Free Blood Ties by Lori G. Armstrong Page A

unreadable when he closed his eyes and slumped into the couch. “When?” he demanded.
    Even though he wasn’t scrutinizing me, I fi dgeted. I patted my pocket for my cigarettes and remembered I’d left them in my purse. I took my time digging them out and lighting up, but the nicotine didn’t off er me its usual calm.

    “Fine. I’ll tell you, but I’m not being blasé when I say it doesn’t matter.” As I inhaled, my thoughts drifted back. “It happened the August you were in basic training.
    Susan Dagle and I stopped at the Corner Pocket for a beer after work.”

    His eyes opened and he frowned. “Th
    e Corner Pocket?
    You always hated that place.”

    “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my fi rst choice. Anyway, this table of guys kept begging to buy us pitchers. Susan decided if they wanted to pay we should let them, so they joined us.
    One guy looked like Dusty from ZZ Top. He kept talking to me. I must’ve made a stunning impression,” I said dryly,
    “because when I left, he followed me.”

    Th
    e smoke drifting from my cigarette brought to mind how the heat rose from the blacktop in the dark parking lot that summer night. Th
    e stench of bar food rotting in

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    the Dumpster. And the burst of fear when a sticky palm landed on my bare shoulder and spun me around. A rough shove against the car door, the bitter taste of secondhand beer gagging me as the man thrust his thick tongue into my mouth. His over-eager hands squeezing my breasts to the point of pain. But mostly, I remembered how I hated the rasp of his beard against my face and skin.
    “Julie?”

    I shook my head, scattering those thoughts.

    “At that point it was apparent he wasn’t after my conversational skills. I didn’t panic even when he kept touching me, acting like it was a mutual attraction.” I crushed out the cigarette and withdrew another.

    Kevin fl icked the lighter and I sank back into the plush cushions.

    “He was drunk and bigger and determined. I didn’t put up much of a fi ght.”

    Kevin’s insightful comments were slow in coming.

    “Anyway, it was over pretty quick. I kept telling myself . . .” I remembered my back pressed into the stinky carpet in his van and I swallowed the thick blob of emotion threatening to suff ocate me. “I kept telling myself if he believed I was there willingly, he might not hurt me.”
    “Did
    he?”

    “Hurt me? Physically? Not really. Like I said, it was fast.” I squeezed my eyes shut, recalling how even after he’d rolled off me his pungent smell had clung to my hair, 83
    clothes, and skin. I’d tossed that outfi t in the burning barrel at home right after taking an hour-long shower. Th e
    mental barrier I erected that night usually worked.

    Except sometimes I wake at night and swear the overpowering weight on my body and the sticky whispers in my ear are real. His voice haunts me. I had survived. However, I never stepped foot in that bar again. Susan was shocked when I abruptly ended our friendship too.

    Th
    e digital clock beeped, and Kevin glanced at it, then at me. His eyes were dark and thoughtful.

    Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Say something.”

    “Like what?” He stared at me, through me until I knew he recognized the torment I wouldn’t cop to. “Th at I feel
    sorry for you?”

    My eyes narrowed.

    “See?” He pointed with his shot glass before setting it down. “You’re glaring at me. You don’t want my sympathy.” He grabbed my hand, brought my palm to his lips, and pressed a single kiss.

    I resisted closing my eyes and wishing for something from him that I couldn’t have.

    Kevin rubbed my hand over his jaw. “I am sorry that I brought you into this and if you’d rather back out, I’ll understand.”

    “No.” Part of me hoped there’d be therapeutic benefi ts in simultaneously dealing with two traumatic events in my life. Part of me wanted to chug the remainder of tequila 84
    until I passed out. I was saved from making the choice by a