Protecting His Witness Ch. 03

Author's note: Donna's story is a true one. These are events that happened in my life. For a long time, I wasn't comfortable sharing it, but I feel this is a way to get past the trauma and feel like a normal person again. I still have bouts of depression and anxiety, but right now I'm in a good place.

When I came up with the original scenario, I didn't notice the parallels to my own life. I was just looking for a situation where there is a male protector. As I was imagining the scenario, I realized what a trigger it would be for me. Since I seem to like emotional depth in my fantasies, I imagined telling the Chris character what had happened to me. And that's when I got the idea to share it with everyone.

Comments and feedback are more than welcome. Thank you for reading my story, despite the lack of sex. I'll make up for it in future chapters.

*****

"Please, let's just talk," he pleaded. He was outside her apartment, and had been there for the past five minutes.

"There's something I have to tell you. In person. I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I know I fucked up. I just want to explain why. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She sighed. He certainly was persistent. And he seemed genuinely upset. She remembered how distant and distracted he'd seemed the last time they saw each other. Her gut told her that she hadn't misread him, that he wasn't an asshole. Something was going on with him.

She opened the door. "Fine. You have 5 minutes. And don't touch me."

He nodded and walked in, his head held low. He looked so sad. Part of her wanted to comfort him. The other part was still angry. She felt like a fool for trusting him.

He sat on the couch, not looking at her. She was taken aback. He wasn't acting like himself. He looked... ashamed. And guilt-ridden.

"I really fucked up when I walked away. I was just really scared, and I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure you'd understand, and that would be... unbearable. So, I took the coward's way out."

"Here's the thing. I keep feeling things for you. I can't stop thinking about you. I know we barely know each other, but I feel some kind of connection," he continued, still not looking at her.

"Wow," she replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. "So, you left because your feelings were just too strong?" She laughed bitterly.

He sighed in frustration. "See, I can't fucking explain it. Now do you understand why I didn't want to talk about this?"

Donna softened. Chris looked hurt and rejected. She put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. I'll let you finish."

He finally looked her in the eye. "I really do feel a connection with you. That's not some bullshit line. Maybe it's because the sex was so intense, maybe it was being stuck in that house together, I don't know. But it's gotten me all spun around."

"I want you, and I want to be with you," he continued. "But I don't think I can be in a relationship right now. I'm really fucked up. I'd probably really hurt you. You deserve so much better," he added sadly.

He glanced at her and saw emotion in her eyes. He looked away, staring at the wall.

"This isn't just an excuse. There are some really fucked up things in my past."

"What do you mean?" she asked, moving closer. "You can tell me."

"I haven't told anyone, actually," he sighed. "Other than my therapist. That's probably not healthy."

Donna put her arm around Chris. This was something serious, he was really hurting. She just wanted to hold him and tell him it would be ok. "Tell me. I won't judge you."

He looked at her gratefully. His eyes were full of sadness. And something else. Shame?

He looked down again. "Two years ago, I was in an abusive relationship."

"In the beginning, everything was great. She was sometimes manipulative, but I really cared about her. I'd do anything for her."

"Then, the emotional abuse started. It was subtle, and I didn't even realize it at the time. She knew my worst fears and insecurities and used them to hurt me. If I did what she wanted, she was her normal self. She was sweet and sexy, and fun."

"But then it seemed like I could never please her. She wanted more and more from me, nothing was ever enough. She'd tell me I was worthless and stupid. She told me I let everyone down, especially her. She told me I was lucky she put up with me."

"And then I started believing her. I hated myself. I felt less than a man. I even had problems in bed. And of course, she made fun of that."

At that, Donna breathed sharply, affected by his words. Chris looked at her and felt he could finally open up. She held him against her chest as she stroked his hair.

"So, I stayed with her. At least she cared about me. I felt like no one else did."

"But then it got even worse. She seemed angry that she had broken me. I had lost my fight, my energy. She started drinking more and was an angry drunk. One night, she threw dishes at me. One broke and I cut my arm. She seemed weirdly satisfied. But, she realized she had gone too far, and took me to the ER to get stitches. She promised she'd cut back on the drinking."

