When your heart chakra is open, you are flowing with love and compassion, you are quick to forgive, and you accept others and yourself. A closed heart chakra can give way to grief, anger, jealousy, fear of betrayal, and hatred toward yourself and others.

A warmth unlike anything I’d ever known surrounded me. A set of masculine hands were running down my rib cage underneath the covers. I woke more fully when the blanket crept down and the morning chill touched my bare back.

“Good morning,” Clay rasped into my ear before kissing his way down my spine and back up. “You’re back is healing wonderfully. I think you’ll be pleased if you ever get up the courage to look at it,” he teased.

And I hadn’t yet. I didn’t want to know what it looked like. Something inside me was afraid to see. I feared the happiness bubble I was currently living in would burst and I’d have to start all over again.

Noncommittally, I hummed and tucked my elbows under my chest to settle in while Clay caressed me. His lips touched down at the top of my wound.

“I’m going to kiss every inch of you until you understand you’re beautiful. Everywhere.” Clayton continued his mission, kissing featherlight along my scar. From the very top of my shoulder, down over my shoulder blade, and along my side until he ended at the top of my hip. Of course, then he got kinky. He slid one of his large hands under my front and zeroed right in on the tiny bundle of nerves aching for attention.

His fingers moved through the wetness that increased at his touch, and I bucked my hips back, encouraging. He pushed one finger inside and then used his thumb to circle blissfully around my clit.

I arched, lifted my head to gasp, and pressed into his movements.

“You like that, baby?” he cooed, shifting his weight and straddling my hips. Clayton worked his fingers magically, finding just the right spot to take me from tame to wild.

Without thought, he rested his ass on my thighs, keeping me pinned facedown to the mattress. Then he used his free hand to slide up my ribcage, over my shoulder, and into my hair, where he tunneled in and gripped me by the roots while at the same time he forced two fingers deep.

Any other woman, or a normal me, would have bucked into it and crooned in pleasure. That is not what happened. Not at all.

I screamed at the top of my lungs. Loud enough to shake the windows.

And I was back there.

---

My attacker was on top of me, straddling my sides and crushing my hips into the pavement.

He dug a forceful hand into my hair and tugged my head back hard. Blood poured down my back and onto my hand as I lifted up, trying to get him off me. I screamed, kicked, and pushed off the concrete, but nothing would jar him loose.

That’s when I heard it. Laughter. Kyle’s laughter while he held me down. “Not so all-powerful now, are you, Monet…”

He put the knife to my throat and dug the tip in. It burned like acid dripping on my skin.

“No!” I screamed.

“Yes!” he growled, pulling my head back so hard that my back bent unnaturally and I thought for sure he’d break my spine.

“Any last words?” His tone was absolute. That was the end.

“Monet!” Someone called my name.

I jolted and screamed.

“Monet, I’m sorry!” A soothing voice. One I loved. Cared for. There to save me. To bring me back.

---

Clayton’s voice entered my nightmare.

“Baby…”

I blinked several times. The room started to come into focus. “Clayton!” I screeched, reaching, climbing, battling the smoke and black surrounding my vision.

“Monet! Monet! Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry!” Clayton’s entire form shook; his eyes, now a smoky blue, were filled with fear.

Tears poured down my cheeks, and I found myself huddled to the headboard with my knees up and my arms locked around them. I lifted my head, and Clayton held his hands out to me in a gesture of surrender.

“Okay, I’m far away. Nowhere near you. Please, Monet. Please, baby. I don’t know what to do.” Clayton’s voice was ravaged by dread and panic.

I swallowed around the grit in my throat. “I… Clayton. Honey.” The punch of embarrassment slammed my chest like a battering ram. “Oh no.”

Clayton moved toward the bed, likely having sensed I’d returned to the here and now. He pulled me into his arms and wedged his face against my neck. “Oh my God. You scared the fuck out of me. I love you. Monet, I’m sorry. I love you,” he repeated, obviously needing to make sure I knew it.

“It’s okay. I’m okay now.” I locked my arms around his strong back and tried to remember. For a long time, Clay held me and we did yoga breathing, in for four breaths, out for four breaths, until both of us were calm enough to speak. I settled my ear to his chest and listened to his heartbeat. My favorite place.

You are not alone, Moe. Clayton’s with you. He’d never hurt you. It was just a flashback.

