The Hungry Wolf Ch. 02

"And went back to his wife.

"Joan decided, after much soul searching, not to get an abortion. She could have, you know, this was after Roe V Wade had been decided. She talked to her mother and they decided together they would give that baby the greatest family in the world." She smiled at Damien. "And they did.

"When Charlotte Emily Miller was born, she was born into a family that loved her. That wanted her. That would do whatever they could for her happiness. It was a small family -- herself, her mother and her grandma -- but it was enough. She grew up with only happy memories. Her grandma taught her how to cook, and her mom taught her how to sing. They had a warm home, filled with love and laughter.

"One day, when Charlotte was 13, she came home from school to find her mother and grandma in the living room. She could tell they had been crying. They sat her down and had a long talk with her. Her mother was dying -- pancreatic cancer, totally inoperable -- and they weren't sure how long she had." She sighed, hands idly plucking at the grass between her crossed legs, looking off towards the mountains behind Damien.

His heart was aching. He wanted to hold her, to pull her in to his lap and soothe her. He hated listening to her talk about herself in the third person, her voice so dispassionate.

"Turns out it was about two years. She died the summer before Charlotte's sophomore year. At the end, it really was a mercy when she died. And she still had her grandma. So life, though quite sad for a while, went on. They both eventually learned to live again.

"Charlotte met a boy in her sophomore year of high school, just after the Christmas break. His family had just moved to Los Angeles from Chicago. His name was Keith. He was dreamy to her, a cross between Bono and David Bowie." Damien chuckled at that and Charlie smiled at him. "I know.

"He was a year ahead of her, and she didn't think he even knew her name. But one day after school, he waited for her and walked her home. They started dating. He was in a band, a guitarist and singer, and she used to go watch them play. She never told him she could sing. Not because she wanted to hide it from him, but she just didn't think of it. After her mother died, she just stopped thinking of singing as anything special.

"One day he came over unexpectedly, and heard her in the backyard singing Patsy Cline while she weeded. He got upset at first, demanding she explain why she never told him she could sing. She did, and he immediately felt bad. He held her while she cried, kneeling with her in the dirt of her grandma's vegetable garden. She fell in love with him that day."

Charlie stopped and shifted, putting her legs out in front of her and wincing at the imprint of the grasses and dirt in her flesh. She stretched and cracked her back before continuing.

"Keith convinced Charlotte to sing with the band. At first just at practice. Then slowly at gigs. It was fun. She loved being up on stage with Keith. They were a cover band, but they were a good cover band. And just before she started her senior year, Keith took her virginity." She paused again, wrinkling her nose. "Although that sounds so...off, doesn't it. It wasn't taken from her. She gave it to him. Maybe that doesn't matter. The important thing is that I may have lost my virginity but I still have the box it came in." Damien barked a laugh at the old joke, even as his wolf seethed at the thought of anyone else -- even 20 years ago -- having touched her.

"Anyway. They became lovers. And a couple months after she graduated high school, to the happiness of all that knew them, they became husband and wife. They were best friends as well as lovers. He was her rock. When her grandma died, she leaned on him with the security of someone who knew what it meant to be loved.

"And they still sang together. They had regular jobs, too. She worked as a cook and he was a mechanic for CalTrans, but 'The Be-Sides', their cover band, had steady bookings of weddings, bar mitzvahs, corporate events. They enjoyed performing together and were loathe to give it up. It wasn't easy, but he was determined to give his wife a slice of heaven. In Whittier of all places." She chuckled at that, shaking her head. "Whittier.

"The only thing was, the long hours of commuting and working and practicing and gigging were starting to take their toll on her husband. She grew quite worried about Keith. He seemed to walk around zombie-like much of the time, and she was concerned for his health -- both physical and mental. She was going to talk to him about quitting the band and having more time together, when all of a sudden, he seemed to bounce back, better than before.

"Unbeknownst to Charlotte, he had gotten started down a very dark path. A couple of his coworkers introduced him to something called crystal meth. And he quickly went from a casual user to an addict. He became erratic, paranoid, started picking fights -- never with his wife -- but she was always there to clean it up. She didn't know what was going on, why her sweet and gentle husband was behaving oddly.

