When Jack left, after my world had shifted so violently, I fell apart. But still somehow managed to appear OK on the outside. My dad never suspected anything was amiss when he arrived home to his usual pot of warm coffee, or later, when we ate dinner and I lied about my weekend. Once I made it upstairs and locked my door, it was like my mind exploded in a million different directions at once.
I glanced at my computer and Jack's laptop on my desk. Neither of them could be trusted. So, I ended up hiding in my bathroom, sitting in the tub with my phone while I read feverishly.
I found, to a kind of relief, that arousal during assault was actually really common. So too were orgasms. If I was being honest with myself, I wasn't sure I could count it as assault, regardless of how unwanted it was. Which was yet another thing to add to my simmering pot of confusion. In a way, Jack was doing exactly what he'd set out to do, creating a Pavlov response in me. But at the end of it all, arousal did not mean desire.
So where did that leave me? I already knew Jack wouldn't stop. And he had been right about something else too. My bodily reaction was one thing, but it had all become easier when I'd accepted he wasn't being violent or trying to injure me.
For the time being, I had play along and hope the therapy bill later didn't bankrupt me. Treat Jack like a job. It seemed like I'd have plenty of time to work out what to do if his proclamation of his future plans was anything to go by.
And at least it didn't hurt.
As insurance, I smuggled an old notebook into my bathroom, the only place in the house completely safe from Dad finding it by accident, and started a journal. I wrote it all down- Jack's interest and staring and hugs, and how it all made me feel. The blackmail, the drugs and the videos. I was honest about my body's reactions too and added everything I thought was relevant about the assault and my arousal. Because it was important to remember, beneath the haze of weed and orgasms, that I didn't want it. I didn't want him. And maybe one day, I'd be free.
I hid it in the back of the vanity drawer, below my boxes of spare tampons which I'd apparently not need for a while- Jack had told me to skip the 'break' part of my contraceptive pills, partially for better protection, but mostly because I'd always be available for sex that way. Though I'd already called Family Planning and made an appointment to get an implant, because I did
not
want to take any chances.
The next afternoon, when his message pinged, I read it with more resigned acceptance than flat-out fear.
Jack: Tell your dad you have to go out
Melly: how long for?
Jack: A couple of hours
Melly:??? that's ages, I'm supposed to be cooking tonight
Jack: work it out. I told you Tues nights were on the menu.
Melly: ok
Jack: I'll be down on the next block. Look for the blue van. There's a dragon sticker on the bumper.
Melly: fine. I'll be twenty minutes.
Jack: Fifteen.
I glared at the camera and slammed the laptop shut. My mind racing, I hoped my excuse wouldn't be too lame as I stuffed prop clothes into my gym bag and ran downstairs. I found Dad in the back shed, tinkering with his woodworking projects.
"Hey Dad, I'm so sorry. I forgot I agreed to go to yoga class tonight with Ellie from work. They're already paid for. I didn't realize they were on Tuesdays, and I've been putting it off for weeks, so-"
"Yoga? Isn't that like praying on a mountaintop or something?"
"Closer to bending yourself into a pretzel and getting surprisingly sweaty doing it. Gaining inner peace and all that. Why, did you want to come?"
Dad's eyes grew wide. "No, no. I'm good. I'm not ready for yoga. Spiritually."
I laughed. "I'll be back later. You OK with a late dinner?"
"I'll cook. Go. It's nice that you're getting out and doing something besides work," he said. "I'll make my famous chicken curry."
"Not as much chili as last time, please. I think I was on fire for days," I said, feigning horror.
"That was an accident. I'll see you later."
As soon as I closed the front door behind me, my sunny disposition dropped. My steps dragged heavy and reluctant as I walked down the street, the dread in my heart blossoming when Jack's van grew closer. Each step felt like walking to my doom. I even missed the weed cookies. At least they gave me a shield of sorts. This time, I had to do this sober, and I was terrified of whether he'd coax a response out of me when my mind was clear.
The van was nondescript and fairly large, and I saw with distaste that the back windows were tinted so dark they may as well have been opaque. It fit Jack perfectly.
The door squeaked as I opened it, and I had to jump up into the seat, and lean way out to close it. I avoided Jack's gaze until the last possible moment and found him beaming at me.
"What did you tell your father?" he asked.
"I was going to yoga class."
"In a skirt?"
"That's why I have a gym bag." I said and waited as Jack looked at me expectantly. I frowned. "What?"
"Don't I get a kiss hello?" he asked, his voice deceptively pleasant.
