Page 45 of Sex Coach

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 patme 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 .

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