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Subject: {ASSM} Running From the Wind by Miss Behavin'
Date: Tue, 22 Apr 2003 14:10:03 -0400
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This story is dedicated to survivors. 

(C) Copyright 2000 Miss Behavin' www.MissBehavin@rogers.com
All rights reserved.  No permission is granted for reproduction
in any manner.

"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built
for."

-- John A. Shedd


                   Running From the Wind
                      by Miss Behavin'



"Yes, yes, yes!" she yelled as she rushed into his office and
slammed the door behind her.

Richard looked up from his report and grinned.  "I take it things
went well?"

"Fucking incredible," she said as she sat in the chair across from
his desk and crossed her legs.  "Walker finally signed on the
dotted line."

Richard smiled and silently clapped his hands together, feeling
himself getting dragged willingly into her success.  He had always
marveled over her refined looks and truck driver language. 
"Congratulations, Danica, you must be on cloud nine, and it's well
deserved, I must say."

Danica grinned and fidgeted in her seat.  "I can't believe it's
over, Rick, I really can't.  It seems like I've been living this
merger forever, and it's finally over!"

He watched her grin turn upside down.  "What's wrong then?"

She shook her head, frowning.  "It's really over."

"So shouldn't you be happy?"

Danica flipped him a fake smile.  "I am happy."

Richard put his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his
hands.  "Then why don't you look it?"

Her smile remained forced as she looked at him.  "I'm just tired,
I suppose.  Tired, relieved, and probably a little shocked still--I
didn't expect them to cave in quite so soon."

"Maybe you should take a few days off and concentrate on yourself
for a bit."

Danica looked at him and shook her head.  "No, I'm fine, really--
plus I have a ton of things I need to catch up on since this merger
was taking up all of my time."

"Those things will wait," he argued softly.

Danica stood up and straightened her skirt.  "Things will always
wait," she said, looking deeply into the only pair of eyes she
trusted, and yet, it didn't add up to much at times.  She felt
uneasy and wasn't sure why.  "But they never go away, so I'm off to
visit my desk and see how I can make them disappear."  She thought
about the Coleman case, and she frowned--something was bothering
her about it and she needed to look into it deeper.

He knew the look and didn't push the matter.  "How about a
celebration dinner?"

"I can't; I'm busy tonight."

"I didn't mention tonight," he said as he stood up and smiled.

Danica returned his smile.  "It doesn't matter; I'm still busy,
Richard."

Richard nodded and looked to his side out the large window, which
was like a picture frame surrounding the city below.  "It wouldn't
hurt to have dinner with me, Danica," he said softly, his eyes
returning to hers.

Danica walked to the door and opened it.  "It wouldn't help
either," she whispered before slipping out the door and closing it
silently behind her.

                          ~:~:~


"You can trust me."

"I know."

"Let's talk about your dream again from the beginning."

The room was dimly lit but not in an unnerving way--it was almost
comforting because she knew she was safe within its shadows.  "I
was trying to breathe, and I couldn't.  It was raining hard, and
everywhere I turned I could feel eyes following me.  I wanted to
scream, but nothing would come out."

"What were you feeling?"

"Scared.  Lost.  Small."

"Continue."

"I couldn't move.  It was raining hard.  It held me down, and when
I tried to scream--when I opened my mouth--I choked on the water."

Silence from the other side.

"I fought the force although I knew I couldn't win.  The rain came
down hard, pounding hard against my body.  I could feel it bruising
my skin, breaking my bones."

"What did you do?"

"I gave in."

                          ~:~:~


"Congratulations, Danica, that was one hell of a win yesterday."

Danica smiled over her coffee cup.  "Thanks, Peter."

He was leaning against the doorframe, smiling at her.  "How about
we celebrate--say seven o'clock at Chelsea's?"

"Thanks, I have other plans, but I'm sure the rest of my team
would love to go out."

"I wasn't asking them," he said solidly, "I was asking you."

Her phone rang, and she smiled at him as she reached for it. 
"Thanks, but the answer is still no."

Peter watched as she dismissed him in her own little way.  Pushing
himself away from the doorway, he quickly made his way down the
hall to Richard's office.  He entered without knocking, walking
directly to the window.

"Something I can do for you, Peter?"

"It's rumoured that Samson Industrial is having a little trouble
meeting their financial obligations these days," Peter said slowly
with no emotion in his voice.

"Anyone interested?"

"A few people," Peter said.  He watched as some dark clouds slowly
rolled across the sky, casting heavy shadows upon the countless
buildings below.  "I'm going to take Danica with me and pay them a
little visit."

Richard stood up and joined Peter at the window.  "Shouldn't we
get Research working on this first?"

"They've been on it for over a month; I have all I need to start."

"Danica is burnt, Peter.  Why don't you give her a break--I'll go
with you."

Peter looked at Richard for the first time since he had entered
his office.  "If I wanted you to go with me, Rick, I would have
asked you."

"She has a ton of stuff she needs to clean up, and I really don't
think she has the time right now, not to mention the energy to take
on another big project."

Peter's facial expression didn't change.  "Are you her keeper now?"

"No, I just . . ."

"Then I suggest you stay out of this.  I was merely informing you,
not asking your permission."  Peter reached out and lightly slapped
Richard's clenched jaw a couple of times, smiled, and then left as
quickly as he'd entered, only this time he was whistling.

                          ~:~:~


After entering her apartment, she punched in her PIN number for
the alarm and secured the two deadbolts and then the chain lock. 
She placed her purse and the stack of mail she was carrying on the
entryway table and looked across the room into the darkness.  The
red light flashed on her answering machine flashed like a beacon--
one she ignored as she hit the switch on the wall, lighting up the
room.

