Chapter 18
I try to hide it, but I'm still shaking when we're changing after practice. Kirk keeps asking me what's wrong, but I tell him that I'll tell him later. I want to talk to Curtis first. Curtis also notices, but he doesn't say a word, he just reaches a hand over to squeeze mine every few minutes.
He offers to drive me home, and I accept, deciding that Kirk is right, that I need to explain everything to him.
"Are you sure your session went okay?" he asks as we walk to the front door of Kirk's house.
I fight the urge to push him away again, and instead, I hold the door open for him. "Um...want to come in? I'll tell you about everything."
He nods, and I see the concern in his eyes, along with that constant glint, that flicker that I still can't find a way to describe. Since I don't know when Kirk will be home, I invite Curtis upstairs. Once safely in my room, I feel myself starting to tense. If I tell him all of this...if he leaves...I don't know what I'll do.
"Hey," he says softly and reaches for my hand. "You're still shaking. Are you sure everything was okay earlier?"
I bite my lip nervously, "Not really. I mean...the therapy thing was fine, I guess. There's just...a lot of things that I haven't thought about in a while."
"Like what?" he asks, pulling me to sit next to him on the bed.
"The way things started," I murmur. "It wasn't bad at first. We were winning. I was scoring. He was playing great. After the series against Washington, we went out to celebrate with the team. And then we went back to the room and...celebrated some more.
"It was nice for the next couple of weeks. The Buffalo series wasn't easy, but we got past them. It was nice to have him there. But then we played New Jersey. We stole one game, but they completely outplayed us. As the series went on, he started to change. He didn't want to sleep with me. He didn't want to touch me. He just yelled a lot. And then...when were eliminated, things just got really bad."
I pause for a breath, trying to keep myself calm. Curtis squeezes my hand, and the trembling that was bothering me a moment ago subsides. Another deep breath, and I continue. "When we got back to the hotel, that's when everything changed. He hadn't said a word since the game ended, but I assumed he was just upset. I thought he was depressed over the loss. He didn't yell that night," I'm shaking again, and I just barely notice the tears that are starting to fall. "He punched me in the stomach first. It knocked the wind out of me and I collapsed. He kicked me a few times. He told me how worthless I was. It was horrible. But...it was nothing compared to...to later."
Curtis wipes the tears from my cheeks and pulls me into his arms. He's warm and his heart is racing, and I can see that he's fighting to keep his own tears at bay. And it feels so good to be protected by him.
"Last year was worse. We lost the first four games, and each time, he blamed me. He would apologize occasionally, but most of the time, he didn't say much unless he was yelling at me or insulting me. I tried to find away to stop it, but...but they told me to shut up. To take it like a man. And I didn't want to make it worse, so I stopped asking questions.
"By this season, it was expected that if we lost, he would punish me. Then I had to get the surgery. He visited once, but at the time, the team was doing really well, so he was busy. When I came back...we went on a big losing streak. And it was the worst it had ever been," my voice breaks as I remember it. The memory is just over a month old, still vivid enough that it plays like a video in my mind.
"He hated the scars from the surgery. He told me how ugly they were, how ugly they made me. That was the first time he...he raped me," I whisper, still uncomfortable with the harshness of the word. "Just...he stood behind me and did as he pleased and I didn't stop him. It wasn't about me; he never let me finish, and he left as soon as he pulled out of me."
"God, Andy," Curtis says softly, hugging me tighter. I'm sobbing and shaking, and I can't speak anymore. He doesn't ask any questions, he just holds me, kissing my forehead and temple and brushing away the tears as they come.
For the first time in nearly two years, I don't feel bad for crying myself to sleep.