Clayton petted my hair and placed kisses on my forehead and wherever he could reach. One of his hands eased up and down my back in soothing gestures that put me into a trancelike state. Gone was the frightening moment of being back there in Kyle’s clutches. Gone was the fear he’d caused. In its place was warmth, life, and love. Clayton could give me all of that, and I was finally able to accept it.

“Clay, tell me what you experienced. I know you’re shaken up,” I requested, speaking to his chest but not ready to look into his eyes.

His large frame trembled as if it was hard to speak. “We were, uh…having fun. I was behind you, with my hand otherwise, uh…busy. And then…fuck. Shit just went bad. Really fucking bad, Monet.” His voice cracked, sounding like heavy boots over gravel.

I could feel wetness slide down the heated skin of my shoulder. I eased back and found his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. I cupped both of his cheeks and kissed him softly because I knew he needed it. Whatever I’d gone through had pained him as much as it had me.

Taking a moment to breathe, allowing my heart to settle at his concern, I finally spoke. “I had a flashback of when Kyle had me pinned down in the garage. He sat on top of me from behind and yanked my head backward by my hair in order to cut my throat.”

Watching Clayton’s expression crumble into one of sheer misery and then horror probably topped the list of the last things I’d ever want to see in my lifetime.

Seeing my big, strong, capable man break right before my eyes eviscerated me.

He shook his head. “I did that. I took you back there. Me. I hurt you.” He stood up and started pacing.

As scared as I was and as shaky as the flashback had left me, we both needed to get past this.

Naked as the day I was born, I came up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and pressed my lips into his back. “No. You do not get to take that on your shoulders.” I cleared my throat. “Never. Not ever. Don’t compare what we have to what that vile man did to me. You didn’t know.” I sucked in a harsh breath. “Honey, I didn’t know that would happen. I’m sorry I scared you.”

He turned around so fast it put me off-kilter, but he caught me and plastered my body up against his chest. “You’re sorry? No. I should have known better.” His jaw was firm, hardened in a way that reminded me of what he looked like when he first took in my features after the initial attack.

“But you couldn’t…” I tried.

“My job is to know what you need, when you need it. I failed.” He ran a shaky hand through his spikey hair. Blond layers fell every which way, making him even more ruggedly handsome.

I rubbed my hands up and down his chest. “Clayton, you do know what I need, because all I need is you. You being understanding as I figure this out. You here for me, for Lily. I’m sorry I scared you. It’s very clear to me that I need to spend more time talking to my therapist about what happened. And perhaps, the next time we’re in a particular position, we’ll plan for it. You can help me get past it. Do you think you could do that? Work with me on crossing over that fear?”

Clayton fell to his knees before me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me close before kissing my belly. There he rested his forehead in supplication. “I’ll be whatever you need. Anything. Anytime. Whenever.”

I wiped at my tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.” He kissed my belly again and laid his head there so he could look up. His eyes were a murky blue, unlike the startling sky blue they usually were when he held me.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” I whispered as a tear fell onto his cheek.

“I’m sorry too. We’ll get past this, beautiful.”

I ruffled his hair. “Yes, I do believe we can get through anything as long as we’re together.”

---

I entered the kitchen to the sounds of Queen’s “We Are the Champions.”

“Queen?” I chuckled.

“Yes, Mommy?” Lily answered as if I’d called for her. My little girl was a riot.

Clayton grinned, bit into a carrot, and then tossed one to my love bug. She picked it up and crunched loudly the same way he did.

I shook my head and smiled and my two loves. They filled my heart with such joy, I should have easily been able to push aside all the latent negativity of my experience with Kyle, but I couldn’t. My therapist said it would take time. Intellectually, I knew this. I’d said the same thing many times in my daily practice. It just didn’t fit into my world. I had everything I’d ever wanted munching on carrots and dancing to Queen in my kitchen. Nothing should be able to bring me down.

“How’d your call go with, uh…your friend, the good doctor?” Clayton asked smoothly, being vague so that the littlest of ears wouldn’t pick up on the fact that Mommy needed a doctor’s help.

I went over to my big man and looped an arm around his waist. “Really good. Time heals all wounds, as they say. But you were right. I need to have more than a handful of sessions. We’ve set up a time every few days to go over some of the, uh…more repugnant details so that what happened today won’t happen again,” I assured him.

He frowned. “Did you tell her about today? Exactly?”

“Of course. She needed to know so I could get past it.”

