Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott

The One (52 page)

He
does. He lifts me and sits me straight on the sectional. He is standing up and
looking at me.

Intensely.
His expression is unreadable.

I
don
’
t
know what to do. I am aware my body has a need for him, but my mind is
screaming a resounding
“
NO
”

I
don
’
t
think I can cope with having intercourse with him, so I ask in a barely audible
voice.

“
What
…
W-what did you have in mind?
”
I close my eyes, unable to stand the look
of utter lust I now see in his. I instinctively close my legs. Tight.

He
keeps looking at me; I can see it through my rapid blinks. I shut my eyes
again. My skin is now burning.

When
I finally re-open them, he
’
s
on his knees in front of me. I see him lower my baby doll
’
s straps, exposing my breasts to his gaze.

I
am paralysed, not knowing what he plans to do. He is just staring at them. Then
he starts caressing them gently, slowly, and softly.

I
can feel parts of me that had long been forgotten, awakening.

He
continues to lightly touch them with his fingers, leisurely reacquainting
himself with them, while looking into my eyes as if asking me a silent
permission to go ahead, to go further.

Whatever
he is doing, my chest is heaving and I can
’
t hold a moan. I bit my lower lip, still
watching him.

With
a groan of his own, he slowly leans forward and he puts my right nipple into
his mouth.

The
sensation lights an immediate path of fire leading straight to the juncture of
my thighs. I feel my body jerk as if I
’
m having a seizure.

As
he starts playing simultaneously with my breasts, one in his mouth, one between
his fingers, I feel the unstoppable fire erupts in all parts of my body.

My
hand grabs his neck, as my breast arches deeper in his mouth, seeking him.

When
his finger pinches one nipple hard, and his teeth bite the other, my mind
snaps.

I
’
m almost crying; the internal wave is so
violent. I feel my legs starting to shake, my body starts to shudder. I am
having an orgasm. But I can
’
t
be, can I?

An
unrecognisable sound is coming out of my lips, and I finally feel my arms land
and clench on his shoulders, my knees tightly squeezing his hips.

I
am panting hard, slumped against him, wondering what the hell just happened.

How
his touch set me ablaze.

When
he gently removes my nipple from his mouth and I feel the cold air against it,
I instantly miss its warmth. He looks up at me, his eyes are hazy and he almost
unconsciously whispers,
“
Mine.
”
while dislodging himself from the grip of
my knees. He lightly pushes my body onto the sectional, and softly asks me to
lie down, and I, shockingly, let my body lean backward.

I
can
’
t
think. My head is spinning. I can feel the internal battle raging between the
rhythmic drumming of desire within my pelvis and the thudding of anxiety in my
mind.

How
can this be happening?
My body is crying for more of his touch. My mind
is reeling.

I
am scared. Not of him, but at my own reaction to him. Yet, my body absolutely
refuses to obey any of my mind
’
s
commands; it only wants to follow his request. It won
’
t be denied.

I
close my eyes against the rush of blood to my head. I feel dizzy.

He
touches my wrist, applies a light pressure to it while watching me intensely.

I
know what the gesture means. I remember. I will always remember.

We
look at each other, as if time was suspended. I know, it
’
s now or never; decisively tell him to
stop or go through with whatever he plans to do.

It
is my choice; Ethan will not force me either way. This much I know.

I
am spread on the sectional as he requested. The thump of my heart, so loud, it
’
s in my ears. I
’
m licking my lips as I watch him remove
his sweater. He then kneels and slowly removes my socks asking me if this is
what I want. My voice cracks a small,
“
Yes
”
, as my panties join my socks on the floor;
and once again, he stares.

I
am naked. I can
’
t
hide. I am burning.

I
know I am aroused, I can feel the pooled liquid running. I
’
m scared but yet can help my eagerness,
anticipating what he will do to me. I know a mere stroke of his tongue against
my core and I will come.