"Time for you to get up," she said, smiling as her cat blinked and
stretched.  He was lazing on the back of the couch, looking a
little perturbed by the intrusion.  "Don't look at me like that,"
she said as she picked up the mail and then sat on the couch,
flipping through the envelopes.  "Oh look, Smokey," she said,
showing him one of the envelopes.  "We might already be a winner!" 
The cat looked unimpressed and closed his eyes, wiggling his ears a
couple of times before slipping back into his previously
interrupted sleep.

Danica smiled at him and dropped her mail on the couch beside her,
putting her hands behind her head, and then sunk back into the
couch, staring at the ceiling.  She felt tired and restless--like
she should really be doing something but not knowing quite what. 
After practically living at the office for the past few months, it
didn't seem right that she should be home with nothing pressing to
do.

She grabbed the remote and turned the television on, changing the
channel to the country music video station before tossing the
remote back onto the couch.  Watching for a moment, she didn't
recognize the video and decided to get changed and make herself
something to eat.  As she walked across the living room, the framed
pictures on her piano caught her attention, and she found herself
being pulled towards them.  Her hand shook as she picked up a large
silver-framed picture--a family portrait over twenty years old. 
She smiled, running her fingertip over mother's image, which was
smiling brightly back at her. Beside her mother, her father stood
proudly with their three children standing stiffly in front. She
remembered the day the picture was taken and what a chore it had
been to get a good picture taken since her brothers Robert and
Jason had spent most of their time fighting and pulling at their
ties, complaining that they were too tight.

Her eyes drifted to the little girl standing directly in front of
her father; his hand was on her shoulder in a protective way.  She
closed her eyes for a second and could feel the warmth from his
hand, wishing she could always feel that safe and protected.  Long
blonde hair, captured in two ponytails, hung down her shoulders--
blue eyes shining with hope and trust, and a smile that didn't care
if two of her bottom teeth were missing.  She was in the company of
her family--loved and safe.  A tear slid down her cheek as she
returned the picture gently to its place on the top of the piano. 

The phone rang and she jumped, feeling her heart pounding hard in
her chest.  She turned and looked at the answering machine as it
picked up and prepared to take a message.

"Dani, are you there?"

Danica leaped for the phone, grabbing the receiver as she shut the
machine off.  "I'm here--hi, Mom."

"Screening your calls?"

Danica smiled as she curled up on the end of the couch.  "No, I
was in the other room and had to run to the phone.  How are you? 
How's Dad?"

"I'm fine and your father is . . . well, he's your father, what
can I say?"

Danica laughed softly, feeling warm inside.  "What's up?"

"Nothing--we were just heading out for a walk, and I realized you
hadn't called in over a week, so I thought I would call and see how
you were."

"I'm fine--just been busy at work, that's all."

There was a long pause and then her mother spoke.  "Why do I think
you're lying to me?"

"I'm not--I really am fine, a little tired maybe, but I'm okay."

"You wouldn't lie to an old lady, would ya?"

"No, and I wouldn't lie to you either," Danica said softly.

"I'm always here for you--you know that."

Danica closed her eyes.  "Yes, I know," she said softly, feeling
another tear slide down her cheek.  "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, my Danica.  You call me if you need anything,
okay?"

"I'll call you even if I don't need anything," Danica said.  "Bye,
Mom."

"Bye, sweetie."

She held the phone against her ear until the dial tone started to
ring in her ear.  Gently, she placed the receiver back into the
cradle and looked at Smokey, who was still sleeping.  "You should
call your mother, Smokey; she probably misses you."

                          ~:~:~


"Who the hell cares?"

"I do," Danica said, tossing a file on her desk before turning
around to glare at Peter.  "I do!"

"Why?  Why the hell would you care?"

"Because people are going to lose their jobs, and we assured them
it wouldn't happen."

Peter laughed.  "No, no.  We said there was little chance of that
happening, but think again, Danica--the world ain't perfect, and
the moon isn't made of green cheese--life sucks and then you die."

"Reading motivational books again?"

"Listen, Danica . . .  I'm trying very hard to be patient with you
these days, but frankly, I don't think I can do that anymore.  What
the hell is wrong with you?"

"I haven't been sleeping well," she said truthfully, "but beyond
that, nothing.  I just happen to think you're full of shit and a
big fucking liar."  She knew she had gone too far, but she couldn't
stop herself.

"I could fire you in a heartbeat," Peter said.  As much as he'd
like to have had Danica by his side and, better yet, in his bed, he
still needed to show her that he wouldn't tolerate this
insubordination, but he found it hard to be tough with her.

Her eyes challenged his.  "Then do it."

"No, I think you'd enjoy it too much," he said, and then despite
himself, he smiled.  "I'll talk to Krueger about the situation, but
honestly, it's no longer in our hands, and you know that."

"No?  What about our responsibility?"

"It left the moment the papers were signed, and you know that. 
What the hell is going on in your head these days?  You're acting
like we haven't been through this a hundred times--like you don't
know what happens to the companies that get eaten up by those more
powerful.  Don't pity the victims, Danica; they had their chance."

Danica's mouth went dry.  "What . . . what do you mean by 'don't
pity the victims'--what the hell does that mean?"

"Victims was probably the wrong word--I meant the underdogs."  He
looked at her stance and started to feel uncomfortable--there was
no comfort behind her blue eyes, just oceans of nothingness.

"Same thing," she said, her voice cracking.

"It's the nature of the business!" Peter said loudly.  "We look
for the weak and take advantage of their situation and then make
them an offer they can't refuse, but if they do refuse, we are
sometimes forced to give them a little push--help them make up
their minds.  Give them something they didn't ask for, so to speak."

