Page 11 of Outlier
“Earth to Victoria,” Mum snapped, waving her hand in front of my face to get my attention. “Are you going to bloody well sit down or what?”
“Yeah, can you not just stand there like a weirdo?” Rebecca said. “It’s creepy.”
“Yes, come on, Victoria.”
I froze at the sound of his voice and heavy footsteps as he walked into the kitchen.
Had I known Darrell would be here today, I definitely wouldnothave come.
My sister’s boyfriend was my least favourite human in the world. I hated him with every fibre of my being. So, when his large hand enclosed my elbow to propel me to the kitchen table, I reacted on instinct, jerking away from him so wildly that I stumbled to the side, catching my hip hard on the granite work surface. After wincing in pain, I decided to put even more distance between us by darting around the kitchen island, feeling much happier with the vast expanse of clutter-covered granite between us.
“Woah!” he said, both hands held up in mock surrender and a smirk on his smug face.
Darrell would probably be considered conventionally attractive with his perfectly styled blond hair, tall, lean physique, and chiselled features, but he made me feel physically sick.
“For God’s sake, Victoria,” Mum snapped. “Can you stop being so bloody strange? Darrell was just trying to be polite. I’d have thought you would have gotten over this whole phobia about any form of even polite physical contact now. Aren’t you in therapy, for goodness sake? Isn’t that supposed tofixyou? Can’t you try to be a bit more normal?”
“As if Darrell wants to touch you anyway,” Rebecca said as she scowled at me.
I didn’t bother correcting her. I may have been bad at reading people, but I knew that Darrell definitelydidwant to touch me.
The second time I met him, a year ago, he’d pinned me to the wall outside the ladies’ toilets and groped my breast. The breast groping wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was his hot, awful breath on my neck as he whispered in my ear,“I hear you don’t like to be touched. This is going to be fun, isn’t it, little sister?”
When he finally let me go, I ran into the toilets and only just made it into a stall before I threw up everything I’d eaten that evening, then had a silent meltdown for over an hour on the cubicle floor. I was too scared to face him again, so I just left the restaurant and then walked all the way home, all three miles from central London to my house in Chelsea, in four-inch heels.
I didn’t speak for three days.
Eventually I’d snapped back to reality, and I went to Mum’s house to tell her—as usual, blurting out the full, unvarnished truth. I knew my mother didn’t like me, but when she rolled her eyes and told me I was too sensitive and highly strung, thatI must have misinterpreted Darrell, and that he was just being friendly and teasing me, I was stunned.
Rebecca screamed at me when I tried to tell her, calling me a “lying bitch,” and telling me I was just jealous because nobody would shag me, seeing as I was “so bloody weird.”
Gareth hadn’t been there during my admission, and Mum had made sure to ring me afterwards, threatening all manner of retribution should I ever mention any of those accusations in front of him.
The only other person I told was Abdul. And Abdul’s reaction was very different and somewhat strange. After I told him what had happened, he stood up suddenly from his chair, paced from where we were sitting to the middle of the room and then back again, but did not sit down. He stood behind his chair, gripping the leather until his knuckles turned white whilst he stared at me.
“For fuck’s sake,” he’d snapped, and I flinched.
Abdul was normally the epitome of a calm therapist, as he should be. I didn’t think that stalking about his room and throwing expletives around was really his normal operating procedure.
But what did I know? I wasn’t a qualified therapist.
“You seem angry,” I’d said, actually quite proud of myself for identifying his emotions. It was something I’d been working on.
Abdul closed his eyes slowly as his head fell forward.
“Yes, Vicky,” he’d said in a carefully controlled voice. “I am really fucking angry. Please tell me you intend to contact the police.”
My eyebrows went up. “The police?”
“Yes, the police. That man assaulted you.”
I’d shaken my head. “There were no witnesses, and my own family doesn’t believe me. Also, I am aware of the rateof conviction when women report sexual assault to the police. Statistically speaking, that would be a waste of time.”
“Fine. If you won’t report him, then at least tell your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
Abdul’s jaw had clenched in frustration.
