"It's ok. I'll be ok," she said, although she wasn't sure if she could believe that or not.
"Can I ask you a couple questions?" Bunz said hesitantly.
"Of course," Drew replied.
"What happened to the guy? Your attacker?"
Drew sighed. "Eventually, he was caught. It took about three months. I was unconscious from the beating and blood loss by the time he left my apartment. When I came to, I called 911 and they did a rape kit on me at the hospital. Eventually, they found a match to his DNA, and they eventually caught him. It turns out that he'd done what he did to me to several women in the Tri-State area. I was just the only one that lived to tell the story."
Bunz sat in silence, staring at her hands as she processed what she'd been told. She glanced up, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Why you?" she asked quietly.
Drew shrugged a shoulder, sighing. "Why any woman?" she asked rhetorically. "He told the police he'd been tracking me for a few weeks. He thought I was an easy target…and I was." She shook her head. "Not anymore, though. That's why I got into boxing and stuff before I came here. I'll never be that defenseless again, ever."
Bunz nodded. "So you told Heath," she said. "How did he react?"
"Well, he didn't run screaming out the door," Drew said wryly, "although I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. He was actually really…sweet."
"You told him everything?"
"Yes," Drew said. "Everything. In detail."
"Why do you think that was?" Bunz asked, folding her hands in her lap. "You don't know him that well."
"I don't," Drew agreed. "But there's something in him that makes me want to trust him. I know he's had some family issues and I know he's damaged, too. I guess I feel like he just…gets me. Like you do. And it was sort of like word vomit. Once I started talking, I just couldn't stop. It was like, subconsciously, I had to get every detail out of me, rid myself of that sickness. I guess I realized in that instant that I can't really start to heal if I don't let it out."
"That makes perfect sense," Bunz said. "Perfect sense. So if you feel better about telling us, and he was really sweet…what's the problem? You still look so…sad."
"He'll never call me again," Drew said with definitive acceptance. "He's a nice guy. He wouldn't leave a girl by herself in tears. But now he knows how fucked I am. He's like, a local celebrity, and an actual celebrity in the MMA world. Why the hell would he want to burden himself with a crazy, damaged shell of a girl when he could find someone who really has her shit together?"
"Stop it," Bunz said sternly. "You're not crazy, you're not a shell. You might be damaged but it's nothing that can't be fixed. You're intelligent, talented, a loyal friend and not to mention, you're sort of pretty. He'd be an idiot not to see those things. And…" Bunz trailed off, recalling her conversation with Heath about the ballet when he'd stopped by. She was certain he hadn't been asking questions just out of curiosity for his own information. "He seems really thoughtful and nice. He did come down here when he barely knew you to apologize that you got attacked on his property. That says a lot about a person. So don't sell yourself or him short. Don't be unfair—you don't know what he's thinking right now."
Drew knew her friend had a point and hope immediately rose in her chest. She did her best to neutralize it, knowing that Heath was his own man and would act of his own accord.
"Anyhow," Drew sighed. "I just wanted to tell you what was up with me. I should have told you a long, long time ago. It didn't really feel right that I told him before you, but it sort of happened on its own."
"Stop, again," Bunz said, holding up her hand. "You told me, and that's what matters. You didn't have to, but you trust me enough with that information. So, thank you. I do appreciate it. Maybe one day I'll tell you my sad, sad tale." She smiled teasingly.
Drew laughed. "Only if you want to. But I am always here."
"Love you, yo," Bunz said, reaching out and pulling Drew into a brief hug. "Now, we better get our shit together before customers start showing up. Or your parents!"
Drew shuddered, instantly picturing her father's face turning red as he bellowed at her in Italian. "You're right," she said, climbing off her stool and hurrying toward the front. "I'm on it!"
The day flew by, due to the many customers that entered through the doors of Café Carnevale. It was a typical for a Friday, with people taking the day or a half-day from work. It was another misty, gray spring day but nonetheless the café was overflowing by the noon lunch rush.