Danica felt her stomach turn.  Not once in her three years of
working for Target Inc. had she ever thought that what she was
doing was no better than what had been done to her.  Her head
started to spin, and she grasped her desk, leaning against it
before sliding to the floor.  She could hear Peter talking to her,
but the other images were stronger.  It was raining again and the
wind . . . the wind felt hot against her face, touching her skin
and almost burning it.  It howled in her ear, whispering the words
imprinted in her brain.

                          ~:~:~


Richard heard the scream and dropped the phone on his desk before
racing down the hall until he was at Danica's door.  Rushing in, he
almost knocked over Peter, who was trying to talk to Danica at a
safe distance.  She was on the floor, curled up in a ball, crying
and rocking.

He got down on his hands and knees and crawled slowly over to her,
saying her name softly, over and over again.  Her eyes were open
and looking straight at him, but he was sure she couldn't see him. 
"Dani. . . it's okay, Dani . . . I'm right here . . . Dani, I'm
right here."  He reached out to touch her, and she screamed again,
trying to back away from him but unable to because her desk blocked
her path.  He didn't move.  "Peter, I think you should leave and
close the door behind you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter said.

Richard looked up at Peter.  "Get the hell out of here . . . NOW!"

A small crowd had gathered at Danica's door, each person trying to
crane their neck to see what was going on and how the two top
officials in the company were involved.

"Just do it," Richard pleaded in a small voice.  "Go."

Peter turned around, and the visitors, who had only moments ago
occupied the door space, disappeared. He looked back once and then
left quietly, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

"Dani," Richard said softly, still not moving.

The rain pounded down, and the wind whistled.  "I'm no better than
him," she cried.

"Who?  Who is 'him'?"

"I'm worse because I've done it to millions," she said.

Richard moved slowly until he was sitting on the floor, cross-
legged and still facing her.  He had no idea what she was talking
about.  "What have you done?"

Danica felt the rough carpet scratch against her face as she
turned her head to look at Richard.  "I didn't mean to," she said
in a small voice.

He wanted to grab her and hold her little body tightly against his
own.  She looked like a small child, paralyzed with fear and
remorseful over something beyond her control.  It was hard to
control his urge, but he sensed if he did reach for her, it would
set her back further into wherever she had left reality for.

"I can't do this anymore; it's not right."

"Okay," he whispered.  "We'll get you out of this."  He had no
idea what he was promising to help her do--what she couldn't do
anymore.  For several minutes he watched as she seemed to calm
down.  Her breathing became a little steadier, but she continued to
rock gently.

"Is there someone I could call, Danica?  Someone who can help you?"

"Only I can help myself; I am ultimately responsible for what
happens to me."

He looked at her and wondered what was going on in her mind.  She
sounded like herself again--like she had magically flipped a
switch.  "Let me help you," he said softly.  He watched as she
suddenly sat up and leaned back against her desk.  Her hair was
messed, and mascara ran in long dark streaks down her pale cheeks. 
"Let me help you," he repeated.

Danica looked at him, realizing suddenly that the rain and wind
had stopped--there was nothing but silence.  "I need to go home,
Rick," she said.  "Will you please take me home?"

Richard stood up and moved closer to her, holding out his arm and
offering her his hand.  He fully expected her to push it away and
stand up herself, but she didn't.  A moment later her small hand
was in his, and she allowed him to carefully pull her up and help
her stand on unsteady legs.  As suddenly as her hand had appeared
in his, it left.  He watched silently as she moved around her
office.

"Do you want your coat?"

"I need a box," she said.

"For?"

"For my things.  I need a box to pack up my things."

Richard shook his head.  "I don't understand," he mumbled as he
watched her empty a box of files onto her desk, and then start
filling the box with items from her desk.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm going where the wind doesn't blow," she said, looking at him
for a moment, and then she continued her packing.

                          ~:~:~


"What made you quit?"

"I realized I was doing to others what had been done to me, just
in a different way."

"How?"

"I was taking advantage of the weak.  I don't know why it took me
so long to see the truth."

"Four weeks ago you took a step backwards or perhaps forward--what
happened?"

She closed her eyes and remembered.  "We were working late and had
ordered in sandwiches.  It had been a really long day, and I was
physically exhausted, although my mind didn't want to stop. 
Everyone had left, except for Rick."  She opened her eyes.  "We
took our sandwiches and coffee and sat in the window and talked for
a long time.  Rick started telling me a story about his childhood--
how they used to go camping for two weeks every August.  They
didn't do anything spectacular, but he could remember counting down
each day until the day they were scheduled to leave.  He told me
some funny stories about his childhood, talked about his life, and
I talked a little about mine.  Then suddenly I found myself feeling
very close to him, and the feelings were very strong.  I wanted to
be closer to him."

"Does that bother you?"

"It feels strange, but not overly uncomfortable.  I've come to
find being near Rick is usually a safe feeling."

"What did you do with those feelings?"

"I held them close--even when I got home, I thought about them,
trying to feel them again."

"Did you?"

"I felt them as I fell asleep, yes."

"When did you have the first nightmare?"

"That night."

"Why didn't you tell me about these feelings four weeks ago?"

"I didn't think there was a link between the feelings and the
nightmare."

"Tell me something, do you still carry the same feeling you did
that night?"

She tried to focus on the question.  "Sometimes.  There are times
when I see him and feel them, and then other times I feel cold but
not as much as it feels good."

"Does Rick know what happened to you?"

"No!" she said quickly.

"Is he someone you want to let into your life?"

"No.  Yes . . . maybe.  I don't know."

"The day in your office--the day you quit . . . what happened?"

"I was talking to someone, and then I heard the rain and felt the
wind.  The more he talked, the more I realized I was doing
something very wrong with my life.  I felt like I was on the other
side looking in--I had changed positions and was no longer the
victim."

"What did you do?"

"I hid.  I blocked out the wind and the rain and hid until Richard
came in."