"I believed her. But after a few weeks, it was the same thing. She beat me with a skillet, and I had bruises all down my back. It hurt to move. I said I was leaving, and she threatened me. She said she'd tell everyone I was hitting her and that she knew how to make the right bruises. I'd lose my friends, my career. And then she got all sweet, and said she didn't mean it, that she was sorry, and that she loved me."

"Two months after that, she hit me in the head with a skillet. Then, when I was down, she walked on my back wearing stilettos. She broke two ribs. And that was it, I realized I was a battered man for fuck's sake, and she was an evil, manipulative bitch."

"I went to therapy for a bit. It helped at first, but then it felt like I kept opening old wounds. So, I decided to accept the fact that I was broken and that I shouldn't have a serious relationship again. And I haven't. Just casual sex and hookups from time to time. Or, I tie up women at parties. It was fine. It was enough."

"But then I met you," he said, sitting up and looking at me intently. "And I realized I was hiding. That I wasn't really living."

Chris sighed. "So that's it. That's why I'm fucked up, that's why I will probably hurt both of us if we're in a relationship. I didn't know how to talk about it last time, which is why I bolted. I want to be with you, but I can't. I'm broken."

"Oh, Chris," Donna sighed as she held him close. "You're not broken. You're just hurt. It was a trauma, but you can get through it. You're strong! The fact that you could talk to me is a really good sign. You just need to move past this."

He pulled away and laughed bitterly. "You're such an optimist. That's great. I'm happy that's how you see the world. But not all traumas can be healed. Not everyone gets over it. Some people just stay fucked up," he said.

"I know something about trauma," she said. "I've been through some really fucked up stuff myself, and I managed to get past it." She sighed. "Of course, it took almost 20 years and therapy. And I'm not really over it. But I got through, somehow."

Chris looked at her, concerned. "What happened?"

She saw his genuine concern and affection and stifled a sob. She decided to trust him.

"Remember how I had nightmares when we were at the house?" she asked. Chris nodded.

"It wasn't just the stress of the situation. The whole thing was a major trigger. I don't think I could have gotten through it without you, to be honest." She had tears in her eyes, and he felt his heart wrench. He couldn't stand to see her in such pain.

"Come here," he said, and pulled her close. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair gently. "It's ok. You're safe now."

She sobbed into his chest. "This is really fucked up. It's hardly believable. But it happened."

"Tell me," he said gently. "You can trust me." And she knew she could.

"Twenty years ago, my mother had a nervous breakdown. She'd always had problems with anxiety and depression, but she always held it in. My father is a psychiatrist, but even he didn't see the signs. We all thought she was fine."

"She started spending more time with her Koran study group. She spent hours praying, which was unusual for her. Then, she started talking on the phone for hours with a friend in Iran. My parents are Iranian-they immigrated to the U.S. in the 70s."

"The thing is, the friend was actually a female minister, or the closest you can get to that rank as a woman. She was very religious and very conservative. And my mom talked to her about her guilt and shame, and how she was sure she was going to hell. It was depression, of course, but this minister woman couldn't see it. She thought the solution was more faith, and more prayer."

"This is the interesting thing about depression and religion. Depressed people feel like they are worthless. Everything is their fault. A religious person turns that into a story about how they have disappointed God. Religious texts all support this, particularly in Islam. The Koran is filled with vivid descriptions of hell, and warns the reader that most people are going there."

"So, my mother became convinced that she was a terrible person. The Koran also speaks of the importance of bringing up children properly, so that they don't go to hell. So, my mother turned her attention on me. I was the older one, the problem child. I was rebellious. I wanted to wear short shorts and go on dates. I told her several times that I didn't believe in God. At one point, I had even decided I was a Wiccan. I mean, I was 18. That's pretty normal."

