She nodded. “Yeah, I know. About a week later, I was sitting in the living room and he came out of my mom’s bedroom talking about my nightgown. It went halfway down my leg, so it covered more than a pair of shorts, but he kept telling me I was tasty. Fresh vittles, I think he said. Fuckin’ perv.”
She blinked twice and looked at Stone. Yeah, Stone knew exactly what she was talking about, and she imagined he suspected what that asshole had done to her. He was being quiet, though, respectful and calm and silent.
Kory took another deep breath and looked at the wall behind Stone’s head. She couldn’t look him in the eyes for this, but she needed to say it, needed to acknowledge it. “He raped me, more than once, over that summer. I didn’t tell my mom for a long time, because he threatened to hurt me worse. He poked me with needles, sometimes hot, and he’d do shit with his tattoo gun too.” Kory sucked in a breath. Until she’d said it, she hadn’t remembered it consciously. She could envision it now, though—how he’d stand behind her with that gun and say horrible things, threatening things. He promised to hurt or kill her mom if she said anything, so, for the longest time, she didn’t. But he kept hurting her, and she wasn’t quite numb.
One night when Art had been off drinking with his buddies, Kory confessed everything to her mom, told her all that had been going on. She couldn’t take it anymore.
Kory hadn’t realized it, but she was spurting it all out at lightning speed, as though she had to get it out before it poisoned her. “She said I must have been imagining it all. Can you believe that? So my mom, a person who was supposed to be my ally, didn’t believe me. I told her I could show her my panties, where I’d bled on the sheets, and at first, she told me that was my period, natural and normal. I told her that wasn’t it, that he’d torn me and made me bleed, and she told me to quit lying about Art. He was a good guy, just down on his luck, and he wanted to be my daddy. My own mother.” That was it. She lost it for good and the tears streamed down her cheeks. Part of her wanted to run, to be alone to lick her wounds, but Stone pulled her into an embrace before she could protest. He held her head to his chest and stroked her hair while his other hand rubbed her back, comforting her as best he could.
She wasn’t going to say anything else, wasn’t going to tell him everything. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. She’d said enough for the time being. He held her until her sobs subsided and then said, “Damn, Kory, I knew you were tough, but I had no idea.” She looked up at him. “That’s what you meant when you said you were a survivor?”
Yeah…that was part of it. She managed a tiny nod and he kissed her forehead. Yes, she was a survivor, had been a survivor, but she was going to be a whole lot more. She just needed to figure out a way to let go of her past once and for all.
Chapter Seventeen
EVEN THOUGH KORY hadn’t told Stone the entire truth, she somehow felt better, stronger, more in tune with him and her own life afterward. If nothing else, the nightmares that had resurfaced wouldn’t seem so strange to him.
A few times, he insisted they not have sex, because he figured that that was part of Kory’s problem. Somehow, he was certain their intimacy was what was causing her nightmares, and Kory couldn’t convince him otherwise.
They might not have been engaging in regular sex, but she began spending the night at his house once or twice a week. He could have spent the night at her place too, but she’d never asked. Really, it seemed silly. She had a tiny bedroom in a small apartment she shared with two other young women and he owned a huge house that he shared with a dog. It made more sense for her to stay at his place.
That huge house…and she still hadn’t seen the basement.
She asked him again one night while he was making dinner in his kitchen. She was at the sink, washing and tearing up salad greens while he boiled homemade pasta at the stove. Kory was already impressed that he had another talent. At first, she figured he was the kind of guy who could make breakfast just fine but fail at all else, but he was continuing to amaze her. He denied it…but she could see the evidence with her own eyes.
He wasn’t perfect, though. She’d since discovered that he had a cleaning service. Then she didn’t feel quite so bad that she never made his bed but his always looked perfect.
The food was another thing entirely. She was watching him make it. He couldn’t say someone else had done it for him.
“This is the first time I’ve made spaghetti from scratch in a long time.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be able to make pasta to save my soul.”