"What did he do?"

"He pulled me back--Rick pulled me back."

"You switch between calling him Richard and Rick, why is that?"

She thought about it.  "I don't know."

"Are you having flashbacks?"

"Sometimes."

"Often?"

"Maybe once a month."

"How do you handle them?"

"I see them, feel them.  I don't block them anymore."

"How do you feel afterwards?"

"Anxious usually.  They don't paralyze me like they used to."

"Do you accept what happened to you?"

"I don't understand the question.  I know it happened to me, but I
can't accept that it did."

"But you don't deny it--that's what I was getting at."

"No, I don't deny it."

"When you think about what happened, do you feel angry?"

"Depends.  Sometimes I do.  Sometimes I get so angry that I just
scream.  Other times I feel sorry for myself and wonder why it
happened to me.  It really depends on my mood, and often I try and
just bypass the feelings all together."

"Was it your fault?"

"Absolutely not!"

"You're a strong woman, Danica.  You've come a long way in five
years, and I think these latest dreams have very little to do with
you slipping back into old memories.  I think you're trying to go
someplace you're not particularly comfortable with, but you're
ready for.  What do you think it is?"

"Intimacy."

                          ~:~:~


Richard pushed open the thick drapes and then leaned against the
window frame as he stared out into the night.  He found his
thoughts focused around Danica, which wasn't unusual these days. 
He wondered how she was doing and prayed she was safe and happy. 
He couldn't count the number of times he reached for the phone
every day and started to dial her number, only to hang up, the
number only half dialed.  He reasoned that if she wanted to talk to
him, she would call, but a small part of him knew she wouldn't.

His smile was gentle as her face flashed before his eyes.  He
remembered a time in the parking lot when he had looked deeply into
her eyes, snowflakes sticking to her long dark eyelashes, and found
himself falling completely and madly in love with her.  Any other
women he would have tried to court, but he knew it wouldn't work
with Danica.  Although he wasn't exactly sure of her situation,
intuition told him to approach with caution.  He frowned and
sighed.  If he was right in his speculations, Danica had been hurt
in the past and not just the kind of hurt that resulted from a bad
relationship and a broken heart--it was deeper than that.  He
prayed he was wrong, but doubted it.  The signs were all there and
had been displayed to him constantly over their three year working
relationship.  No matter how hard she tried to hide her fear and
mistrust, it stood out if one took the time to notice.  He felt his
muscles begin to tense as they always did when he thought of anyone
hurting her.  Violent images filled his mind as hate for someone
he'd never met strangled his heart.  It wasn't the first time he
had felt this way, and he doubted it would be the last.  Each and
every time he thought about it he became angry in such a way that
he couldn't understand where it was coming from.

He studied the stars outside his window and then felt his body
slowly start to relax.  It had been a week since he had helplessly
watched Danica pack a cardboard box with her personal belongings--a
week since he had heard her voice or seen her smile.

"Enough is enough," he whispered as he turned from the window and
headed towards the phone.

                          ~:~:~


Lying on her bed, she studied the stucco ceiling and wondered who
had come up with such a thing.  Her mind wandered from the stucco
to wondering if she'd remembered to feed Smokey.  She thought about
everything except what she knew she really needed to think about. 
Rick.

Smokey jumped up on the bed and curled up beside her, purring
roughly.  She scratched him between the ears absently, seeing
Rick's smiling face flash before her.  They had known each other
for three years now.  It was Rick who had originally hired her at
Target Inc.--taking a chance on her since she didn't have any real
work experience in the financial trade.

She had moved to London to try and make a new start in a place
that held no memories--good or bad. Although London is only a two
hour drive from Toronto, the distance and the difference in the
cities was enough to make her feel like she was a world away. 
After searching for almost a month--several interviews but no
offers--she had applied for a receptionist job at Target Inc. 
She'd worked relief reception and knew that although the job was
usually a busy one, it wasn't exactly brain surgery.  Rick talked
to her for about five minutes and then offered her the position,
but only after asking her where she saw herself in five years.  She
had answered him honestly, saying she definitely wouldn't be at the
reception desk and continuing on to tell him she really wanted to
get into research.

Four months later, Rick was interviewing for a new receptionist as
Danica was moved to the Research Department.  She had loved the
work there and had been damn good at it.  She went the distance--
took the extra step to investigate even the smallest detail, which
usually proved to be very fruitful for the company.  Immersing
herself in her job was not only satisfying, but it also helped her
almost to forget what she was mentally running from.

A year and a half later, Rick asked her if she'd like to try her
hand helping him with a merger.  She readily agreed, but became
reluctant after she realized that it meant working a lot of late
nights--just her and Rick.  After a week of working every night
with him, she began to relax and enjoy what they were doing. He was
always a perfect gentleman, and she loved the way she felt when
they were together.  He made her feel useful and complimented her
constantly on her knack for asking the right questions and for her
need to always dig a little further to get to the core of a problem
and then to solve it.  She found her confidence building and her
self-esteem growing.  With him near her, she felt like she could do
anything.

Confident with her progress, Rick started sending her out on her
own, not only encouraging her to try but also reminding her he was
available for advice.  She was nervous, often questioning her own
judgment and looking to him for support, which he readily gave. 
One thing with which she continually had a problem was going to the
various companies for meetings--it meant meeting strangers without
a familiar face in the room.  There were times she had been sitting
in a meeting and had to excuse herself hurriedly to find the ladies
room and try to collect herself.  At times she wanted to bolt out
the door and not look back, but something always stopped her. 
Pride.  She liked her job, and she didn't want to disappoint anyone.

Thinking about that now made her smile, thinking about what an
idiot she had been.  It had never been about her; it was always
about how other people would see her.  She could disappoint
herself, but she was afraid to do it to others because of what they
would think and say.  Old habits really did die hard.

