Take My Hand, Just Hold On

By the time we arrived at the hotel I had managed to calm myself down slightly. Robert's driver pulled up to the front of the hotel and we both stepped out. Robert grabbed my suitcase from the trunk for me, and we made our way to the lobby. Robert walked up to the desk while I stayed behind, listening to the conversation.

"Hi, I've booked the room across from mine - the penthouse suite?" he says to the young woman at the desk.

She types something on her computer and nods, "Right. Mr. Pattinson, we have room 712 booked in your name. Will you need one or two keys for that room?"

"Just one is fine," he responds, looking back at me. I give him a small smile that I'm sure does nothing to reassure him.

She hands him the key and asks, "Will that be all for you today, Mr. Pattinson?"

"Yes, I think so," he responds, turning around fully and looking at me once more. He turns back to her, "Actually, could I have 1 more key for my room, please?"

She nods, "Of course. Just give me one second here."

He responds with an 'mhm' sort of sound. "If you'd prefer, you can just stay in my room with me for how ever long you need," he says to me while he waits for her to get the key ready.

I nod, "Thanks for the offer, Robert."

"Mr. Pattinson, your key is ready," the lady at the front desk says, gaining his attention once more. He turns back toward her and takes the key, muttering a thanks. She smiles at him and looks toward me. Her smile falters for a moment before she plasters it back on.

"Come on, Brenna. We'll get you settled in and then maybe we can talk before I have to get back to work."

I follow him to the elevators, and he pushes the button for the 7th floor. The ride is quiet as I silently debate myself as to how to tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. It may have been quiet, but it was also fast. We walked out and to our left, and down to the end of the hall.

"Do you want to drop your stuff in your room, or check out mine first?" he asks, stopping outside both the doors.

I shrug, "Which ever..."

He opens the one door to our left and we enter. I am guessing it was his room. One, because it was slightly messy. And two, because it was obviously the penthouse.

He leaves my suitcase in the entrance and takes my hand gently in his and brings me to the sofa. "Brenna, can you please tell me what's wrong now?" he asks me, taking a seat on the chair opposite me.

I look into his eyes, not knowing what to say. Eventually I close my eyes and turn away from him, shaking my head lightly. If he's looking at me like this right now, I couldn't stand how he would look at me after knowing. Not only would there be concern every time his eyes landed on me, but there would also be pity and maybe a little disgust. I can't handle even thinking about it, let alone having that happen. Not right now. I know I can't avoid it forever, but I'll fight it for as long as possible.

"I'm sorry, I just. I can't. Not right now, it's too... Difficult to say," I finally tell him.

"Brenna, I care about you. I want to be here for you and be able to help you through whatever it is you're going through, but unless you tell me what that is, I'm at a loss as to what to do."

I feel the familiar burn in my eyes as he finishes. I beg myself not to cry again. Not in front of him. I take a deep, slow breath, trying to get rid of the sickly feeling. Exhaling, I respond, "I just don't know what or how I can tell you. And even if I knew how, I don't believe there is anything you can do for me."

He's silent for a long while before finally saying, "I'd like to be able to try."

I let his statement settle in and find myself unable to respond. He makes a point, it would be hard for anyone to get through to me without me telling them what the problem is. And this is such a disaster that I doubt I'll be able to get through it alone.

Finally, I nod; my acknowledgement that I want his help, at least his support. Even if it means he will never look at me in the same way again. I can't imagine anyone wanting to be with me again, especially if they knew what had happened to me. "Okay, you're right. But, uhm, maybe I'll tell you later tonight? When you get back from work?"

He nods, "Sure, we can go out for dinner? You'll have time to get some rest, it looks like you haven't slept in a week."

"I'll try. But maybe we can just stay in for dinner? Just get some room service or something?"

"Sure, whatever you like. I shouldn't be any later than 6. I will call you when I get off, okay?"

"Okay," I respond. I lay down on the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable for a hotel room couch.

"Feel free to use the bed, or if you'd prefer you can move to your own room. I'm glad to let you stay here, though," he tells me. "The bed's just through there, and the bathroom is right off the bedroom. They have an amazing jacuzzi bathtub, if you want to try to relax a little bit."

"I might take you up on that. Thanks, Robert."

"Any time. I'll be back soon, love. I'll put the do not disturb sign on the door for you. That way, no one should come in, okay?"

I nod, "Sure. Thanks, again."

He gets off his chair and for a moment looks as if he is about to give me a hug, or something. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and says, "Well enjoy the rest of your afternoon on your own. Feel free to order some lunch, you look like you might need to eat as well as sleep. Just charge it to the room, the production company takes care of it."

I give a small, mostly humourless, laugh. "Sure. I'll see you later."

With that, he gives a small wave as he leaves. I stand up and walk around through the bedroom and to the bathroom, ready to take him up on the offer of a nice bath.

***

I was back to sitting on the couch, zoning out to something on TV, when Robert walked through the door.

"Hey Brenna, sorry I didn't call, my phone ended up dying a couple hours ago."

I look over at him as he takes the seat beside me on the couch, "No worries," I respond.

He kicks his shoes off and sits back in the couch, "So, what did you end up eating for lunch?"

"I totally forgot to eat. I had a bath and then just watched TV for like 4 hours," I say truthfully. Even though I know my body is probably starved, I just don't seem to think about eating. You know that feeling where you're sort of sick, but not truly ill? I've had that for the last 4 days.

"When's the last time you ate?" Robert questions.

I sigh, "I don't know. Earlier. On the plane, I ate some pretzels."

"Those little kid bags they give out? When is the last meal you had?"

"I'd say about 4 to 5 days ago," I tell him.

He sits up straight, "No fucking wonder you look retardedly thin! Brenna, you cannot starve yourself, I don't care what the fuck happened to you!"

"It's not a conscious effort to not eat," I retort, getting slightly heated with the argument. "Look, I've just been feeling gross and sick since it happened, and I have just not felt the need to eat, okay?"

"Since what happened?" Robert asks, leveling his tone as the topic got more focused.

I sigh. I've been doing that a lot lately, haven't I? I guess now is the time to alter whatever relationship I have with Robert forever. Now will be the time he could never look at me with the same sort of desire that he had in the past. Not that I even want a relationship with anyone anymore, but the knowledge that I will never be good enough for him in his eyes is just downright depressing. One more sigh, and I'll do it.

"You know that night we were texting about the bad movie I was watching?"

He nods, "With that James guy, right?"

I wince slightly at the mention of his name, "Yeah, that's the one. Well, we started to get in an argument when he found out I was texting you. I guess he was jealous, I don't know. And, well, eventually it just got so heated I was trying to kick him out of my place, but he kept refusing to leave..." I ended up trailing off. Doing the lead-up story was the easy part, can I just finish it in a sentence? Do I have to describe it?

"Did he hit you? What happened?" Robert chimes in after my silence became deafening.

"He raped me," I mumble, so quietly it prompted Robert to ask:

"I'm sorry, he what?"

Once again, I swallowed the lump in my throat, "He raped me."