Page 8 of Save You
“And why is that?”
“Because…” I inhale a large gulp of air before letting it slowly flow back out through my mouth, calming myself before I divulge any more ugliness to him. “Because the first thing they would do to him or her would be to give them one of these.”
I pull back my sleeve to reveal the small black leaf that would have been tattooed onto my wrist when I was a newborn. A symbol to say you belong, that you are owned. I can’t imagine how any mother would be able to bear the screaming from their baby when they do it, though mine probably had a smile upon her face.
Tom takes my wrist after silently seeking my permission with his eyes, then studies it with a furrowed brow. He rubs his thumb across it as though it still hurts me, which I guess it does in a way. I heard about one boy in high school rebelling and scratching out the feather tattoo that boys get, with a compass point. When it was discovered, they simply did another one on his opposite wrist, but slightly larger, and with thicker lines. He was warned that if he did it again, they would do another two somewhere else, somewhere not so nice. He chose not to find out where that would have been.
“Then, if it is a boy, he would have been brought up to be a mini version of his father - raping girls, abusing women, and those he considers beneath him, which is pretty much everyone. If it is a girl, she would end up sharing the same fate as me.”
I never got a proper test done for fear it would get back to Carl, but I knew when I was over a week late that I was pregnant. I felt flutters of movement early on, together with morning sickness and tender, heavy breasts. My heart crumbled, and my head hurt from indecision, for I knew there wouldn’t be a thing to stop any of what I’ve described from happening to my child. I would be powerless. But while it was living inside of me, there was something I could do. I could run.
“Is that what he did to you, Rosalie?” Tom sits up again and studies me more closely, with pain etched across his handsome features. At that moment, I decide that his attractiveness isn’t just because he is physically pleasing to look at; it’s the love and care he’s already shown me in the short time we’ve known each other. Carl could never be as attractive as Tom is to me right now, not in a million years.
“Did he rape you?”
I smile warmly at this beautiful, naïve boy, who is looking so incredibly disgusted, I feel bad for giving him an ulterior, dark reality to the one that he knows.
“Tom,” I whisper, “I have never had consensual sex. Not even when it was my sixteenth birthday and my soon-to-be husband climbed on top of my body and ripped my virginity away from me.”
We stare at one another for a long time, his eyes searching mine for some sort of hint that I’m exaggerating, or lying even, but when he finds nothing but the ugly truth of my words, he suddenly stands with quiet rage. He then walks over to the window with his hands balled into tight fists and leans up against the alcove. He takes a few moments to stare out into the garden I have yet to see in daylight. He seems to be seeking solace in the peace and tranquility of outside, in his normal everyday world.
“I’m sorry.”
I feel ashamed for sharing such personal information with him, particularly as it seems to have upset him so much. Tom looks around at me fast enough to give him whiplash, with a cold fury in his eyes and a look that scares me a little.
“Don’t ever say you’re sorry, darlin,” he growls through his clenched teeth, “ever!”
“Ok,” I mumble, still unsure as to whether he is angry with me or not.
“And you’re staying here,” he says decidedly, even pointing down toward the carpet as he says so. “I will make sure you are safe from him; I promise you that, Rosie!”
And I believe him.