Smokey stretched out, let out a little mew, and went back to
sleep.  She rolled onto her side and thought about Rick in a more
personal light.  About six months previous he had rushed into her
office wearing a tuxedo, looking totally frantic.

"You're my last hope, Danica!  I know this is above and beyond the
call of duty, and you probably don't want to be seen with an old
geezer like me, but I need help!"

She had laughed and asked him what his problem was.  He went on to
explain that he was to present a speech at a very exclusive
gathering of financial officers and at the last minute his date had
cancelled.  He had dropped onto the floor and walked on his knees
up to her desk, begging her to go with him so he didn't have to
look at an empty chair beside him all night and feel like a big
loser who couldn't get a date. Without even thinking, she told him
she would go.  They had rushed to her apartment so she could
change, and it wasn't until she was seated at his side, listening
to another speech, that she realized what was happening.  She was
essentially on a date, with a man, and she seemed to be okay with
it.  The evening had turned out well, and not only did she enjoy
Rick's company and those at the table, she had also learned a few
things.

The elevator ride and the walk to her door seemed to take hours. 
She felt sick--afraid of what would happen and at the same time,
trying to remember the moves she had learned in her self-defense
classes. One side of her mind fought with the other--after all, it
was Rick and he wouldn't hurt her, but her mind still spun with
thoughts.  Every six minutes someone is raped, and more women are
raped by someone they know than by a stranger -- both sickening
statistics.  Her mind whirled, and suddenly they were at her door,
and Rick was thanking her for saving his reputation as a stud.  She
had laughed hard, mostly her nerves taking over.  Then he smiled
and told her to have a great weekend, before he turned and walked
back to the elevator--he never touched her.

At the last Christmas party, they had danced twice, and before she
left, he kissed her on the cheek and wished her the usual season's
greetings.  She hadn't flinched--they were in a room full of people
and she had been feeling very comfortable after a couple of glasses
of rum-spiked eggnog.

The next episode had occurred about three weeks later and late one
night.  It was getting close to midnight, and they were in the
parking lot trying to unbury their cars from several inches of
thick wet snow.  She had been scraping off her windshield when the
first snowball struck her in the shoulder, and the next one hit her
in the back of the head.  Running to the other side of her car, she
sought protection behind it while masterfully making her own
snowballs.  He came around the side of the car, trying to surprise
her, but she was ready and pelted him repeatedly until she ran out
of ammo.  They chased each other around like children until they
called a truce.  Panting, they both leaned against his car and
laughed, feeling the snow fall gently on their faces as they smiled
at each other.

She smiled again and rolled onto her back.  The night they sat in
the window and talked had been amazing and had been a complete eye-
opener for her.  Rick talked so easily about his past--his
childhood, his rebellious teenage years, and then his marriage and
children.  He didn't seem to mind talking about his divorce, and
according to him, it was quite amicable.  Two people who had
married too young and drifted apart to the point where they no
longer enjoyed each other's company.  They parted ways, but
remained friends and raised their kids as parents, not angry
people.  Both of his kids were now in university, and he talked
fondly of them.  She had lost interest in her sandwich as she
listened to him, getting lost in his memories and the emotion in
which he told his stories.

He hadn't pushed her for any details, although she shared some of
her childhood stories with him, feeling very comfortable sharing a
piece of herself with him.  They discussed their education and then
started to gossip about people in the office, which was extremely
entertaining since Richard was able to do a great impression of
Peter when he was frustrated.  It was hard to believe at times that
Richard and Peter were brothers--they were as different as night
and day when it came to their personalities.

The phone on her nightstand let out a shrill ring, and she sat up,
her heart pounding hard.  She hesitated for a second, wondering if
she should let the answering machine get it, and then picked up the
receiver on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Dani, hi . . .  It's Rick."

Her heart pounded hard.  "Hi there."

"Our new receptionist quit, and I was wondering if you wanted a
job."

She laughed.  "Thanks, but I don't think I'm qualified."

"That didn't stop us the first time," he said, laughing softly. 
"How are you doing, Dani?"

"Fine.  I'm really fine, Rick."

"It's been a week, and I guess I was hoping you'd change your mind
and come back--I've been telling everyone you're on vacation."

She laughed and flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes.  "I'm
not coming back, so maybe you should tell them I ran off with the
guy who fills the water coolers, and get it over with."

"Hey now!  If you're going to run away with anyone, it better be
me."  He heard Danica catch her breath; then he chuckled.  "I bet
that just shocked the hell out of you, huh?"

"A little, yes," she said, and she wondered if he could hear her
smiling.

"It's true, Danica, and if you couldn't tell, then I'm really
slipping in my old age."

"I don't know what to say," she breathed out slowly.

"How about saying you'll have dinner with me this Friday night."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  "Yes."

"Sorry, what did you say?"

She laughed.  "I said yes."

"Hang on a sec, I need to turn up my hearing aid; it almost
sounded like you said yes to having dinner with me."

"Actually I said pick me up at seven, dress casual, and if you're
late, you'll have a date with the doorman." She snickered and hung
up the phone before he could say anything, and then she started
laughing at her boldness.  Smokey stretched and mewed, focusing his
deep green eyes on her.  She patted his head quickly and then
jumped out of bed to figure out what she was going wear--after all,
she only had four days to decide.

                          ~:~:~


"Are you nervous?"

"Yes, but in a good way."

"Explain."

"Well it's made up more of excitement than of fear of the unknown.
I feel like I can handle it, and I'm anxious for it to happen."

"You do realize you're going to be on a different playing field
now, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"So far, any interaction between you two has been on a work level,
even your night out with him wasn't a date--this will be."

"I understand that."

