After behaving the way I did with Eric, I wanted to teleport straight into my shower; all I could think about was scrubbing his scent from my skin as quickly as possible. I realized at the last instant that I couldn't do that; I had left Quinn stuck to a chair in my living room, expecting never to see me again. It wasn't fair to leave him there any longer, especially not just so I could try to wash away my much-deserved shame with a hot shower. I changed my destination from my bathroom to my living room just before I pulled myself back into the world.
When I felt the relief and joy that radiated from him as he saw me reappear, I couldn't control the tears I had been holding back so carefully. He loved me so much, he was so good to me, a couple of hours ago I could've sworn I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life... and still, I did this to him. I didn't deserve a man like this, a man who was all mine and treated me like a queen. I deserved exactly what Eric dished out: the lies, the threats, the possessiveness, the disrespect, the double-standards, the fang-bangers...
"You're alive," Quinn beamed as I spun around to face him. When he saw I was crying, the smile left his face instantly. "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried. "Is Hunter OK? Were you able to save him?"
I nodded, and I 'heard' him register that I smelled of sex. "I did something terrible," I told him, tears covering my face. "I'm so sorry, I don't deserve you at all. You're so good to me and... I'm so sorry." I rushed out of the room then, unable to face him any longer.
Halfway down the hallway to my bedroom, I remembered what I meant to do. I stopped and crept back to the living room, barely peaking around the door. My telekinetic abilities worked far better when I could see what I was moving, so I had to see him to release him, to be sure I didn't mess up. I glanced into the room just long enough to click my fingers and let him go, then ducked into my bathroom and locked the door behind me. I knew I had to talk to him soon - I owed him a proper explanation, at the very least - but I couldn't bear to do it yet.
I didn't bother taking off my clothes or waiting for the water to warm up, just hopped straight under the shower, sobbing as the whole weight of the last couple of hours caught up with me. I could feel Quinn's mind buzzing with confusion as he paced up and down the hallway, wondering what happened to me and what he could do to help. He was extremely worried because to him, when a woman comes home smelling of sex and crying her eyes out, then heads straight for the shower, that has a very specific meaning.
I wasn't an innocent victim in all this, though; all my objections melted away once Eric started fingering me. Thinking so graphically of what I just did made me nauseous, I was so ashamed of myself. I threw up what little I had in my stomach, which thankfully didn't amount to much, then kept dry retching over the drain.
A few seconds later, Quinn smelled something that alarmed him, and immediately went to intervene. He was standing in front of me before I knew what was happening, pocketing the quarter he used to open the door lock from outside. He quickly turned off one tap and turned on the other. The shock of cold water on my back brought me back to life.
"Hey!" I yelled, trying to move out from under the icy water as I quickly stood up again.
"Sorry," he apologized as he caught me, turned me around and moved me back under the water before I could protest any more. "Your back's scalded, we have to cool your skin down before the burn takes."
"I don't care," I protested, still struggling.
He climbed into the tub in front of me so quickly I didn't see him move; I literally blinked and his chest filled my field of view, his hands on my shoulders gently pulling me to him. As soon as I sagged against him, I knew this was exactly what I needed; being back in his arms was like the sun rising at the end of a long night. He shuffled forward just far enough that the cold water beat down on my whole back, as I buried my head against him and sobbed. He leaned over me then, and being surrounded by him so completely made me feel safe.
It didn't last long; when he started lifting my t-shirt, I panicked and tried to pull away.
"Sshh," he murmured. "I need to see how bad it is. Please, just hold still for a second, I won't hurt you."
It was only then that I realized how much my back hurt; it felt as though it were really badly sunburned, and then some. A moment later, I remembered I had only turned the hot tap on before, and immediately felt really stupid. I hadn't even noticed when the water warmed up and started burning me, and I briefly wondered if I would still be scalding myself if he hadn't burst in and turned the hot water off. I held still and let him lift up the t-shirt, shivering as the icy water hit my back. He moved my shorts down a little lower as well, and held me there for a long time. The warmth of his body against my front made the chill of the water against my back more bearable, and I snuggled into him.
He quieted all the worry in his mind, focusing on how right it felt to hold me so I wouldn't be disturbed by his thoughts. I was so grateful for that, I sobbed even harder. He was perfect for me and I was going to lose him, purely through my own faithlessness.
