Claire
WHO THE FUCK does Jackson think he is? Drudging up the worst moment in my life? I have spent too many hours working on who I am, on what I have become, to let this shit get in my way. On a huff, I flop back down onto the couch. Jackson didn’t know what to say to me and left, with the promise that he’d be back.
Yes, Bradford Michael Callahan raped me. He brutally ripped my virginity away and emotionally ruined me for any man. He took it forcefully and tossed me aside. However, he gave me Sasha. And that child is the kindest soul anyone will ever meet. She and I survived. Frankly, I survived because of her.
I may not be able to say that I have loved a man to the depths of my being. But I can certainly say that I have loved deeply and without regret. My girls still come to me when they need love. And that is all that matters. I have done my job and have contributed to the world. Just look at the two amazing women I have raised.
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I find myself lost somewhere in the in-between. Not fully lost in a memory of a time best forgotten and not completely in the here and now.
I was sixteen years old and thinking that I was in love. Thinking that Brad was going to save me from Mac and Jami, when all he truly cared about was the McEvoy name.
We had been hanging out—Jackson, Brad, and I—for almost a year when I finally started to feel comfortable being alone with Brad. That was my first mistake, thinking that Brad and Jackson were made from the same mold. They weren’t. I learned that the hard way.
The night that Brad raped me was the worst night of my life. It was horrific and although I still have major issues from that evening, I truly don’t remember much from it. Once Brad crawled on top of me and tore my panties from my body, my mind went blank until I was in Jackson’s arms and screaming. Later he would tell me how he had found me. Alone. In a fetal position in front of the couch. Half-naked with blood on my lips, hands, and between my legs.
What I do remember is feeling Brad being too big, too heavy. I couldn’t breathe with him on top of me and I wished with everything in me that Jackson would come and save me. Thinking that I shouldn’t have worn the denim mini skirt. What truly stands out in my memory, is that one Coach leopard print ballet slipper was still on while the other was over by the television.
Funny how something so trivial sticks out in my mind. Dr. Jacobs says that is what most survivors do. Focus on one thing so as to not have to focus on the real issue. Magicians call it sleight of hand. Watch the right hand so that you don’t see what’s going on with the left. But my favorite shoes are the only thing that even still to this day stands out in my mind.
Unable to sit still, I stand up and start pacing the room. I’m so lost in my own thoughts that it isn’t until Jackson clears his throat that I realize he’s returned. Stopping in my tracks, I turn to face both him and my past.
Standing at the door, he appears to have regained his composure. The Jackson that is before me now is the Jackson that I have known since I was fifteen. Calm, patient, understanding and beautiful. “What, Jackson? Speak for Christ’s sake!”
“I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Claire. I’ve tried over the past year, but you just won’t let me in.” Shoving off the door frame he has been leaning against, he starts to pace and shows a rare side of him. Agitation is not something that Jackson ever shows anyone. And it is a sight to behold. “Fuck, Claire, you shut me out. I wanted to help. I know what you went through. But you shut down and then shut me out. You were my best friend. Fuck! I told you shit that I hadn’t told another soul. Christ, I told you about my mother!”
Jackson is on a roll, and the only thing that I can think of is that he looks absolutely breathtaking. I’ve tried to keep my emotions in check when it comes to him. But lately his persistence with getting to know not only me again but Sasha as well, has my resolve slowly crumbling around me.
As much as I thought that I loved Brad all those years ago, I know that wasn’t love. But what I felt for Jackson was. Hindsight and all that shit. But I was ashamed, hurt, and felt that I was tainted. As much as I missed Jackson, I couldn’t allow that taint to affect him. But it did. Mac made sure that Jackson suffered for something he didn’t even do. And the damn thing is, Jackson allowed it. Not once did he bring to light my shame.
In this moment the truth finally hits me with the force of a runaway train and has me gasping for air. Even back then Jackson was protecting me.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. I truly am. I was just trying to survive. When Mac found out that I was pregnant, he assumed that you were the father. I should have told him the truth. But I was so ashamed and thought that I was protecting you by not saying anything. It never occurred to me that he would force you out. You had too much talent.”
I know that I have to allow Jackson in. He has repeatedly proven to me that he is trustworthy and reliable. Nodding internally, I decide to do just that—let Jackson in.
“Initially after that night, I couldn’t even look at you. I was devastated over what Brad took from me. It’s not like I was prepared to be inducted into a sexual relationship in general, but to lose my virginity so brutally made the following hours, days, weeks—hell—months a constant struggle.” With a shrug, I sit down deflated in the chair that I had wanted Jackson to sit in in the first place.
He’s across the room, just on the other side of the couch when he says, “Shit, Claire, I was just as devastated. It killed me to know that I left you alone with that asshole. I knew you needed to be protected. But I never expected to walk into the apartment and find what I did. Brad should have never been allowed to be alone with you. I thought that I was a better judge of character. He played me.” Stopping his pacing, Jackson finally looks over at me. “Goddammit, he played me and hurt you and now the son of a bitch is back in our lives. I will not let him hurt you again! Do you understand me? This is a game to him. He is destructive and uses people for his benefit. For him to be back now means that he is ready for round two.” Having run out of steam, Jackson leans on the couch with his powerful forearms propped on the back, his hands clasped together, and his head hanging low.
“What you fail to understand, Jackson, is that I’m not that naïve fifteen-year-old anymore. He can’t hurt me.”
With a look of pure disbelief, Jackson says, “But he can hurt Sasha, Claire. Isn’t that why the first thing you did once I told you he was back was call her?”
Trying my best to play my insecurities off, I say, “I call Sasha all the time. I just wanted to hear her voice.”
“Bullshit! It freaked you out so much that your first instinct was to protect Sasha. I know you, Claire. I see you! I’ve been watching you since you were fifteen fucking years old. I know when you are panicked. But here’s something you need to know. So listen up and listen good, woman. If nothing ever comes of the attraction that you and I have for one another, and make no mistake there is an attraction, I will never leave you alone again. I will protect you and Sasha until my dying breath.”
Stunned would be an understatement. Jackson has completely stunned me stupid. I’m sitting here, mouth agape, and all I can do is look like a fucking guppy! This man just admitted that he too has feelings for me and has no intention of letting anyone hurt me or my daughter.
Focus, Claire! Brad is back!!