"But, to my mother, this was not just the normal behavior of a young adult, especially the daughter of immigrant parents. She became convinced that the state of my eternal soul was at stake, and it was up to her to save it. You see, the Koran explains that the sins of the children do reflect on the sins of the parents. I think I even heard her once explain that this is why you couldn't have the day of judgement until everyone was dead. Because then you couldn't know the full repercussions of their actions."

"Jesus," Chris breathed. "Ok, maybe a poor choice of words. That sounds extreme."

"It was. There's a lot more," Donna continued.

"She became very concerned with my behavior, the length of my skirts, the amount of makeup I wore, and so on. Even though I was a freshman in college-living at home, of course-she wasn't willing to let go of anything."

"Eventually, she suspected I was dating. I was, of course. I met a guy from an AOL chatroom in 1996. We dated, and that's how I lost my virginity."

"Anyway, she realized I was on the phone late at night, and started listening to my phone conversations. Remember, this is before the days of cellphones, so all she had to do was pick up another extension."

"She heard me flirting one night, telling some guy I'd be the best he'd ever had. I guess that was my flirting strategy back then."

"Anyway, somehow she thought I was talking about him paying for sex. She heard flirting, and she heard negotiation! That's how foreign it was to her. She had never really integrated into American society."

"The shock of it must have made her spiral even more. Her worst fear was now confirmed: not only was I having sex, but I was prostituting myself! Never mind the fact that I had no unexplained influx of cash, no expensive purchases, nothing. But, somehow she remembered a conversation from a year prior, where I had told a family friend that, I'd 'do anything for money.' Of course, this was in the context of jobs that paid well, but had long hours. I was not fucking talking about selling my body, thank you very much!"

"But she didn't know that. And instead of confronting me and talking about it, she decided that I had gone the way of Satan and that she needed to save me. She told my father what she had learned. She was so convinced that she was right, that he believed her. He missed the signs of her mental illness. Instead, he saw that she was genuinely scared and upset, and assumed it was because his daughter was a whore. I mean, that would upset any mother, right?"

"He's never forgiven himself for that mistake. To this day, we have a strained relationship, because he feels he should have known better, that he should have seen that she was not well. Not only was he her husband, he was a psychiatrist! How could he not see the signs in his own wife?"

"Anyway, they talked and decided they needed to control my behavior. Since I was 18, I could do what I wanted. If they pushed too hard, maybe I would move out. Maybe I would join a brothel or become a junkie on the street. Well, I'm not exactly sure what they were thinking, but it had to be something pretty goddamn extreme for them to do what they did."

"They told my sister and I that our grandfather had surprised us with tickets to Iran, to commemorate the anniversary of my grandmother passing away. He was wealthy, eccentric, and very devoted to the memory of his late wife, so I believed the story. It seemed like something he would do."

"They told us we were going on a 2-week trip. I was resigned, knowing that it would be hard to convince a stubborn old man that this was bad timing."

"My sister, on the other hand, took a lot more convincing. She was furious, since she had just taken a 3-week trip to Iran a few months back, in the middle of the school year. My grandfather on my mother's side had passed away, and somehow they though it would be better to have my sister in Iran than for me to drive her to school. In retrospect, that should have been a clue."

"Anyway, she finally realized she had no choice. I had just started a job in retail, and my parents called my boss without me knowing, telling him I had a family emergency. Of course, he said it was fine, so I had no valid objections of my own."

"I used to have dreams that I went back there a few months later. I had started working at a new JC Penny store, stocking it before it opened. In my dreams, the store had already opened, and I was excited to see how nice my displays looked. I was always disappointed when I woke up. I never went back to that job."

"You see, the whole story was a fabrication. My grandfather had not bought us tickets. Instead, my parents had decided that the only way to save my eternal soul (and to make sure my sister's was also intact) was for us to live in Iran. They decided that my father would stay in the U.S., so that he could actually earn a living. I'm not sure when they thought we would return. Maybe when I embraced God and renounced my wicked ways? I'm not sure."

"So, one day before we were scheduled to return, my mother took me for a walk, and I had the worst conversation of my life. Everything changed after that day. I changed. My life was never the same."