How many people could quiet their mind like this, concentrating on one thing so well that nothing else intruded? I knew it was a hard-won skill, that he taught himself to assume an almost meditative state when he fought in the pits so he acted purely on instinct, never second-guessing himself or letting his conscience stop him doing what he had to to survive. I also knew it was no accident he could now do the same thing around me; he started practicing after I told him I hated listening to the random chatter in people's heads, so he wouldn't annoy me with his. He had already been a very focused person, and his shifter mind wasn't as wordy as a human's... but how many people would learn to stop all their idle thoughts for an hour at a time, just so they could make love to a telepath?
My fingers only barely met when I wrapped my arms around his chest, but I held on as tightly as I could, as though that would somehow make him forgive me and stay, despite what I did.
The fifth time he checked, he was satisfied with how my back looked and touched it gently, pleased to feel how cool it was.
"How does your back feel?" he asked me.
"Cold."
"That's good. I think I got in here in time and cooled it off fast enough. It's still red, but it doesn't smell burnt now. If it starts to feel hot again later, you'll have to either hop under the shower a while longer, or it should be OK to put a wet towel on it instead, if that's easier."
I nodded against his chest, not letting go of him for a second, even as he turned off the water and tried to get me to move.
I could feel that having a purpose had made him feel better; that finding some concrete way to help me instead of just pacing and worrying was comforting to him. But that was coming to an end now, and a creeping sense of dread was rising in him instead.
"We need to talk about what happened," he started, trying not to upset me.
I shook my head, trying to burrow even deeper into his chest. I really didn't want to talk; talking was the absolute last thing on my mind. Being close to his body for so long had re-awakened my libido, especially since holding me had had the usual effect on him and he had been half-hard against me for most of that time. I felt sure that if he fucked me roughly enough, thoroughly enough, it would erase what I just did. As soon as I let myself think it, I started grinding against him unconsciously, rubbing my stomach back and forth over his cock to let him feel the softness of my flesh.
"Sookie?" he asked, confused. His body reacted to my smell and the feel of me in his arms, but that was purely physical. His mind wasn't on sex; far from it. He didn't find weeping women hot - I heard all that in the few seconds of muddled thoughts my grinding provoked in him.
"If you think you can ever forgive me... Reclaim me?" I whispered, still burrowing against him. "Please, make me yours again... I don't mind if you want to hurt me for what I did..." I was sobbing again by the time I finished, sure he'd reject me.
He turned my face up to his and kissed me tenderly, telling me he would forgive me anything. Then he studied my face, not liking what he saw.
"He hurt you," he growled, sounding angry for the first time.
"I deserved it."
He paused for a moment, wondering what to say, then went with what he thought was necessary. "Because as soon as he wanted you back, you spread your legs just like all his other fang-bangers." He said it to provoke me, I could feel that, but it didn't stop my temper from flaring.
"NO!" I slapped him as hard as I could, pulling away. "I told him no! I told him I wouldn't have sex with him. I told him I wouldn't even kiss him. He started all that 'yield to me' crap and I kept telling him no! I kept saying it until... until..." I trailed off then, crying.
"Until your body responded to what he was doing," he murmured, pulling me close to him again. "I'm sorry I said that," he added. "You know I didn't mean it, right?"
I had already 'heard' his reasons for saying it in his thoughts. He could tell I felt so bad right now that if he just asked what happened, I would heap blame and self-hatred on myself for hours as I slowly gave up the details. He also knew that when I was angry, I tended to blurt things out very frankly. He needed to know why I was upset, but he couldn't stand to hear me sound so broken and defeated, so he decided to provoke me into blurting out what happened, then grovel for my forgiveness over what he said to get me to tell him.
"You're still a jerk," I pulled away to glare at him, still mad at him even if he didn't mean it.
He just grinned at me.
"What?" I snapped.
"That's my girl," he smiled softly. "I've always loved that about you, the way you stand up for yourself. Nobody has the right to speak to you like that, and you know it. No-one has the right to take anything you don't want to give, either." There was a note of anger in the last part.
"It wasn't like that," I corrected, feeling ashamed again. "It's not like he raped me or anything, I wanted..." I couldn't say any more.
He took my face in his hands and made me look at him again. "What he did fits the definition of rape exactly. You said no and he did it anyway."
"But... he wasn't trying to hurt me," I explained weakly. "He just wanted to make me, uh..." I couldn't finish my sentence.
"It doesn't matter that he made it physically enjoyable," Quinn retorted, knowing exactly what I meant. "It's just as bad as being held down or beaten up... worse, in some ways."
I gave him a really skeptical look, not believing that for a second.
"He used your body's natural reactions against you," he explained. "That's why you feel so ashamed now, why you feel like this is your fault."
"No, I feel ashamed because I cheated on you. You're so good to me, and still, I cheated on you." I was about to start crying again.