"This is a big step for you, Danica, and I believe you're ready
for it this time."

"I hope so."

"What if he wants to kiss you?"

Pause.

"As long as it's not a surprise kiss, I'm pretty sure I'm going to
kiss him back."

"And if he touches you intimately?"

"He won't."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I'll tell him to stop if it's making me uncomfortable."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'll snap him in half like a twig," she said lightly and smiled.

                          ~:~:~


"This is . . . different," she said as they stood in the entrance
of a small caf,, which looked like it used to be a house.  The
walls were painted in a bright lime green, which surprisingly
wasn't hard on the eyes. Rows upon rows of what appeared to be hand-
made decorator plates lined the walls.  In the huge picture window
in the front of the caf, hung white Christmas lights with old
silver kitchen utensils hanging from the stringers.  The overall
affect was strange, but oddly quite pleasing to the eye.  There
were small tables lined up both walls, and not one of them was
vacant.  Couples were talking quietly as they ate their meals,
drank their wine, and they basically looked very relaxed in the
atmosphere.  Soft music was playing somewhere in the background.

Richard smiled at her as he watched her eyes dart over the room. 
"Trust me, this is one of the best places to eat in London, and
lucky for you, I know the owner and was able to get us in--it's
very popular. They've received a few very prestigious awards over
the past couple of years."

"If it's so popular, why don't I know about it?" she challenged.

"Because you live the life of a mole," he said and tapped his
index finger against the tip of her nose.

She was about to comment when from behind her came a squeal that
sounded like a cat had just been run over.

"Reeeeeccchaaarddddd!"

"Show no fear; he feeds off it," Richard advised quietly.  "Zamboo!"

Zamboo?  Danica wondered what she had gotten herself into and then
looked in amazement as a little man rushed flamboyantly across the
tiny caf,.  He was wearing a bright yellow tee shirt, black walking
shorts, hiking boots, and gray wool socks pulled up to his knees. 
A tiny brightly coloured African-type beanie hat adorned his head,
and his thick black-rimmed glasses reminded Danica of the ones her
grandfather used to wear.

Zamboo hugged Richard and kissed both his cheeks.  "So good to see
you, my friend, and I might add you're looking very well."

Richard smiled and looked at Danica.  "I'd like you to meet my
friend Danica.  Dani, this is Zamboo, who runs this fine
establishment, and although he may look friendly, watch out for
him."

"Oh, you!" Zamboo said, batting his eyelashes at Richard.  "You
know she is perfectly safe around me!" He smiled at Danica and took
her hand, kissing the back of it.  "Welcome, darling Danica."

Danica smiled warmly. "Thank you."

"I saved the best seat in the house for you!  Follow me and keep
your eyes off my butt, Richard."

Richard laughed.  "I'll walk behind Danica then."

They followed him to the back of the restaurant and down a small
flight of stairs to a small table that was right in front of a big
picture window, overlooking a small flower garden.  Zamboo told
Richard he would be back shortly with a bottle of wine and then
disappeared.

Richard leaned forward in his chair.  "You get used to him after a
while."

Danica laughed.  "He seems very sweet."

"He's harmless," Richard said, drinking in her presence.  "When I
first met him, his name was Gord, but something happened when he
came back from a trip to Africa, and he suddenly decided that
everyone must call him Zamboo--no exceptions."

Danica laughed as she looked at Richard.  Their eyes met for a
moment, and then she looked around the restaurant.  "This is a nice
place," she said softly.  The colour on the lower level was a very
soft yellow, which almost seemed to make everything seem hazy.  As
on the top floor, all of the tables and chairs were different, yet
the mix-matched pieces seemed to fit perfectly.

"It's one of the best places I've ever eaten, and I'm not just
saying that because the owner hits on me all the time."

On cue, Zamboo showed up with a bottle of wine and poured them
each a healthy glass.  He disappeared quietly, and they raised
their glasses in a toast.  "To friendships," Richard said, and
Danica smiled.

"To friendships."  She took a sip of her wine and replaced her
glass on the table before picking up her menu.  "What do you
recommend?"

"Everything," he said as his eyes never left her face.

"You're helpful," she muttered as she studied the menu.  She could
feel him looking at her as she read.

"I try."  He sipped his wine and wondered why she had said yes to
his offer, although he wasn't completely sure he wanted to know. 
For over a year he had wanted to become closer to her and start an
intimate relationship.  Each time he tried, he hit one of her
walls, and she backed away, which only stopped him for a short
period of time, and then he tried again--never one to give up on
something he believed in.

They ordered appetizers and then their dinner, both deciding on
the roast pork with steamed vegetables, which were grown by Zamboo
and his partner.  As they ate, they discussed everything from what
was happening at the office, to politics, to their views on world
events.  Richard pushed her to talk more as he tried to get a
handle on who and where she was.  At times he thought he knew her
completely--had her figured out--but then she'd say something
completely out of character and throw him off.  She was extremely
intelligent, well read, and stood behind what she believed in with
stubbornness second to none. She was also witty, with a sense of
humour that could bite.  A few times he had to stop and look at her
to see if she was kidding or not.  As soon as she smiled, he
laughed and shot her a look.

"I just don't believe in guns," she said as she buttered another
piece of the warm sourdough bread.

"Charlton Heston would disagree," Richard said smiling.  He also
didn't believe in guns, but was enjoying the spirited look in her
eyes when he had quoted what the morning papers had said about
recent gun control laws.

"He's American, which means his opinion doesn't matter here."

"Here as in Canada, or here as in at this table?"

