Page 19 of Take Me Home

“Freshman year, one of the faculty asked me to do a special project. He’d always been friendly to me while he was notoriously mean to his students. He even critiqued one of my pieces as a favor. I felt like I was special somehow.”

My stomach dropped for teenage Darcy. I had a feeling where the story was going and my heart was already breaking for her.

“He insisted that we work with the door closed, which I thought was weird.” Darcy swallowed hard and went on. “He wanted me to reorganize his bookshelves while he got some work done. He kept watching me work. I knew something was off, but I didn’t want him to think poorly of me. He was both my boss for the day and a professor that I needed to impress.”

Silent tears streamed down her face and her breath shuddered. “I was bent over, removing books from a lower shelf. He put his hand up my skirt, and…” she started, unable to go on because a sob took her over.

“You don’t have to say if it’s too hard,” I told her. I held my good hand over hers before grabbing it. “Is this okay?”

She nodded and I held her hand tightly. She leaned into my shoulder as her tears continued to fall. I moved my hand to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into me. Darcy let out a long, rounded exhale and continued, sitting up and swiping at her nose. I took her hand again.

“I got out of there as quick as I could. I told the department chair I was sick. The professor told the chair that I was trying to steal test materials and I got fired at the end of that week. I packed my things that night and started my transfer paperwork the next morning. I looked for whatever school would take me right away.”

“My God, Darcy. I’m so sorry.” I was stunned. “Where did you go?”

“I left for UNC Chapel Hill to study advertising.”

The heartbreaks just kept coming. “So you stopped writing?” I asked, surprised.

Darcy’s head snapped up, withdrawing her hand from mine.

“How was I supposed to keep going? The thing I loved was tainted,” she said, fire and fury in her words. “He’d praised the piece I gave him, and I worried that it was actually awful. I doubted my abilities. I got really scared of authority relationships. I vowed that I’d never be what he was, taking advantage of someone who works for me.”

Fuck. Was this why she was so weird around me? I had a strong feeling that my attraction to her wasn’t one-sided. This story would be a damn good reason why she was holding back from me. Maybe the best I could hope for was that she’d let me take her out at the end of the summer when we didn’t work together anymore. Or maybe with some patience and careful treading, I could win her over sooner. But either way, I was hearing loud and clear that I needed to pump the brakes with her.

And also, I needed to get her un-pissed at me for asking if she stopped writing because of this asshat.

“I’m sorry, Darcy. I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you. You did what you had to do,” I said, squeezing her shoulder before letting her out of my grip. “Thank you for telling me. I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can see why tonight upset you.”

I took a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry that I came on a little strong that first day we worked together. That was out of line.”

Her face went red and her breathing stopped. “Oh. Yeah. Don’t worry about that.” She didn’t meet my eyes when she said it.

Message received. We weren’t going to be talking about it. I switched back to the prior topic. I needed to be a good friend.

“That’s a lot to have to go through, and so young. It sounds like your writing was something really special. I hope you find that voice again someday.”

It seemed to finally convey what I was feeling: sadness for her, anger that she’d gone through that, understanding that it wasn’t fair, acknowledging that what she had was special and valuable. She gave me a sad little smile, another round of tears shining in her eyes. I pulled her to me again with a chaste churchy side hug. I didn’t want her to think I was hitting on her after she told me she’d been assaulted. I wanted to be a safe place for her. She nestled into me for a moment, then stiffened and sat up, clearing her throat.

“How’s your hand?”

Well, that was abrupt. Her face was flushed and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. I drained my whiskey glass and unwrapped the edges of the bandage. The formerly swollen and red skin was more of a tender pink.

“I think I’ll live,” I said, trying to be funny but not really knowing the right thing to do or say in that moment. “I should probably be getting back. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

Her face got redder. Fuckfuckfuck I just kept making things worse.

“Of course,” she stammered, “Sorry I kept you so long.”

We stood and faced each other, her looking off somewhere behind me with her arms folded.

“Hey,” I said, squeezing her arm and leaning down to catch her eyes. “I’m glad we got to talk.”

Don’t feel embarrassed, I silently tried to tell her. I could see her retreating into shame. That was the last thing I wanted.

“Thanks for being so kind,” she said as we walked back into the kitchen.

“Thanks for taking care of my hand,” I told her.

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