Page 52 of De Luca: The Saint

“Damian, look at me, brother.”

I turn to him, the anger pouring through me like hot lava, “What?”

“If you had to do it all over again, what would you do?”

His words hit me hard, “I could never have let him do that to her. He would have been brutal, violent, even when she asked me to let him do it, I couldn’t.”

Domenic finishes his drink, “Why don’t you come stay with us for a bit?”

I laugh, “You and Giada? No thanks.”

He arches an annoyed eyebrow, “I’m worried about you.”

Pouring myself another drink, I take a long pull from it before setting the glass back down on my bar, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be just fine.”

The truth is I’m a liar. I can’t stop the influx of dark thoughts. The way we handle the rape of a woman we love in this family is simple. If you hurt one of ours, you die. Why should I be any different? Why should I get to live after what I did to Kat? It would be hypocritical for me to kill other men who do what I did yet let myself live out the rest of my days. If I thought I’d be able to talk Domenic into doing it for me, I would, but I know better. He would die himself before taking out one of his brothers, even Dante. If he hasn’t killed him, I know there’s not a chance he’d end my miserable life, not even if I begged. So, I don’t mention it. I’ll keep it locked up inside.

“Maybe you need to talk to her. She was calling for you and you ignored her. I imagine she’s hurting too.”

I nod, “I’m sure she is. The best thing I can do for Katherina right now is to leave her the fuck alone.”

Drake and Dante both come over to where Domenic and I stand. Their gazes bounce between the two of us before Dante says, “I could stay here tonight.”

I know it’s because they care, but goddamn it, this is beginning to piss me off. Why can’t they understand I want to be left alone? I don’t need them in my face right now.

“Alright. Enough. I don’t need anyone to stay here. I’m fine. I would like you all to go home now. I need space, that’s what I fucking need.”

Domenic sighs but nods, “Alright, you know where to find me.”

A pained expression fills his eyes before he shuts it down. “Let’s go,” he says to Drake and Dante, and thank fuck, they leave.

I stand in my house, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even though I wanted to be alone, the silence is worse than listening to my brothers. Without a whole lot of thought behind it, I walk down to my basement. The one Kat called a sex dungeon. I’ve not brought another woman here since she left me. I couldn’t. The room is filled with her. Standing frozen in my spot in the center of the room, I gaze at the St. Andrew’s cross, where I once had her strapped, exploding with pleasure. I can still hear her when I ask if she consents, “Yes, Sir.” But then, out of nowhere I hear her beg, “Please don’t do this to me. Red. Red. Red.” That doesn’t stop me. I continue fucking her until I finish inside a cunt, I had no business being in. The pain is so excruciating it brings me to my knees. Kneeling, I push my fisted hands onto the floor as my chest tightens, and I struggle to fight for breath. I’ve never in my life been suicidal. For a long time, I hated my father for taking his life. I understood how broken he was over Mom, but I wasn’t able to comprehend how he could leave his children without a second thought. It’s not that I want to die. I wouldn’t say I’m suicidal. I just don’t want to live like this, the throbbing in my chest, the sounds and images infiltrating my brain, Kat begging me not to violate her. After my mother and sister were brutally raped repeatedly, I swore, I’d never do that to any woman. I would always be sure I had consent. Even if she didn’t say no, that wasn’t good enough. I needed to ask if she gave consent, and I needed to hear the words. Even a nod would never do. The two women that meant the most to me, Kat, and Dalia, are the two women I can never look at again. My sister when she finds out, and I’m sure she will, will hate me. I can’t make this right. The damage is done.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Kat

Three Weeks Later…

I’ve been in therapy for two and a half weeks.

Mia kept insisting on it, and eventually, I gave in. Like a dog with a bone, she wouldn’t give up.

I’ve been isolated. She’s become my only friend. The people who were my friends before don’t know how to handle what I went through, so they just stay away. I’ve spent some time at her house. She’s spent some time at mine. If I’m honest, I think she might be crazy, but she’s also amazing. There’s a kindness in her you don’t find every day. Tonight, I’m going to her house for a get-together. I’m a little nervous because there will be new people there. I’ve never been great in social settings, an awkward little duck, but I need to do this. As my therapist has said hundreds of times, ‘isolating yourself isn’t helping.’

I’ve messaged Damian many times, but he doesn’t respond. When I ask if he’s okay, Mia says, “He’s processing.” What does that even mean? With the help of my therapist, I know now that both of us having an orgasm during the rape doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean he liked raping me. It doesn’t mean I liked being raped. An orgasm is a physiological response that neither of us had control over. My therapist helped me realize it wasn’t rape it was forced rape by way of coercion. Damian was as much a victim as I was. I wish I knew then what I know now and that I could somehow take back my cruel words. I understand now, but I hope Damian does too. When we were together two years ago, he constantly asked if I consented. It was important to him that we both wanted it. He never would’ve forced himself on me if he had a choice. I just worry that he’s torturing himself about what happened. That’s not what I want, and I know my words to him were hurtful.

I push thoughts of Damian out of my head and walk into my bedroom to decide what I want to wear tonight. I’m told it’s a casual get-together with friends, so I don’t want to overdo it and make a fool of myself. I decide on a black mini skirt that hangs above my knees and a light blue cashmere sweater since the weather has been cooling down a bit. After getting dressed, I stand staring in the mirror, wondering if this shirt's ‘V’ neck is too much. Going back and forth between wearing it and changing eventually, I tell myself it’s fine. I’ll bring a jacket in case I get uncomfortable.

I never wear heavy makeup, but tonight I’ll wear my favorite red lipstick. If I’m honest, it’s my favorite because it was his favorite. I miss Damian more than I care to admit. Two years ago, I thought it was over, but seeing him in our own personal hell and then him walking away from me left a hole in my heart that I thought had healed. It hadn’t.

He loved me when I left him, but our time together in that basement changed everything. Two years is a long time, maybe he really was over me and not even attracted to me anymore. Perhaps he would’ve never had sex with me had he not been forced to. A knock at the door interrupts my overthinking, which I’m grateful for.

Walking out of the bedroom, I go to my front door and open it to a smiling Mia.

“Ready?”

I nod, “As much as I’ll ever be.”

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