"Both," she said as she took a small bite of her bread.  "I'll
never understand his statement about it's not guns who kill people,
it's people who kill people.  I mean, I realize someone pulls the
trigger, but without a trigger to pull . . ." her voice trailed
off.  "I hate it.  I hate all the violence that plagues the news--
morning, noon, and night.  It makes me sick to hear that a six-year-
old can get a gun and kill another child.  People being forced to
do things because they fear for their lives--kids rampaging through
their school and randomly firing.  I thought it was safe here and
never expected there to be the amount of violence, although it's a
small amount, but still . . . last year when the guy was stabbed
downtown, and then the gang shootings, I wondered if I was living
in Toronto again."

Richard had long since forgotten his dinner and just listened to
her talk.

"Sometimes when I'd leave the office in the wee hours of the
morning, I'd see young teenagers in doorways downtown, and I
wondered where their homes were--if they had homes, and if they
did, where were their parents?  All of these kids are walking
around with huge attitudes, just looking for a fight to prove their
point.  Where does it end?  How do we stop it?"

"Do you think we can?"

"No, I honestly don't think so, but I also believe there aren't
enough people out there who are actually trying to help.  They are
the people who complain that the city isn't safe, and yet they do
nothing to change it."

"Do you?"  He wondered if he should have asked.

"Not as much as I should, I'm sure, but I do what I can."

"What's that?"

Danica leaned back in her chair and stared at Richard.  "I give to
the cause--money, clothes to the women's shelters, food to the food
banks--whatever I can."

"Have you every physically volunteered to work at any of the
shelters?"

She looked at the table.  "No."  There was a long pause before she
said, "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Do I get dessert?"

He smiled.  "Of course.  I can't believe you ate all of that--
where do you put it?"

Danica smiled, although she felt uneasy.  "Like I'm going to tell
you my secret."

He noted the change of topic and went along with it, knowing if he
called her on it, the date would probably end quickly.  Dessert was
home baked cheesecake, topped with fresh raspberries and a sprig of
mint.  They ate in silence, both pondering something different. 
Danica wondered if he noticed how she had avoided his question, and
Richard wondered if he'd be allowed to take her somewhere after
dinner.

There was a warm, sweet breeze blowing as they walked down the
sidewalk to Richard's car.  He didn't take her hand or put his arm
around her shoulders, although both actions had crossed his mind. 
"Are you up for a walk somewhere?  Springbank Park, perhaps?"

"I think that's exactly what we need to wear off that dinner!  It
was wonderful, Richard, thank you."

Richard smiled and opened the car door for her, catching the faint
fragrance of her hair as she slipped into the car.  "I'm sure Gord
. . . err, Zamboo will be pleased to hear you enjoyed it, because I
know next time I see him he'll grill me about you."

Danica waited for him to get into the car before asking, "Why will
he be grilling you?"

Richard pulled out and headed down the street, smiling.  "Because
you're the first date I've ever taken there.  I usually only take
open-minded clients there, or go with friends."

"Ahh . . .  Where do you usually take your dates then?"

"You make it sound like there have been a lot of them," he said as
he turned a corner.  "But there haven't been."

"So you take them to your place then?" she said, flashing him a
smile.

"Right . . . and then I make them cook me dinner, as women should
do."  The smack in the arm he received made him laugh.  "And if
they're really good, I get them to iron a few of my shirts."

"Oh brother," she said laughing, and then as she stared out the
window, she smiled softly.

"Hey, if you're really good, I'll take you into Story Book
Gardens," Richard said as he drove slowly through the park.

"I've never been in there," she said and smiled at him.  

Richard gasped.  "You're kidding?  We need to correct that this
minute!"

Story Book Gardens was a play land for kids, located in the middle
of Springbank Park, and it came complete with animals, some of
which could be petted.  The storybook theme of the park housed
mostly nursery rhymes like "The Three Little Pigs" and "Mary Had A
Little Lamb."  Each rhyme was proudly displayed for people to read
and remember--share it with their kids--and people could pet Mary's
little lambs or laugh at the three little pigs.  Richard remembered
taking his kids there summer after summer. Now and then something
new would be added, but his kids never cared because what was
already there was always enough to keep them amused.  They'd spend
hours looking at the animals and then playing on the swings, tunnel
slides, and the massive rope spider-web where the Itsy Bitsy Spider
stared down from above, looking like she'd drop back onto her web
any moment.  Once the kids got a little older, Story Book Gardens
didn't hold the excitement they wanted, and the summer trips for
amusement changed to heading to Toronto to go to Canada's
Wonderland.

Richard pulled his car up in front of the big castle, and together
they walked over the bridge to the entrance and frowned when they
saw the closed sign.  "That sucks," Danica said.

Richard looked around.  "We could hop the fence."

She raised an eyebrow.  "You know, if I ever get arrested, I'd
prefer for it not to be for breaking into kiddy land."

"You're no fun," Richard said and smiled at her.  "Okay then, you
have yourself a rain-cheque, which is non-refundable, and I guess
we'll have to walk around the park."

They walked in a comfortable silence, each taking in the night--
the smells and sounds.  The park was busy with activity.  People
came from all over the city to walk, roller blade, play Frisbee,
bike ride, or sit down by the Thames River and watch time slowly
slip by.  Picnic tables were scattered around, and during the day,
there were always families making full use of the facilities.  Many
times, there would be four or five family reunions held in the park
on one day.

"It's so beautiful here," Danica said as she looked around.  The
park was full of paths, leading to open ground, down to the river,
or into what seemed to be a dense forest.  The Parks Commission had
always done a wonderful job of planting flowers, and right now, the
tulips were in full bloom, appearing to be an endless sea of colour.

"Yes, you are," Richard said and kept walking like he hadn't said
what he had.

Danica rolled her eyes.  "Nice line."

"Wasn't a line," Richard said and stopped walking.  She stopped
and turned to him.  "It's true, and it needed to be said."

"Feel better now?" she asked as she looked directly into his green
eyes.

