T he dream hadn't come to me in quite a while .

I could go months without thinking about him now and just as long without having this nightmare .

But maybe I should have expected it. Jake's voice in my ear, "Tell me you want me ... "

It was too close an echo to the cold, ugly voice that had all but screamed in my ear years before. "Don't you go crying, you little whore. You want this...tell me you want this !"

The demand was followed by a hand on my throat, grasping my breast, the promise of violence or pain just a breath away .

"Tell me you want it ."

"You know you want this ."

"Dirty little whore ."

It was my uncle's voice. He'd been arrested, but a fuck-up on part of the cops had all but gotten the worst of the charges thrown out before we'd even had a chance to really begin. The bastard had ended up only serving a pathetic six months for what he'd done .

Sometimes, I saw him everywhere I looked, even though he lived hundreds of miles away .

But in that dream, he was right there .

"Tell me you want it, Michelle...you fancy little whore. Shaking your ass. Tell me you want it ."

Sobbing, I jerked away from big, mean hands, but he grabbed my face and shoved it back into the chair. "Be still. You're going to get what you've been asking for ."

Hands, tearing my clothes away .

"Don't, please!" I begged. But it wouldn't stop him. He'd done it before, and I'd messed up by letting him catch me alone in the pool house. "Please, please, please don't !"

He smashed into me, his bulk knocking the air from my lungs as he pressed me flat against the chaise. "Keep fighting, sweetie. It makes it better ."

I heard his zipper and fought harder, although that would just make it hurt more .

He rammed into me and it hurt, tearing me .

"Don't!"

"For fuck's sake, Michelle !"

That voice –

I sucked in a breath as hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me, forcing me awake. Panting, my belly trying to crawl its way up my throat, I sat there. "No...no...no ..."

"Michelle, sugar, it's me." A gentle hand touched my cheek. "Baby, it's Jake ."

Shuddering at the sound of his voice, I closed my eyes and sagged in relief. I ended up collapsing against the wide shelf of his shoulders, one arm supporting my weight, the other bracketing me around the waist, cradling me tight .

"It's okay," he murmured. "It's okay ."

I couldn't believe that. How could it be okay? But he kept saying it, stroking my back and murmuring to me until I nodded and let him tug my head back until he could look into my eyes .

I didn't have the strength to resist. I just sat there as his horror and rage filled eyes met mine .

Jake knew .

Out of all the things he could have figured out about me, he now knew this .

The humiliation of it was enough to lay me low .

* * *

H e didn't just pat me on the head and tuck me back into bed before leaving .

He would leave. I knew it .

I'd woken him up, screaming and fighting – it looked like I might have punched him. There was the faintest shadow of a bruise coming up on his left cheekbone. Why would he stay after all of that ?

But for now, he sat nearby, watching me with worried eyes .

"Are you okay?" he asked .

"I'm fine," I lied. "Maybe a little thirsty ."

"I'll get you some water." He practically jumped up to get it. Probably glad to have something to do, to get away from me .

I couldn't blame him. I wanted to get away from me, away from the echoes of the nightmare, away from the memories, away from myself. He was only gone a few seconds, back in the room almost immediately after he'd left, carrying a tall glass filled halfway .

"Here."

With a hand that shook, I accepted it .

Probably a good thing he hadn't filled it all the way, I guessed .

After draining half of it, I went to put it down on the table, but he took the glass and set it down himself. I just wanted the ground to open up, swallow me whole. This was embarrassing – humiliating. I couldn't even think of enough words to describe how awful this was .

It was bad enough just living with what had been done to me but having Jake see the after effects? It had been years. Years .

And still , the nightmares lingered .

And I was still suffering .

"Is there anything I can do?" Jake asked, his voice soft .

"I..." Flicking a look at him, I shook my head. "No ."

This was it. This was when he'd come up with a reason to leave. There was no reason to stay, really. I was okay – mostly. I'd dealt with the nightmares alone for years, ever since I'd gone off to college. Actually, before that. I'd learned how to hide them from my parents .

But...Jake didn't leave .

As I sat there in the bed, he slid back in next to me. I caught my breath as he pulled me into his arms, tucking me into his lap. "You're sure you're okay?" he murmured against my neck .

"I'm...good enough, okay? It was just a nightmare ."

"No, it wasn't." His voice was firm, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear the truth in those words, but I didn't argue with him .

The arms around me tightened and he pressed his face into my hair. "Who was it?" The question came out half-muffled, but I heard it loud and clear .

It was a demand mixed with a plea .

I'd heard that sort of urging before. Years ago, from my mother and father .

"Tell them, baby," Mom had said. "Honey, you have to tell the police. They can't fix this if you don't talk." They hadn't been able to fix it anyway, but just having them believe me had been a relief. All that time, he'd taunted me, made me think nobody would believe me, nobody would love me anymore if I told .

But Mom and Dad had believed me, and more, they'd stood with me. All throughout my uncle's arrest, his trial, even the miserably short sentence .

Mom's family no longer talked to us. I tried to tell myself I didn't care, but I lied. It did...hurt. Even though there had been a witness, even though I'd been covered in bruises from that last time ...

"Michelle!"

The half-frenzied sound of Jake's voice jerked me back to the present. Dazed, I looked up at him. "Can I get some more water ?"

A moment later, he pushed the glass into my hand and I drained it .

"Do you need more?" he asked softly .

"No." I gave him the glass back, then looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "It was my uncle – my mother's brother. Parker. I was fifteen ."

Taking a deep breath, I closed my hands into fists then slowly unclenched them. "He started...touching me a few months before that, then it...got worse." Rubbing the back of my hand over my mouth, I looked up. "Do you want to hear this ?"

"No. But I need you to tell me anyway," he said honestly. "That probably doesn't make sense ."

"Yeah." To my surprise, I was able to smile. "It makes more sense than you realize." So...I started to talk .

And once I was done talking, I started to cry .

He held me until I fell asleep .