"One day Greg, the drummer of 'The Be-Sides', came in to the diner where Charlotte worked and sat her down. He talked to her about crystal meth, about Keith, and about addiction, but she didn't listen." Charlie paused and shook her head. "She refused to listen. Instead she went home that night and told Keith what had happened, effectively ending the band.

"A couple weeks later, he was fired after failing a urinalysis. But she still didn't want to believe anything was wrong. Even after their money started disappearing. Even after their car was repossessed. Even after their home was foreclosed. Even after Charlotte discovered he had sold her mother's diamond necklace and bracelet from her father as well as her grandma's bridal jewelry.

"Had basically sold her past."

Charlie shifted again, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Damien watched her closely, fighting the increasing urge to wrap her up in himself. He could sense her pain, smell her anger and fear in her sweat, and it was making his wolf insane with wanting to hold and soothe her.

"One day, Charlotte came home from work to find Keith sitting at their little dinner table, his head in his hands. There were three rather large Hispanic men in the apartment with him, two sitting on their couch and one standing by the door. They made her nervous. The one standing by the door -- he must have been their leader, because he was the only one that ever talked -- closed the door behind Charlotte and locked it.

"He looked her over, rather lasciviously, and told Keith that he had a deal. Charlotte turned to her husband and asked what was going on. He took her hands and explained to her that the men had agreed to give him a large supply of drugs in exchange for sex with her. She didn't want to believe it. Her husband wouldn't do that to her. She cried, she screamed at him, called him names, told him to get out; but he grabbed her and held her through it, begging her, promising her that as soon as it was done he was going to get help and get clean. She relented.

"For her husband."

"Charlie...you don't...you can stop. You don't have to tell me..." Damien's words trailed off. He didn't want to hear anymore. He didn't think he could stand to hear anymore. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't bear the thought of it. He didn't think he could hear about her rape and keep his wolf at bay; already he was howling and pacing, demanding to be let out as Charlie's story lanced both their souls. Charlie suddenly stood up, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around herself. She refused to look at Damien.

"I do, though," she said sadly. She gave a sudden cruel laugh.

"You know, I thought that if I told this in the third person, I could pretend it happened to someone else. And it should make it easier." She turned her face to Damien and he saw the tears running down her cheeks. "But it doesn't. I can't pretend it wasn't me." He stood and moved to put his arms around her but she stopped him. "Don't, please. I need to finish," she said, holding up her hand. He leaned against the tree, arms at his sides and nodded.

She took a few deep breaths and nodded to herself before continuing. "I can remember -- so clearly -- the look of gratitude on Keith's face as he thanked me, told me how amazing I was and how much he appreciated it. But he didn't tell me he loved me.

"Still, I agreed.

"I was made to strip in front of them, right there in the living room. I remember thinking that I would just shut down, you know? I was 24. 24! I honestly believed that I could refuse, that I could stop my responses, just go through the motions but not give them anything. Let them take turns fucking a corpse. But that wasn't the plan. They weren't taking turns, oh no. Not at all." She gave a snort of derisive laughter, shaking her head.

"They made me sit on the couch and held me down, one man sucking on each breast and one man licking my cunt. I kept looking over at my husband, trying not to moan, not to pant, thinking that if I focused on him it would help me stop -- it would keep me from...from...." She gave another snort and wiped at the tears falling freely. "He was watching, enrapt.

"I couldn't fight it. I wanted to, but I couldn't." She looked at Damien, her eyes wide, her voice desperate. "Do you believe me?"

"I do." His voice was muted, as if he was talking through a mouth full of sand. He could feel the tears on his own cheeks.

"They fucked me for hours. They put these little leather bands on the base of their penises and were able to just fuck and fuck and fuck. I had no idea what they were. I was so stupid." She took another shaky breath. "For hours.

"They made me moan, and scream. And...and come. A lot. And...and with every moan, every gasp, every fucking orgasm I died. I died a thousand deaths that day. How could I not? I was a willing participant in my own prostitution."