Clayton nodded, seemingly not altogether happy about me hashing out the finer details of what triggered the flashback.

He pursed his lips. “Did she say there was any specific cause…?”

I gripped him by the waist and turned him toward me so his gaze came directly to mine. “She said it was bound to happen at some point. Pushing those types of experiences to the back of your subconscious only delays them coming to the surface. The trigger was not you but the act of remembering a time where I was in a similar position. Trust me. You are not the problem. I am. Pretending what happened was a small thing did not do me any favors. I’m now suffering the consequences of that decision, but there is a positive side to this.”

He gripped my hips. “Thank Christ. Lay it on me, because right now I could use a positive.”

God, he was so sweet. My guy wanting me happy and healthy above all else.

“The fact that I have a big, strong, handsome, caring, and loving man to be there for me when I fall or have a hard time or a bad dream. Whatever it is, I’ve got you to lean on.”

“And you always will.” His response was quick and to the point.

I rose up on tiptoe. “Exactly.”

He kissed me soundly and for a long, long time. So long that the queen had finished her carrots, the song had ended, and she wanted attention, as evidenced by her patting us both on the thighs.

“Um…hello. The queen wants dinner.”

“You do!” Clayton ruffled her hair, picked her up, and tossed her in the air. Then he caught her, pretended to drop her, but stopped and caught her. It was frightening to see my baby hurling in the air several inches above his head and then him catching her while she squealed in delight, but it was also the type of thing a father would do with his child, so I didn’t say anything. They needed to bond, and I had to allow it to occur organically and not butt in.

While they were playing, the phone on the wall next to the counter rang.

I went for it, figuring it was Mila asking what was for dinner. She did that often. Invited herself to dinner. Now that she was pregnant, she did it a couple times a week. She’d call, find out what we were having, and debate if she wanted that or something else. Neither Clayton nor I minded because we enjoyed having her around, and I loved petting the bump. Now closing in on four months, she had a perfect little cantaloupe going.

“Hello?” I asked with a smile in my voice, watching my man and my kid run around the island.

A broken, stuttered voice ripped through the line. “Monet…”

Instantly the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. “Yes, this is she. Who is this?” I didn’t recognize the voice.

“My God, Monet. He hurt me. So bad.” The sob coupled with sniffles allowed me to register the voice as one I knew all too well.

Matisse.

“Matisse, is that you?” I needed to confirm. I hadn’t heard from my sister since she and Kyle left the lawyer’s office, and that was a long time ago.

The sound of a hacking, wet cough came through the line. “I’m hurt. I need help.”

“Help? What happened? Where are you?” I asked, a frantic energy zipping up my spine and making me jittery.

“In a hotel…” she croaked. “I don’t know where I am. He hurt me and beat me. Left me for dead.” Her sobs tore through the phone and went straight into my bleeding heart. Target obliterated.

Clayton put a hand to my shoulder. His eyes were hard at the mention of my sister’s name.

“Can you look at anything on the desk or the end table that says where you are? I’ll come get you,” I rushed to offer.

Clayton shook his head. “Could be a trap,” he gritted through his teeth.

I licked my lips and pressed my thumb and forefinger against my temples. “Anything?” I asked, my heart hammering out a beat so hard I could almost hear it myself.

“Um…yeah. It says Berkeley Inn.”

My eyes widened and Clayton scowled. “The Berkeley Inn? That’s not far from here. When did he leave you? Where did he pick you up?”

Matisse sobbed some more and howled in pain. “I don’t know. Please, help me. I have nobody. He hurt me. He hurt me so bad. Monet, he raped me.” She cried out with a new round of emotional distress.

He raped me.

I gripped the phone so tight my hand started to throb. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I ground my teeth and mouthed rape to Clayton. His entire face went from concerned to heated anger in a split second.

“Matisse, I’m sending help. Look at the phone. What room number are you in?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve,” I repeated to Clayton.

He had his cellphone to his ear, calling the detectives on our case.

“Yeah, Berkeley Inn, room twelve. Says she’s wounded bad. And uh, she told her sister she’d been violated. Yeah, okay, we’ll meet you there.”

“Help is on the way, Matisse. We’re sending detectives right now, and they’re sending in paramedics. We’re going to meet you at the hospital.”

“It hurts…Monet.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to get you help and I’ll be there for you. I’ll be there.” All the times we weren’t there for one another rushed to the surface, my sisterly desire raging strong.

