Page 79 of Notorious

“Babe,” Kurt whispers.

“All the witnesses they deposed said that they thought I was acting. That I’m a veteran in the industry. That they were doing what they were told was supposed to happen. No matter how hard my lawyers have worked, I ain’t got no evidence other than my word, the medical reports—which can be interpreted as a natural consequence of a rough scene—and the video, which could be me being a really good actor. Then the company sued me back, but the lawyers got that tossed out. So that’s where we are,” I finish.

The room’s silent. My eyes are hot. My body’s drained.

Christian’s watching me, letting me feel the bad feelings, I think.

Finally, Kurt asks softly, “Were you taking those sleeping pills to deal with the trauma from the rape?”

I nod. “I wasn’t taking them. But that’s why they were prescribed, yeah.”

Kurt’s rubbing his leg, and his muscles are jumping under his skin. Then he clenches his hands into fists, and his face crumples. “Babe,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I stiffen. “Don’t be sorry for me. I hate it. I hate people feeling bad.”

“I know,” he says. “But I want to help you however I can.”

I want to roll my eyes, but here’s my pushy husband. Who I’m quite sweet on, if I’m being honest. He’s a catch.

I wish he were my husband for real.

“Don’t treat me as if I’m damaged because of what happened,” I murmur.

“I promise I won’t,” Kurt murmurs back. “And I’ll never ask you to talk about this again if you don’t want to. But who was the director who did this to you? Tell me his name.”

I look everywhere but at him. Finally, I mutter, “Gary Pinkerton.”

Kurt blinks. Gary’s famous enough to be known outside of porn circles. Along the lines of Hugh Hefner or someone like that—someone famous for being a smut peddler.

“I thought he only made straight porn,” Kurt blurts.

“Oh, he’ll film people having sex with anything that moves. And some things that don’t.”

“What’s going to happen to him? He should be in jail.”

“Like I said, there’s no criminal case. The lawsuit’s plugging along, for whatever that's worth, but I ain’t likely to win. There’s no proof that I was roofied other than my word. There ain’t no one else to testify that I didn’t consent, because they were told I did. There ain’t no one who cares, because I’m just a fucking porn star,” I say bitterly.

“Do you believe you couldn’t be raped, because you’re a man?” Christian asks.

I nod. “I know it ain’t right, but yeah. That’s part of it. I’m big. Strong. A cowboy. Ain’t no one who can violate me.” I cough. “But they did.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Like a fuckin’ loser!” I explode, pounding my fist against my thigh. “Sheee-it, I ain’t weak.” I glare at her, my lips curled in a snarl. My cheeks burn, and my breath hitches.

“But having your control over your body taken away like that makes you feel weak?” Christian asks.

“Fuck. Yeah. Like I’m … helpless.” I let my overgrown hair flop into my face.

We all sit in silence as the room recovers from my hollering.

“Can I say something?” Kurt asks.

Both Christian and I nod.

“Now that I know all of this—and it’s horrible, babe, and I’m sorry. I don’t have words bad enough to say how fucked up it is. But I have another concern. You have nightmares sometimes. I’ve seen you touch your wrists, and now that I think about it, you were careful when I handed you drinks in Vegas. So I’m scared I’m going to accidentally trigger you. That I’m going to do something—just something innocent that I don’t even realize—that makes you think you’re back with those monsters. Do you think I could mess you up like that?”

“Maybe,” I say, my throat thick. “I do get flashbacks sometimes.”

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