Take My Hand, Just Hold On

Robert says nothing. For half a minute he's completely silent. Then, he jumps out of his chair and starts pacing around the room, muttering incoherently. I avoid looking anywhere but the floor, following his feet with my eyes.

"He can't fucking get away with this!" Finally, something coherent. Robert walks to the bedroom and comes out with a jacket and what looks like a little notebook.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, thinking he wanted time away from me.

"I'm flying back out to L.A. and I'm going to fucking kill him!" he shouts, slipping on his shoes.

"I don't think you'll be able to do that, Robert. Unless you want to get passed the guards..."

Robert finally stops running around the room, "What guards? The bastard doesn't have body guards, does he?"

"No, he has prison guards..."

"He has, what? Prison guards?" Robert asks, confused. "Oh, you turned him in?"

I nod, "He's 'awaiting trial' right now, I believe. But I guess there's not even going to be a trial because he gets some sort of deal."

"Deal? What deal?"

"Well, I have to sign a thing saying I'm okay with it, and basically he's just going to get a maximum of 3 years, minimum 1 year," I try to explain.

"1 year? How the fuck is that fair? Can you not sign it and get him a larger sentence or whatever?"

I shrug, still looking anywhere but his face. "They think he'd probably get no prison time if that happened. Just because I was dating him at the time and the defence would just say I was lying and it was consensual or whatever..."

"Well... Are you okay with this? I mean, what happens when he gets out? What if he just does this to someone else, or even you again?" Robert must have gotten his energy out with the pacing and the yelling because he just sat down on the couch beside me, elbows resting on his legs and both hands running through his hair.

"I don't know, I guess get a restraining order and apparently if he violates that he'll go to prison for a lot longer," I respond, moving closer to the edge of the couch and further away from Robert.

"That's fucked up. You get into more trouble for coming near a person than raping that same person," he says. Following my lead, Robert moves further to his side of the couch, giving me as much space as he can.

I know I let him hug me in the airport, and in the ride back to the hotel, but now that my mind isn't completely alone in despair, I guess it's filled the void with fear. Not that I believe Robert would hurt me, but I guess I just don't want anyone touching me. Or to be near anyone ever again. The mere thought of someone's hands on me sends images of what James did, I cannot imagine what would happen if Robert or anyone gave me pat on the shoulder, a hug, or god forbid kiss me... Plus, apparently you can never be sure of who would be capable of that sort of thing...

After sitting there in silence for a legitimately long time - I'd put it at about 30-40 minutes - Robert finally says, "Fuck, I feel like an asshole, Brenna."

"Why's that?" I ask, looking up at him for the first time since I've told him I was raped.

"I was being an absolute prat earlier. Calling you out and yelling at you and shit. So, I'm sorry."

I try to put a smile on, "It's okay.. You didn't know."

"I still shouldn't have gone off on you, you wouldn't have deserved it anyway, plus it's not my place to say shit like that."

***

The rest of the night we just stayed on the couch and watched movies On Demand. Which meant I just stared at the TV screen lost in thought. Robert ordered dinner after the first movie and ordered me a bowl of penne pasta with alfredo sauce - one of my favourites. I ate a few bites, but as in the past I just couldn't eat any more. I also stole some of Robert's french fries, which he was more than happy to give to me. So maybe it wasn't stealing? Anyway, the sad part is it was the most I've eaten for quite a while. I'm hoping my appetite returns soon because I don't know how much longer my body can hang on with this...