“Stay on the phone with me. Please.”

“Of course, honey,” I cooed, even though my heart was unraveling with every word.

Another ten minutes of me whispering to her and finally I could hear the police knocking on the door. “That will be the help we sent. Go open it.”

“Can’t. Too painful to move,” she whispered, her voice getting weaker.

“She can’t open the door,” I told Clay.

“Break it down,” he uttered into his cell phone.

I heard what sounded like wood shattering and metal bending and then a variety of voices tending to Matisse.

“See you soon,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

“Let’s go. We’ll have Mila meet us at the hospital to pick up Lily,” Clayton muttered, coats already in hand.

I just followed along with whatever he said. All I could think of was my sister as a child and her growing up into a lovely woman. Talking about boys while we watched silly chick flicks. Her big, cheery smile. And then her words over and over.

He hurt me.

Left me for dead.

He raped me.

---

The hospital was a madhouse, but we were able to meet up with Detectives Richardson and Bolinsky in the emergency room.

“Where is she?”

“Seeing the doctor,” the taller detective replied.

“I need to go to her now.”

One of the detectives led me to a private room and knocked on the door. A nurse opened it a few inches, her eyes turning hard.

“We need privacy.”

“Victim’s sister is here.”

Victim. Again with that word. Couldn’t they use survivor? Sounded more appropriate than victim.

“Your sister’s here. Do you want to let her in?” The nurse spoke to someone behind her. I couldn’t hear the reply, but she opened the door enough for me to slip inside.

On the other side of the room was my sister. Her black hair, so much like mine, was a disheveled mop around her sullen face. She’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen her. She couldn’t have been more than a size two, if not a zero. Heavy bandages lined both her arms. Bruises were visible on her biceps and around her neck. Her lip was split and a dot of dried blood clung to the edge.

I went to her and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She folded her thin arms around me and clung to me like her life depended on it.

“Miss, you’re going to have to stand back while I do the exam. It will only be a few more minutes. You can hold her hand if you’d like.”

I nodded and held Matisse’s hand. Hers was cold and frail. The nurse was efficient, and I watched while Matisse stared at the ceiling and tears fell down each side of her face. Anger simmered heavy in my veins, wanting an outlet, but I couldn’t go there. I had to be strong for her. Regardless of what my sister had done and how she’d betrayed me, she was still my sister, and I loved her. Warts and all. And she’d been beaten and violated. No one deserved that.

Not being able to stop myself, I ran my hand through her hair and over her forehead, trying to calm her. She nuzzled into my palm, reminding me of better times when we were sisters who loved each other and told one another everything, not sworn enemies because of a manipulative psycho.

When the nurse finished, I stayed while she gave her statement to the detective. Clayton stood like a sentry in the back of the room, arms crossed, stance wide and imposing, not saying a word.

“After he strangled you, then what happened?” Detective Richardson asked.

My sister swallowed and dipped her head down. “He pinned me to the bed and pulled out his knife. About this big.” She held her fingers out, indicating several inches in length. Probably the same knife he cut me with, I thought but didn’t share.

“Then he said he was going to play with me the way he played with my sister.” Her gaze lifted to mine and she choked back a sob. “He cut one arm and then the next. He’d stuffed a pair of socks in my mouth so no one would hear me scream.”

I ran my hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her the only way I knew how. When she was a little girl and scared of her new family, this was what I’d done to settle her when the nightmares came.

“Continue. We’ll get through this in one shot, ma’am,” Detective Bolinsky urged.

She nodded, and I held her hand.

The detective wrote down everything she said, including the details of her rape, into his notepad. “And where can we reach you if we need to follow up with you?”

Her eyes widened and more tears fell. “He stole my purse. He knows where I live. He’ll come back. He’ll kill me for sure!” Her voice rose and fell until the emotional turmoil took her over in heaping, wracking sobs. She turned in toward my body, and I held her while she cried.

“You’ll come home with us. Clay and I will take care of you.” I glanced over at Clay and his jaw hardened. That move meant he did not agree with my decision but wouldn’t say anything until we were in private. Which was fine with me.

He’d get over it. My sister needed me, and I would take care of her. Then I’d figure out how to make my man not angry with me.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Matisse nodded into my chest and then slid off the bed, plastering her body heavily against my side.

“Thank you, Monet. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And I vowed to myself right then and there that I’d fix this relationship with my sister, get past it all, and she’d never have to find out.