A Secret Rage by Charlaine Harris Page A

Obviously Cully had inherited his ‘slap, stroke’ technique from Elaine. But almost in the same instant I realized I was being grossly unfair. Elaine had undoubtedly been scared out of her wits. Her daughter had been only yards away from a terrible crime, and perhaps had escaped being its victim only by being on the second floor of the house.
    ‘I know you’ll want to leave us now, and you’ve only been here a few weeks. Please don’t think badly of us.’
    ‘Leave?’ I said blankly.
    ‘I hardly imagine you’ll want to stay here,’ she said in surprise. ‘I mean, with everyone knowing . . . you’ll be more comfortable where nobody knows.’
    ‘Why?’ Fool that I was, I really couldn’t imagine why. How could I get the support I needed, if no one around me knew me? Where should I go? Home to Mama, who would cry over me and then get drunk? Home to my stepfather, good old Jay?
    Elaine began to lose her assurance. Her dark bird-wing brows contracted. ‘Why, Nickie . . . Who could you date here? I think you’ve learned an awful lesson, the hard way, bless your heart, but surely you’ll want to start all over again somewhere else.’
    The three of us stared at her. Elaine rocked back on her haunches, a hard thing to accomplish in a ladylike manner in a skirt; but she managed.
    Cully said, ‘Mimi, do you understand what Mother’s saying?’
    ‘Yes,’ Mimi answered wearily. She rubbed a hand across her forehead.
    ‘What?’ I asked. ‘What’s she saying?’
    ‘She means no one will want to date you here, since you’re damaged goods now,’ Mimi answered. ‘I think she’s hinting that you somehow brought your rape on yourself.’
    Elaine had drawn herself up. She was not used to face-to-face challenges. She was not used to open contempt from her daughter. She wasn’t sensitive, but she would have needed a hide of iron not to feel her children’s exasperation and dislike at this moment.
    ‘Not exactly “brought it on yourself,” ’ she protested. ‘It’s letting them think they’re equal, welfare letting them have anything they want without having to work for it or pay for it. And the clothes girls wear now.’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe this.’ I leaned back against the soft couch and shut my eyes. But there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
    ‘You probably just smiled at one on the street and they just thought it was an invitation.’
    If Elaine Houghton felt this way, surely others would too. Elaine had never had an original emotion in her life. I hoped her comments would just evaporate; but they stuck to my skin, they congealed. I had more to face than I had imagined.
    ‘Mother, go away,’ Cully said quietly. I could feel his arm muscles tense.
    ‘Mrs Houghton,’ I said, opening my eyes and leaning forward painfully. ‘Listen to me. You’re Mimi’s mother, and I don’t want to be rude to you. But you have to understand how I feel. What happened last night . . .’ I drew a breath. ‘Getting raped . . . was in no way my fault. If I’d walked down the street buck naked, I would still in no way deserve what happened to me. I am not ashamed. If my purse had been snatched, you wouldn’t be saying what you’ve been saying. This was . . . another crime, a nastier crime. An act of hatred. But it was not my fault any more than a purse snatch would be.’
    As I mumbled this lengthy speech through swollen lips, I probed myself for the truth of what I was telling Elaine. I was formulating my thoughts as I spoke. It was true. I was not ashamed. But it was also true that I was horrified that even strangers to me would know approximately what had passed in the dark of my bedroom. It was sickening to conjecture that some people would look at me and try to picture my rape; perhaps secretly enjoy that picture, or think it served me right, in some mysterious way. There are a lot of black crevices in the corners of sympathy. Last night I’d fallen into one that had