"No, you didn't," he insisted. "I don't blame you for anything that's done to you without your consent, and you shouldn't either. I've been cheated on before, and that's not what you did. You weren't out looking for it, you said no to him, and you haven't tried to hide anything from me. That's the worst part about being cheated on, really, being lied to over and over... well, that and knowing someone you care about finds it exciting to do things they know will really hurt you... you haven't done any of that to me."
I caught a brief flash of memory from him; a woman he'd once dated. A tall, lithe redhead who looked like a Victoria's Secret model. Oh, who had been a Victoria's Secret model. Meeting him for dinner, reeking of another man; fawning over him and pretending to adore him, when he knew she'd just had sex with someone else. Glowing with pleasure as she lied to him, delighting in the games she was playing. Far more turned on by the idea of having him when she'd just been with someone else, than she ever was on days she only saw him. OK, that really wasn't me. But still...
"But... I liked it," I confessed, trying to make him understand that I did do something wrong; that he shouldn't forgive me so easily.
He rolled his eyes at me. "You liked it so much you cried and threw up and scalded your back without noticing. I'm just glad you don't ever 'like' being with me that much." He gave me a significant look, trying to silently remind me that this wasn't how sex was supposed to make me feel. Then he realized what I meant. "He told you your body was saying yes, didn't he? He said that made it OK for him to keep going, even though you said no."
I stared at him. "How did you know that?"
"I've spent too much time around vampires," he muttered. "They all think it's fine to do that, that it doesn't count as rape if their victim comes."
That set me off again, sobbing against his chest. "I'm such a slut!" I bawled. "Even after being with you today, I still... I still... and then I get back here and throw myself at you like... like some common whore... and..."
"Ssshhh," he hushed me, sitting on the edge of the tub and pulling me into his lap. "You're imprinting, you'd enjoy almost anything right now. That's what makes this so bad... your body felt pleasure while he forced you. The imprint that leaves..." He stopped talking for a long moment, his mind a tangle of trauma and anger, feeling like what happened would permanently damage me.
"It can't have damaged me that much, if I'm still throwing myself at you," I pointed out. "It's not like I'm traumatized at all."
He stared at me in shock. "Still having a libido doesn't mean you weren't traumatized by this... God, you said you didn't mind if I hurt you before..." he choked up then, distraught that I could think he might want that, even for a moment.
We were both silent for a long time, clinging to each other. His body heat felt wonderful against me; I knew his warmth alone was stopping me from shivering in my wet clothes, so I snuggled in as close to him as I could.
He was trying to think of a way to explain that different people react differently to being forced; that some do still feel horny afterward; that my use of the word 'reclaim' was significant, because some people wanted to reclaim their own sexuality as quickly as possible; that being determined to have a normal sex life after something like this was just as natural a reaction as not wanting to be touched ever again; that the stereotype that people who'd been forced didn't want sex again for a long time was harmful, because it imposed one set of reactions on everyone, even though different people responded to any traumatic event differently. Just like some people grieved by weeping for days and others shut down so much they showed no emotion at all, there was a whole range of normal reactions to this. He knew a frightening amount about how rape effected people, all because of what happened to his Mom and the never-ending psychiatric treatment she'd had since.
It was slowly dawning on me that maybe some of that did apply; that maybe something bad had just happened to me. I didn't want to admit it, but I did feel a bit violated. When I said no I meant it, despite my body's responses, and it really hurt that Eric would ignore my wishes like that.
"What did you mean when you said 'he started with all that yielding crap'?" Quinn asked me, completely out of the blue.
"It's just something he says sometimes," I mumbled, figuring he deserved some sort of explanation, but not really wanting to talk about it.
"What?"
"Oh, 'yield to me', it's like his favorite expression or something," I rolled my eyes, thinking how annoying it was when Eric did that.
Quinn stared at me in horror. "You mean that literally, don't you?" he finally sputtered. "He actually tells you to yield to him."
I nodded a little while later, when I realized he was going to wait until I answered.
"So this isn't new. He's done this to you before," he fumed.
"It's never gone this far before," I said defensively. "And it hasn't happened for a long time, anyway."
"So he usually backs off eventually." He sounded so relieved, I wished that were true.
I was silent for a long moment. "No, we kinda got interrupted every other time," I admitted.
As soon as I said it, Quinn's mind snarled up in a tangle of fury. He was biting his tongue, I could 'hear' that, because he wanted to tell me to stay away from any man who ever said or did anything like that to me. He wanted to basically order me to never be alone with Eric ever again, to make sure this couldn't happen any more. He knew from dealing with his sister that saying that would lead to an argument though; he knew I didn't respond any better than she did when he got over-protective, so he made himself stay quiet until he'd calmed down some.