He
senses I
’
m
still hesitant. We look at each other for what seems an eternity but I know it
couldn
’
t
have been more than a few seconds, and his voice, hoarse with underlined
desire, asks for my permission.

I
need release, my body is aching for his touch; I have no choice but to grant
his request. So, he grabs both of my buttocks and slides me up to where he
wants...my calves on his shoulders, my sex positioned directly in front his
mouth.

I
can feel the heat of his breath against my sex.

I
can feel my body tighten, and my hands fists onto the sofa, as I fight the urge
to lift my hips up, he is so close.

Again,
he asks.

My
body is on fire, screaming for him. My legs are already quivering.

I
need him to touch me, to stop taunting me. I can
’
t speak, so I nod.

Finally,
his tongue makes contact with my sheath.

CHAPTER
44

Whatever it takes

Ethan

June 2004. Darling Harbour. Sydney.
Australia.

Lily and Kevin had stayed with us for about
two weeks; each leaving around mid-April when they were completely reassured
that Vic had recuperated fully from the scare that landed her in the hospital
and the discovery of her cancer. Short of threatening me, they had both made
certain I understood they left her in my hands, not by choice, but because she
couldn
’
t
travel overseas. It was my job to make sure she would be fine, or else.

Truth
was, they didn
’
t
need to remind me to treat her with regards. She was my wife, carrying my
future child. I had been close to losing both just a few weeks ago and I felt
so guilty about the threats I had made and the hell I put her through, I was
convinced God was punishing me.

And,
I deserved it.

I
was still petrified. There were nights I couldn
’
t sleep, my fears overtaking me, and I
wondered if I ever would be able to look at her without fearing the worst. I
wasn
’
t
going to take any chance. I couldn
’
t
tell her, I couldn
’
t
tell anyone. I couldn
’
t
let any anxiety slip, and frighten her even more. She needed a strong husband,
and that
’
s
who I would be.

Whatever
it takes, I can
’
t
lose her.

I
loved her. That much I knew, it was high time to show her. I was lucky to still
have her. I would try my hardest to be the husband she deserved and I owed it to
my unborn child to do my very best.

((~~!~~))

I am a rapist. There is nothing that will
ever justify or legitimize the aggression. I know it, even if my wife and I
never talked about what happened the night of our 3
^rdanniversary.
All I can do is deal with it, and make amends until I take my last breath.
Before being defined as a man who committed the unthinkable, I am just a man,
and a husband.

Thank
goodness, being labelled a rapist is not something I will have to carry for the
rest of my life. It happened once, at one point in time, and there will be no
stigma attached to me. Unlike an alcoholic permanently on the road to recovery,
I have recovered. It will not be something that defines me or will consume me.
The guilt will continue to knock on my conscience
’
s door once in a while, as a reminder, but
this, I can cope with.

Now
my wife, Vic, the rape victim, is a different story. I
’
m not sure how she feels. We never
discussed the rape out loud. Every time I tried to broach the subject she
tensed up and told me to talk about something else, and I did.

We
barely conversed as it was and I couldn
’
t insist, and force the issue. I simply
couldn
’
t
take any further chance she would clamp up even more, or worse
…
leave me.

What
I did to her, I couldn
’
t
wish it away. It stayed with me at all times, whether I was awake or asleep.
Fortunately, I now have a better handle on it. I don
’
t let it overtake every of my waking
moments; not like it was at the beginning.

I
wanted to tell her I have been seeing a therapist. I wanted to ask her to go
and see one because obviously rape victims do need
to recover from the physical and emotional onslaught they experienced
.
But unfortunately
,
–
or fortunately
,
depending on when you ask me
–
, God had other plans
,
and her collapsing the very next night after I made
these unfathomable threats to her and our child
, and
the news of her illness changed everything for her
,
for me and ultimately
for us.

See
,
I
’
ve always known Vic is strong.
The way she handled herself after what I did was an indication that she would
not let this destroy her. The fact that I was the one rushing to see a
professional was another indication of who the weakest link was in our
marriage.

