After the doctor left, Ian sat on a chair with his head in his hands, silent for a long time before he looked at me, his face a mask.
“Gwen, the doctor said you weren’t, but I have to hear it from you. Did he…?” He stopped. “Did he…?” Ian choked on the words.
“Rape me?” I finished for him.
Ian flinched, then nodded sharply.
“No, he didn’t, he came pretty close, but the cops got there just in time,” I told him carefully, eyes on his clenched fists. “Ian…” I started, trying to think of a way to calm him down.
He pushed out of the chair so hard it clattered to the ground noisily. He turned towards the wall, throwing his fist at it, stopping before his hand made contact. I’d never seen my brother so angry. After being in the Army for almost twelve years, he had iron clad control over his temper, no matter how much anyone tried to rattle him. But right now it seemed like he was going to turn green and burst out of his clothes.
My brother and I were really close, always had been. Being five years older than me, Ian was my protector and best friend since the moment I was born. He walked me to school on my very first day, taught me how to ride my bike and the day he left for the army when I was thirteen was one of the saddest days of my life.
We grew up in New Zealand, in a small town, nestled away from the harsh realities of the real world, somewhere we were safe and happy. Sure it was sheltered, and the closest thing we had to couture was camouflage, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. We had an amazing childhood, loving parents, never wanted for anything and grew up in a beautiful country where we rode our bikes everywhere.
Even when Ian grew into a teenager, with multiple girlfriends and an unnatural talent for all sports, he never forgot me, never acted too ‘cool’ for me. For a ten-year-old girl who looked up to her brother, that was pretty damned special.
A couple of years after Ian left, I started to get a bit wild. Mum and Dad didn’t know what to do with me. I drank a lot, got bad marks at school, threw some pretty wild (legendary) parties and smoked a bit of weed. Nothing too out of the ordinary for kids my age, but not what my parents expected of me.
One night, after a party, I stumbled drunk into my house with my boyfriend when my parents were away. I knew I shouldn’t be doing it, planning on losing my virginity to a guy I didn’t love, but thought I had to do it sometime. I felt like the odd woman out amongst my sexually active friends.
Trent started kissing me and pulling off my clothes as soon as we got in the front door. I kissed him back for a while until he grabbed at my dress, trying to pull it up.
“No,” I slurred, “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”
“Come on, babe, don’t be a tease, you know you want to,” Trent whispered, grabbing at my dress and pushing me against a wall.
I started pushing at him. “No, Trent,” I protested, but he wouldn’t listen.
The lights flickered on, and I heard Ian’s bellow.
“What the fuck?”
Trent was ripped off me, and Ian held him by his collar, driving his fist through his face. Trent slumped to the ground holding a bloody nose.
“Ian, shit did you break his nose? Oh, man, I don’t want to clean that blood up,” I groaned.
Ian turned to me, anger radiating off him. “You okay, Ace?” he asked, using the nickname he’d had for me since before I could remember.
“Ummm yeah?” I looked at him expectantly. I hadn’t seen my brother in two years and this was not the situation I would have liked for his homecoming.
He turned back to Trent yanking him up. “If you lay a hand on my sister again or so much as look at her, I’ll kill you. Got it, asshole?”
“What’s your fucking problem, man? She’s my girlfriend,” Trent shot back, the idiot.
“I’d say by the way you were forcing yourself on her, she’s not your girlfriend anymore, dickbrain, now get out of my sight before I fucking lose it,” Ian yelled.
Trent quickly glanced over at me, blood still pouring from his nose.
I shrugged. “It’s not me, it’s you.”
He gave my brother a weary look then bolted.
“Great date!” I proclaimed sarcastically to his escaping form. I turned back to Ian and threw myself into his arms. “It’s soooo good to see you,” I slurred. “I missed you heaps!”
Ian squeezed me, then pulled back, anger returning to his gaze. “Seriously, Gwen, what would you have done if I wasn’t here? You’re wasted, that dress is too fucking short and Mum and Dad are gone — if I hadn’t stepped in…”
“Don’t worry so much, Ian, it’s all worked out now and you’re home!” I sang at him, my happy drunk buzz still firmly in place.
“Yeah, I am, but I have no idea who I’m looking at right now, Gwen. Drinking, partying, wearing clothes like that,” he spat out the words in disgust, gesturing at my dress. “Mum and Dad have been telling me your grades are suffering, and you’re skipping school? I don’t know what’s going on with you, Gwen, but you need to sort your shit out before you ruin your fucking life with actions you can’t take back.”
That was the only time I’d seen him really angry, and after seeing myself through his eyes, I got my act together. Well, not completely. I still caused a bit of trouble, but I got my grades back on track and stopped my mother from going prematurely gray.
The next time Ian saw me, I was doing pretty damned well for myself. I ended up getting a degree in fashion merchandising at university, my love of all things fashion being a part of me since I was old enough to dress myself. At twenty-one I graduated, moved to New York, got a job as a buyer for a department store and made myself a life. Ian stayed in the Army, travelling around the world, coming to New York a couple of times to see me, then going back home to see Mum and Dad.
That got me to thinking, I had only seen Ian a couple of months ago, he was meant to be on tour for another twelve months.
“Ian, how did you get here? Aren’t you meant to be in some undisclosed location, water boarding terrorists and beating infidels into submission?”
Ian turned from the wall, breathing heavily, my question taking a while to penetrate. He ran his hand through his lack of hair and sighed. “Yeah, but I got an emergency call from Amy, she somehow got a hold of my number. That girl could run a country,” he joked tightly.
“Amy?” I asked.
Amy was my best friend and roommate. I met her on one of my first days in New York. I was out having a drink in some trendy bar alone, which was scary, but I didn’t know anyone and was hoping to meet some awesome Sex and the City types and bond over cosmos. I cringed, thinking about my reasoning now that I was a savvy New Yorker, but back then I was a naïve country girl from New Zealand.
I had just taken my first sip of my cocktail when some greasy looking guy had sidled up to me and seriously couldn’t take no for an answer. After I had tried to politely decline his advances for the third time, I began to feel a little scared, not knowing a soul in the bar.
Enter Amy.
“Oh my god, babe, sorry I’m so late.” She breezed in, squeezing between the sleaze ball and me.
I gazed at the gorgeous stranger with wide eyes as she took a sip of my drink.