How she could…?
My throat closed as I contemplated exactly what it was that she wanted me to get over.
I could see him on top of me, like it was yesterday. Could feel him grunting and sweating. Felt the fear and the terror like I was there once more; like no time had passed.
My breath sailed in and out of my lungs in short pants, and I knew I was close to a panic attack.
My mother wanted me to move on with my life. I could understand that. I truly could. But the way she was dealing with me in the aftermath was something I couldn’t handle.
I’d been raped. It wasn’t like I’d had an incident at work, an argument or an altercation with someone. My boss had raped me, and that boss had had enough lawyers to get himself off the charge, and to make it look like I’d asked for it.
Yeah.
My indignation often warred with my terror.
For my mom, she was sympathetic at first, but now, two years on, I could tell she just wanted me to get over it.
It was hard being around her sometimes when I knew she felt that way. Like I was boring her. Or, like she was bored with my being a drama queen or something. Yet every day was a struggle.
Some days, just sitting in an office with these two guys, for example, was hard.
Especially as these men were just as powerful, just as affluent as Martin Nida. They could pin me anywhere in this swanky office, do what they wanted, and claim I wanted it, declare to one and all that I’d asked for it. They’d have enough lawyers to make it stick, to slam my name in the dirt again.
Two years ago, I’d been temping to save up some money for the Bar exam. I’d been working three jobs, trying to get the money together so I could finally practice as a lawyer. Now, all these years later, I was still temping because I couldn’t dig myself out of the hole Nida had buried me in. Nobody would hire me now, not with that stain on my reputation.
Who’d trust a lawyer with a sexual harassment claim against her?
That was the only ‘good’ thing about the NDA. Only those who knew Nida would know of what
happened, the rest of the world didn’t. Still, in the world of business, that circle was small and I knew that, where it counted, people would know and would distrust me for it.
My throat closed at the injustice and I shuddered at the thought, at the memories, and I tried to focus on my work but the flashback hit me square between the eyes.
They weren’t always triggered, something for which I was infinitely grateful, but when they hit, I felt like I’d been doing a jig with a two by four that hit at will and was uncaring of my bones.
I saw Nida above me. Grunting and sweating like some kind of pig as he thrust inside me, tearing me to shreds and uncaring of the pain he inflicted. If anything, he’d gotten off on that pain, had enjoyed seeing it.
Some days, the pain of the act was overshadowed by what he’d done after.
He’d taken pleasure in destroying me afterwards too.
Pleasure… like it was some kind of game to him.
“Ms. Barr?”
I could hear the voice, hear the concern, but for a second, I was lost.
As was always the way when I fell down the rabbit hole, I could feel Nida’s hands on me. His sweaty palms tugging at my clothes, his onion-scented breath as it washed over my face. His rough grasp and digging fingers, the sharp pain as he pushed inside me. Worse, I could hear his voice in my ear, telling me I’d wanted it, that I was a pricktease, and that prickteases always wanted to be treated this way.
“Ms. Barr!” The voice was sharper now, harder.
I blinked, realized I was still in Max Greene’s office, but this time, Derek’s attention wasn’t on his computer. It was on me.
As was the boss himself.
It was he who’d called my name.
I blinked up at the man, who had a tray in his hand with three coffees in them from Starbucks. He was frowning down at me, but not in anger. Or impatience. Not in a way that made me feel like I was wasting his time, but in genuine concern.