"Charlie...please," Damien said quietly, his wolf howling at her pain. He moved towards her, desperate to put his arms around her, but she evaded him.

"No. Let me finish," she said, giving him a sad smile. "You have a right to know." She took another deep breath, shuddering a bit and hugging herself tightly.

"Still, through it all, I kept thinking that my marriage, my husband, would be my savior. That was my hope, that was my grace. I was doing this for him, and he would bring me back to life and this would fade to a bad dream. Until..." she paused, taking a few deep breaths, "until they finally took off their little bands. I was being fucked by three men at the same time and I looked to my husband, my savior, to find him eating cold pizza and drinking a soda.

"When they were finally done, they dressed and walked out, tossing a bag of white powder on the table. I sat on the couch, a mess, sore, crying, and my husband -- my love, my life, my hope -- couldn't even touch me, comfort me, hold me.

"Hell, he barely even looked at me. Instead, he picked up the bag and ran into the bathroom, tossing a 'thanks babe' back over his shoulder.

"Like I'd just bought him a burger or something."

She looked at Damien, a cruel smile on her lips. "Do you know how much drugs selling your wife to three men will get you? Hmm?" He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists and unclenching.

She turned and looked towards the horse. " Four days' worth. I know because four days later Keith went crazy. I came home from work and he just sort of...detonated. He started beating me, throwing me in to the walls and kicking me. At one point he broke a chair over me.

"He kept...screaming at me...accusing me of being with those three guys and fucking them when I was supposed to be at work. He kept saying over and over that I wanted it, that I wanted to have a cock in my ass and my cunt and my mouth, that it was my idea. He kept calling me a slut and a whore. Telling me over and over that only a whore would come from three guys in front of her husband. And even though I'd tried to fight it --I tried to fight my own biology with everything I had -- I started to believe him. I started to think he was right." She stopped for a moment, catching her breath between her sobs.

"He pushed me over the table then. Grabbed my hair in his fist and slammed my head in to it, gashing it open." She turned her head towards him, pointing to the scar running down from her hairline. "He ripped down my pants and...and...and then he raped me. I didn't know husbands could rape their wives. But they can." She stopped again, breathing harshly and grimacing, putting the back of her hand to her mouth waiting for a wave of nausea to pass before picking up the narrative again.

"At the end, he grabbed one of our kitchen knives -- and it's weird, but I remember noticing he'd grabbed one of the ones he had bought me for our first anniversary, a Wusthoff -- and carved up my abdomen. To make sure no one would ever get tricked by me the way he did." Charlie was barely keeping herself together at this point. Her body so tight with tension that Damien was afraid she'd physically snap in two. She turned and walked towards him, a slight snarl on her face.

"My scars, Damien, are a warning. A warning to any man who might ever be interested in someone like me." She put her hands on the hem of her t-shirt. "You really want to see what they are?" He nodded at her and she lifted her shirt off, dropping it at her feet as she stood up straight in front of him. "Get a good, long look.," her voice was toneless, dead, but Damien could smell her fear plainly.

On her stomach, just below her bra was the word WHORE. It had been carved into her flesh in shaky letters about two inches high, the word easily discernible in the shiny skin of the resulting scars.

"It's my label. My title. My badge." She gave him an apologetic smile as she fought back the sobs that threatened to tear her apart. "I'm a whore. I fucked three men and liked it."

"No," Damien growled, unable to stop himself from stepping to her and putting his arms around her.

Charlie broke then, sobbing loudly and fighting to get away, but he held her tightly. He didn't talk, he didn't caress, he just stood there under the tree, his arms around her as she sobbed and struggled. He held her in silence, giving her his strength as her struggles to get away ceased. He held her fast until she put her arms around him and grabbed on to him tightly as she wept against his chest. His own tears fell down his cheeks unchecked, his wolf howling in pain.

She slowly quieted as they stood in the shade with their arms around each other. When her sobs tapered down to the occasional shaky breaths and sniffle, Damien pulled his arms from around her to step back and cup her face. He looked down at the pain so evident in her eyes and felt his heart physically ache over what she had been through.

"You are not a whore, Charlie." His voice was adamant, vehement.