"My mother told me that she had mislead me about the reason we were in Iran. It wasn't because of tickets from my grandfather. It was because an international trafficking ring had set its sights on me, and I was not safe in America. Apparently, a friend of a boyfriend of mine had decided I would be a perfect sex slave, and would not let the international organization let up, until they had found me."

"Of course, my mother thought we both knew that I had been a prostitute, so she thought the story should be believable. The entire thing felt surreal, of course."

"I believed her. For one thing, I could see that she was genuinely afraid of something back home. Second, I knew she considered it a mortal sin to lie so boldly. Finally, I had an ex-boyfriend who did seem sex-crazed, secretive, and very proud to show me off to a friend of his."

"So, I started suspecting him. It turns out he was just a horny 24-year-old who couldn't believe his luck in meeting a cute 18-year-old virgin on the Internet. I mean, this is 1996. No one met someone on the Internet. And he wanted to show me off to his friend, who he had undoubtedly told of my virgin status."

"Oh, and he was secretive because he worked for the NSA. Literally, he worked for the NSA. We lived near Fort Meade. He was an intern and afraid that he'd get a polygraph asking whether his friends used drugs, and he'd be thrown out. See, I occasionally smoked pot with some friends. It turns out these are the same friends he didn't want to meet, for fear of getting fired on a technicality."

"So, that was ironic. The man I was convinced had gotten me into this mess by having disreputable friends, worked for an agency who fights terrorism and human trafficking. He was a horny douchebag, but he worked for the good guys."

"So anyway, I believed the story. She provided just enough information for me to believe the wild stories. Supposedly, an FBI agent had passed on the info to my dad, even though he wasn't supposed to say anything. He had advised my father to get the family out of the country. I guess I had watched too many movies. Somehow it seemed plausible."

"And so it went. We lived there for 3 and a half years. My sister enrolled in high school. I took college classes. I switched majors to computer science and found that I was really passionate about it. I even started dating my C++ TA, which was one of the happiest times in my life there. With him, I could be myself. With everyone else, I pretended I was happy to live in Iran and that it was my choice."

"My aunts and cousins in the U.S. didn't believe me. They were on my mom's side of the family and thought this situation was my dad's doing. You see, his family was very conservative and religious, and taking his family to Iran was very much in character. In fact, for years, his mother had begged him to take his family away from the land of the Great Satan. Seriously, she used those words."

"I remember a phone call with her when I was 14. I explained that we couldn't just leave. I was in school! Subjects would be different. For instance, I was taking US history. I'd be behind in Iranian history."

"She blew up at that one, I learned later. She yelled at my father, asking him how he could raise a family that was learning the history of the land of thieves, instead of the wholesome Iranian values.

"So wholesome. In the Iran-Iraq war, boys as young as 12 were allowed to join the army. Not only didn't they discourage it, it was a cause for celebration! They were fighting a holy war, against the godless Iraq. Believe me, this was a sentiment she agreed with."

"Somehow, I held it together. I didn't have a nervous breakdown, I didn't get depression or anxiety, I just pushed through."

"I decided that maybe I should give religion a second chance. After all, my parents decided to forgive my sins, so maybe there was something there. Of course, I thought my sins were that I had dated the wrong guy and fucked up my entire family's life. That was an enormous burden of guilt to carry. I'm not sure I've ever gotten over it."

At this, Chris suddenly kissed me. "That was not your fault. Just as it wasn't my fault that I was beat up by my girlfriend. Your parents didn't protect you. They lied to you and betrayed you. You didn't do anything wrong! You were a virgin at 18, so in my book, you pretty much lived the straight and narrow. You probably got good grades and were an honor student, right?"

Donna nodded. "Yeah, I took AP classes, got into good colleges and got scholarships. My only real rebellion was that I'd sometimes drop acid with my friend. Oh, and smoke pot behind the school grounds."

"But my parents were never satisfied with my accomplishments. They praised me, of course, but I always felt like I was just doing what was expected. That's probably why, to this day, I'm never satisfied with my own accomplishments, either. I always feel like I should be doing more, gotten a bigger promotion, a bigger project, more success."