranger.
The drive home was a little scary. I don't like driving in the dark. I especially don't like driving in the rain, in the dark. By the time I get home, my neck and shoulders are stiff from gripping the wheel tightly with a tense posture.
"Girly? You home?" Dad calls out from the living room. The game is on so he definitely won't be rolling out here to check if it's me.
"Yeah. It's me," I answer, going to the fridge to check on whether or not the healthy meal I made for him before I left was touched. I'm surprised to see most of it gone.
Dad acts like he hates my healthy cooking and maybe it doesn't taste as good as his greasy burgers and fries but I can tell that he's feeling much better since I've come back. More lively. Less malaise from his diabetes.
I'm pretty wired. Perhaps hazelnut lattes in the late afternoon was not the wisest decision. I grab an apple from the fridge and walk upstairs. It's still too early to turn in for the night but I have plans. A bath. My vibrator. Maybe watch some late-night talk shows and paint my nails. Tomorrow's weather is promising more torrential rains — so I'll be sleeping in.
I absentmindedly toss my purse onto Jake's bed and walk straight to my luggage to retrieve my robe.
"Watch it," Paul catches my purse before it hits him in the head.
"Ah!" I shriek, dropping the apple; it rolls across the floor, "Paul! What are-... How'd you get in here?" I'm startled.
"The door," he replies and sits up from the bed, putting my purse on the floor.
"You just walked in the front door? Does my dad know?" I start straightening up the room. Even though he's obviously been here for a while, I'm still embarrassed by the granola wrappers laying around and the piles of unfolded laundry I'd yet to get to. I kick yesterday's panties under the bed.
"Yeah. Was I supposed to sneak in?" Paul asks. There's an edge to his voice. Something's wrong.
"I uh… I'm just surprised he didn't say anything," I shrug, "what's up Paul?"
"Where were you?" He asks, standing up.
"Nowhere," I answer without much consideration for why he was asking.
"Nowhere? So you were just out driving around in the rain?" Paul crosses his arms.
"What's this? What are you doing?" I point to his posture, arms crossed and agitated.
"Nothing," Paul shrugs.
"Doesn't look like nothing," I put my hands on my hips.
"Well. You were out nowhere. This is nothing," he unfolds his arms.
"Why are you acting so pissy?" I'm not in the mood for whatever this is.
"Hah… I thought I'd come here and surprise you with movies and popcorn," Paul motions to Jacob's dresser. A few DVD rentals are stacked next to some bags of popcorn, "I get here and your dad informs me that you're out on a date."
"A date? He said that?" I snort, "wow, he set you up and you really fell for it hard," I laugh softly and go to look at the assortment of popcorn.
"Wait…" Paul's voice softens, the crease between his brow smooths, "so.. You weren't out on a coffee date?" he asks.
"No, I was," I toss a few pieces of caramel popcorn in my mouth, "with Emily… Jealous?" I grin. I don't know why but a part of me is a little bit satisfied with seeing him jealous like this. I should be giving him shit. We're not dating. I'm not his property. But this territorial energy — I'm his and only his — it's kind of… well… kind of a turn-on. I don't understand it but I like it.
Paul smiles at me, sheepishly, "oh… did you have a good time?"
I laugh.
"It was fine."
I don't want to get into the details. What we discussed is incredibly private. I don't know how much Paul knows about what happened to Emily. I certainly don't want to discuss what happened with me.
"Good. I'm glad-" Paul smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Is everything okay?" I ask.
"I…" Paul pauses, inhales a deep breath, "I had to get out of there."
I nod. I understand, "okay," I reply without asking for details. If he wants to talk about it with me, he will. To be honest, I'm a little bit relieved to have him here.
"Can I stay here tonight?" he swallows, nervously.
"Um… okay," I agree, "I'd like that," I admit. I haven't slept well since the night he was here.
Paul smiles at me, it's one of those genuine smiles he only reserves for me. My entire body tingles.
"I'm just going to shower," I look at the DVDs, "you can start this one without me," I hand him some action movie which I know I'd care nothing about and excuse myself to the bathroom to shower off today's stress.
I bunch my hair atop my head with an old scrunchy to keep it from getting wet. The hot water feels nice on my tense neck and shoulders. I shave my legs because if I'm going to be sharing a bed with Paul I need to dress light — his body is an inferno — and I don't want my legs to be prickly.
After my shower, I dress in a pair of pink pyjama shorts and a long t-shirt. When I return to Jake's room Paul is lounging on the bed as the action movie blares in the background. He's not paying attention. His eyes are cast down on a notebook. My notebook.
My stomach twists into a knot, "um, excuse me," I take the book from him, "if you're going to be hanging around here I'd appreciate it if you didn't go through my stuff."
"What's wrong with my hair?" Paul smirks at me.
I glance down at the page in the notebook, "oh god," I blush. It's a pros/cons list I'd made of Paul; to figure out if perhaps I should agree to date him.
"Nothing… just… a little… I dunno shaggy," I clear my throat, my eyes scan the list of superficial cons and then the most damning pro in blue ink 'so hot I could die'. My heart hammers in my chest at the violation of privacy, "this wasn't meant for your eyes," I scold him.
"That's an awful long pros list," he grins, folding his hands behind his head, "maybe you should just date me."
I clench my jaw. Embarrassment heats up my face, "maybe you should just go," I glare at him. I don't like this. Here he is, in my family home without warning, in the room I'm sleeping in without asking and going through my shit while I'm in the shower. I'm angry. Fuck this guy.
"Oh, come on," Paul turns on his side, "I'm just teasing."
"I don't like being teased!" I shout at him bluntly, "I'm not one of those girls who enjoy being picked on. I like guys who are actually nice to me. So if this is what you do," I throw the notebook down, "you can fuck off and go home!"
"Shit," Paul's eyes snap open wide and he quickly stands up, "I'm sorry, Bird. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Well you did. I can't trust to leave you alone here without you violating my privacy," I shrug.
"I'm sorry. It'll never happen again," he apologizes, his face is sincere and remorseful.
I let out a loud calming breath. Shit. I snapped at him. I don't know why I'm like this. Maybe I'm about to get my period. Maybe I'm still rattled from opening old wounds with Emily.
"Nevermind," I shake my head, "it's fine. I'm overreacting."
Paul doesn't reply, he just opens his arms for me, inviting me into an embrace. I hesitate but step forward anyways and welcome his warm body against mine. Even though I'm still mad, I can't resist his embrace. It's warm and safe; everything I've lived without for so long.
"I promise. I'll never do that again," he whispers, "and I'll call before coming over," he kisses my hair.
"You don't have to call… just maybe… Wait for me downstairs or something," I whisper, glancing sideways at the action movie, "what else did you get?"
"Some comedy called Talladega Nights," Paul mumbles against my hair.
"Let's put that on..."