"I guess you heard all of that?" he asked, when he finally felt like he could talk without ranting.
I just nodded.
"I don't want to tell you what to do, but it's really dangerous to be around anyone who thinks like that," he said carefully.
"Like what?"
"Like they have some right of access to your body. Like 'no' is the start of negotiations. Like what you want isn't important," he ranted. "Like what you wear or look like or do makes it OK to keep going even though you've told them to stop. Like women are communal property, there to be fucked by any male who feels like it, whether they're interested or not. Like you have some responsibility to deal with every boner any stupid horny male ever gets over you. Like you're not really a person with rights and feelings, just a collection of appealing orifices."
O-kay, I thought to myself. Not really about me, huh?
But I 'heard' that to him it was all on some sort of continuum, that there was a direct relationship between an idiot who won't leave a woman in a low-cut top alone because her outfit is 'asking for it', and a group of hunters who rape a scared, injured woman because she was naked in front of them. He was convinced that the more people believed women bring rape upon themselves by inflaming male desires, the easier it was for the few sick bastards who actually did rape people to get away with it. He was convinced that not many men are really capable of forcing someone, because no-one halfway healthy stays turned on when their partner's clearly hating every second of it.
I wanted to protest and tell him this had nothing to do with all that, but my arguments all sounded unconvincing, even to me. I knew Eric didn't think I was communal property, but he did keep saying I was his, and he did behave as though he had a right to have sex with me. Saying 'no was the start of negotiations' with him would be an understatement. He thought nothing of ignoring my wishes whenever he felt like it.
"God, I'm stupid," he said unexpectedly, shocking me out of my thoughts. "You'd think after so many years of hearing about this stuff, I'd have some sense of who's capable of something like that. But I fell into the most obvious, stupid trap... I figured, with so many options, he'd have no need to... and it's not even about that, it's all power and enjoying other people's pain and stuff... I should know that by now. I'm such an idiot."
"No, you're not," I protested gently. "I like that you want to protect me, but you can't blame yourself every time I get hurt."
"Not even when it's my fault?"
I kissed him gently. "This isn't your fault," I reassured him.
He just sighed loudly. "Actually, it kind of is," he admitted. "I sent him after you. This wouldn't have happened if I'd respected your wishes, but I couldn't stand the thought of you dying so I begged him to go find you. I'm so sorry, babe. If I wasn't so weak..." he trailed off, distraught.
"I'd be dead," I finished for him, because I was still grateful to be alive, despite what happened.
I couldn't think of anything else to say so I kissed him instead, trying to show him I didn't blame him for Eric's actions, any more than he blamed me. We both moved tentatively, scared the last couple of hours' events had changed something between us. It was a few minutes before the kiss became comfortable and familiar again; we were both so afraid of moving too fast that we had contained every last drop of passion we felt for each other, trying to operate on affection alone.
"I love you," I reassured him, "and if I get a choice, I choose you. I want to be with you, John, nobody else."
It was exactly what he needed to hear. He smiled then, kissing me a little harder and more insistently. I could feel every fiber of my being responding to him, moulding to him just as I had before. Things were finally starting to feel right between us again, and I was really glad.
"I love you too," he replied a few minutes later. "I'm all yours, babe. What happened... it doesn't change how I feel about you."
It was my turn to smile, because this time, I actually believed him. We were going to be OK, and that made me so happy I felt like my heart would burst right out of my chest. Our kisses turned more intense, giving all the love we felt for each other physical form. It wasn't time to make love again yet, we both knew that, but when we did, we could both feel that it would be very special indeed. We broke off the kiss many minutes later, just as it was starting to feel more carnal, and when I looked in his eyes, all I saw was love.
I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder, planting gentle little kisses on the scar on his neck as I traced it with my fingertip. He trembled beneath me, knowing what the scar meant even better than I did. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tight against him, and I wriggled against his hardness for a few seconds, knowing I could give him that small pleasure and he would take nothing more from me; wouldn't even consider it teasing, since he enjoyed me touching him so much that he put no conditions on what I could do to him.
My arms found their way around his chest again and I curled into a ball in his lap, my ear against his chest so I could listen to his heartbeat and take comfort in its slow, steady rhythm. We were silent for a long time, just soaking up the warmth of being back in each other's arms, knowing that we still had each other, and feeling that would ultimately make everything OK.
I could've stayed like that all night, but unfortunately it wasn't to be.
"The child is in hospital," Eric's voice came from the doorway behind me.
Here comes trouble, I thought to myself, as Quinn tensed for a fight underneath me.