"I willingly - "

"No." Damien cut her off. "You were raped, Charlie. You were not willing. You were coerced, forced to agree." He ran his thumbs on her cheeks, refusing to break eye contact. "You consented to nothing. Nothing. You were coerced into an act due to your naïveté and unconditional love for your husband."

Charlie tried to pull Damien's hands from her face but they wouldn't budge. She closed her eyes against the look in his.

"Look at me, Charlie." His voice was low but firm. She opened her eyes and kept them on his. "You did nothing wrong, Charlie."

"But I - "

"You did nothing wrong, Charlie," he repeated, cutting her off again. "You have no fault, no blame. You did nothing wrong." He held her gaze, and search as she might, she saw no derision, no repulsion, none of the disgust that was so clear when he was looking at Mira. Just...warmth, compassion, tenderness. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but astonished herself when she began crying again.

"C'mere," he murmured, taking her in his arms again and pressing her head to his chest. He gently ran a hand up and down her back, letting her cry.

"I'm sorry," she said after she had settled down again. Her voice was hoarse and her cheeks were hot. He could feel them through his tear dampened t-shirt.

"Don't be."

"I can't believe I told you. God, Damien, it's like I'm compelled to. For whatever reason it just feels right, everything does, when I'm around you," she said after a long while. "Do you mind if...I mean, can we stay like this while I finish?"

"Of course." He hugged her to him tightly, wanting to laugh at her question. It would be alright with him if she stayed where she was for eternity. He bent down and kissed her on top of her head. "Take your time."

She took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh before continuing. "He ran out after he finished, and I laid on the floor where he left me. I remember praying -- seriously praying -- to God to let me die. It wasn't long after that the police and paramedics arrived. One of my neighbors heard the ruckus and called them. I was taken to the hospital and Keith was caught and taken to jail.

"I didn't want to press charges. How sick is that, huh? I kept thinking to myself that he was right, you know." She unconsciously tightened her arms around Damien. "I had a dislocated jaw, a broken nose, two broken ribs, stitches in my head, abdomen, legs and arms, a concussion and sprained wrist.

"Still, it was easier to accept I was what he said, to blame myself, than to blame him. To think that I meant so little...well, it was just easier to think of myself as the cause." She paused for a moment, thinking. "It still is, in a way. I haven't been out on more than one date with anyone since then."

"Except me." He kissed the top of her head again, glad to find the scent of her anger and fear receding.

"Is that what this is?" she asked with a shaky laugh, squeezing him briefly. "Then yeah. I guess so. Except you.

"Anyway, on my second or third day in the hospital, a woman I'd never met before came in to see me. She came and sat on the edge of my bed as if we were great friends, looked me square in the eye and said 'Fuck him'. That was all. No introduction. No polite 'how are you'. Just those two words.

"My shock must have shown because she just repeated them again.

"'Fuck him'. God, she must have said that a hundred times. At first I thought it was funny. Then I started to get pissed.

"Eventually I just cried, realizing she was right.

"Fuck him.

"Whatever my marriage had been, whatever my husband had been -- that was long gone when he even considered asking me to do...that." She paused, taking a few deep breaths. "Her name was Regina. She was a 'victim advocate'. She worked with the police and hospitals to help victims of domestic abuse. And help she did," Charlie sighed.

"I did end up pressing charges and he was found guilty. I had to testify. To everything. And even though he had no prior criminal record, he got a 25 year sentence. The DA said it was because of my testimony. Whatever.

"I filed for divorce and he actually had the nerve to try and contest it. From prison. It took two years but I was finally granted a divorce."

"Is he still in prison?"

"For now, yes. But he will be out on parole by September. Seems he's behaved himself and found Jesus."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Jesus must be the worst repeat offender considering how often he's found in prison." Her voice sounded at once wounded, bitter and tired. "It's amazing, isn't it? He finds Jesus and all is forgiven, his conscience clear, yet I am condemned to live my life disfigured and disgusting."

He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her to arms' length to look at her. He made it obvious to Charlie he was looking her up and down, and she could feel herself start to blush, acutely aware she was in shorts and a bra.