Rape can be devastating. It can affect a person's emotional and physical
health. That
’
s what Dr Michaellson said. I know it did mine.

I can
’
t label Vic a victim. I know she de facto is
,
but she truly isn
’
t because she refused to be defined by what I
did to her. I still recall how she calmly said,
“
It was a one-time shock to the system
E. Nothing more, nothing less. We need to move on.
”
and she had left me stunned in our
foyer the night I returned from New Zealand.

She was the victim; yet, I was the one suffering post-traumatic stress.
Seriously. I
’m
showing more sequelae than she does. Maybe
because what I did is far worse than being the recipient. I don
’
t know.

Dr Michaellson has given me a long list of emotional symptoms to look
for in my wife; from anxiety and depression to hyper-vigilance. Isolation is
the only one I have been able to pinpoint with certainty. Vic has chosen to be
alone to face this. From the night it happened to the one I carried her to the
hospital, she has been alone, refusing me, her friend
’
s, and anyone else
’
s help. I was the one marginally
functioning and experiencing the symptoms of emotional pain. Not her. Well
,
not that I would know
.
To be fair, it
’
s not like my wife would share confidences with
me about this.

Ever since she
’
s returned from the hospital with a new set of
worries, she is still strong and handles herself as if this was just another
day in the life of the McGregor household. She pushes through the pain. She is
the one who is sick
;
yet
,
she is my rock.

I
’
ve come to realise how much I need her. Yes, I
said need.

When I married her, it was because I wanted her more than I had wanted
anyone before. I had never felt that way about anything. Then, when I started
campaigning I thought what I needed to feel complete was becoming Premier but
after what accomplishing that goal did to my marriage
,
I
’
ve now realized that what I truly
need in my life to be happy, is my wife. I
’
m not saying that this need led me to
raping her because this would be admitting I have no impulse control and I do
.
But my physical need of her became overwhelming as months went by and
this caused me to drink too much which in turn caused me to lose control that
one fateful night, and I will never let this happen again. Never. I
’
d rather die than to hurt her again.
I
’
m not rationalizing, it
’
s the simple truth.

I need my wife too much to lose her. Therefore, I can
’
t hurt her. Keeping her means making
her happy
,
so she doesn
’
t have any reason to leave.

Consequently
,
I
’
ll do whatever it takes.

When,
I found out she was pregnant, albeit the shock, I was actually grateful and
happy. Don
’
t
get me wrong I wasn
’
t
happy I raped her; I
’
m
not void of morals. I was happy because my first rational thought about the
pregnancy itself was that something beautiful came out of a horrible event, and
this was God
’
s
way of sending me a chance to fix the damage I had done.

I
was ecstatic because we would get to share a child, our bond would never be
broken, couldn
’
t;
even if she decided to ever leave me. This was
not me trying to control her once again, but just divine reassurance that we
would be okay,
that a new chapter of our lives
was starting.
To be honest, I was also reeling because our child would
be a daily reminder of what I had done to her. I was afraid she would hate him
or her, and this was my fault. Of course, I would shield my child, but I was
responsible of my wife
’
s
state.

This
child would be for us, McGregors, a symbol to revisit this dark chapter in our
history, on a daily basis and I didn
’
t know how either of us would react to
this reality. I just knew in my heart that I would be the best man that I could
be for her and for this child. At least
,
I would try my hardest.

The
news of her cancer was the
wake
up
call I needed on how to show her my intent. I had
been wondering how to bridge the gap that had resulted between us, how to make
her see me, the real me, not the abomination who raped her. This was it, God
’
s answer to my prayer.

It
wasn
’
t
about forgiving and forgetting, it was about moving forward, re-establishing
trust and care and love between us.

I
knew what I had done, but simply pushed it to the recess of my mind, so I could
function
, so I could still pretend we could go back to
who we were
,
as if nothing happened
,
as she ordered me to. I was only too happy to oblige,
because I knew if I confronted it head on, that would be the end of me, the end
of us. I was just scared.