"Almost."

"What else?"

He smiled and shook his head.  "Nothing."

"Tell me, please."

"Okay," he said, slowly letting out his breath.  "There's
something I've always wanted to do, and that's kiss you."

Her eyes never left his.  It's what she wanted to do or at least
what she thought she wanted.  She wanted to feel again--feel
anything for someone besides fear and resentment.  "I'm waiting,"
she said softly.

Richard wasn't sure his legs would move, but they didn't fail him,
and he took the two steps to get to her. His hand brushed her hair
back from her face, the fine soft strands falling between his
fingers.  She tilted her head back, and he looked into her deep
blue eyes for some sort of a sign that she really did want him to
kiss her.  It felt weird, like he was moving in slow motion as he
leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, his hand on the back
of her head.

Danica felt his warm lips on hers, and the sound of her heart
pounding was almost deafening in her ears. The kiss was soft and
gentle, and suddenly it was over.  She opened her eyes; his face
was still inches from hers, and she smiled after he whispered
"thank you" to her.

They walked for over an hour through the park, stopping at the
river to toss rocks into the water, and then Richard taught her how
to skip stones--something she'd never been able to do.  As they
walked back up the riverbank, he reached back and took her hand,
pulling her up, and when they reached the top, he didn't let go and
she didn't pull away.

They heard the music from the carousel before they saw it.  The
night was getting darker, and as they rounded a bend, the carousel
came into view, its bright lights shining like a beacon in the
night.  Danica walked slower as she stared at it, feeling her
stomach flipping.

Richard felt her tense, and he held her hand a little tighter,
looking at her.  "Are you okay?"

She nodded and kept walking, straight towards the carousel.  The
music and movement of it seemed to draw her in as she walked like
she was dreaming.  She could tell it was fairly old, and the carved
wooden horses were beautiful with their brightly coloured saddles. 
Stopping directly in front of it, they watched it spinning around.

"I used to feel like that," she said absently.

"Like what?"

"Lost--forever spinning and never getting anywhere."

"I think everyone has experienced that at some point in their
life," Richard said.  He knew he had many times.

"I never wanted to get off because at least I always knew what was
around the next bend, you know?" He wasn't quite sure to what she
was relating, but he didn't interrupt her.  "You can't live like
that."

"No, you can't live like that," he agreed as he watched her
intently.  

She looked deep in thought, and her grasp on his hand had
tightened.  "I used to hear the music in my head, and it always
turned into the wind."

"I don't understand," Richard said softly.

Danica looked at him.  "You don't want to."

"That's not even close to being true, Danica.  I want to
understand--to know."

"Know?"

"I want to know what happened to you."

Danica looked at the ground.  She wasn't surprised he knew there
was something.  She thought about how many times they had been
together and she'd reacted to something--reacted in a way that he
probably found strange but never questioned--like the day she quit.
He'd never asked why she was curled up on the floor; he just tried
to help her.  She turned around, led him to a picnic table near the
carousel, and sat on the table's top.  Richard sat beside her and
felt the coolness of his hand, now that hers wasn't in it.

"Can I ask you something bluntly?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Yep."

"Are you toying with me, like I know Peter wants to, or are you
seriously trying to start something with me?"

"Do you really need to ask that?" he asked, a little taken back.

"Yes."

"Well then, I guess I should tell you the truth.  Yes . . . yes I
want to seriously start something with you that I pray will never
end."

She let out her breath and looked at him.  "I can't play games,
and I'm sorry if that wasn't a fair question, but when I look at
you, I'm peering over some very tall walls I've built, and it's not
easy sometimes."

"It would be easier if you took my hand again," he said as he held
it out, and then smiled when her small hand was suddenly in his. 
He took a deep breath and said, "Tell me about the wind, Danica."

The wind.

The wind never blew softly--it was always out of control and
became very loud--deafening.  It surrounded her body and spun her
in circles.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, gaining
control of herself before opening them again.  She'd told the story
what seemed like a hundred times, which was part of the therapy. 
It was hard to tell to someone she knew because there seemed to be
more of a chance of being judged--which was her own warped logic. 
Strangers could be told, and she'd never see them again--it didn't
matter what they thought, but someone you'd see again was a
different story.  The telling of the story also changed over the
years.  At first it was almost in point form--testing the waters to
see how much people could take of the brutal truth, and in a way,
she was trying to protect herself.  Later, in the tight grasp of
therapy, she'd tell everything--every small detail and every
feeling buried inside of her, no matter how horrible it was, or how
frightened she'd feel.  Frightened and lost . . . small and
helpless. Unforgiving to herself, though it never should have been
like that.  Now, the story was toned down--the grueling details
left out as she'd already dealt with the feelings.  Forgotten and
dealt were two very different things.

"Five years ago I was brutally raped," she said, seemingly without
emotion.

Richard felt like he was going to be sick.  He'd known it--guessed
it--and had hoped he was wrong.  His mind raced for words.  "I
don't know what to say," he admitted.  "Saying I'm sorry doesn't
seem to work here."

Danica smiled and squeezed his hand.  "You don't need to say
anything, really."  Her eyes left his and moved back to the
carousel.  "I collect carousels, and I can't remember a time when I
didn't.  I used to stare at them for hours, winding them up and
watching them go around, and somewhere in there was comfort for me.
The beauty of the tiny structures and the joy in the music were
constant lures for me. When we'd go to a fair, I'd spend most of my
time on the carousel--riding the different horses--closing my eyes
and feeling the wind blowing against my face."  She stopped and
smiled.  "It was always such a wonderful feeling."

Richard held her hand and wrapped his other arm around her
shoulders.  "I was more of a roller coaster kind of guy, but you're
right about the beauty of a carousel."

"After the rape when I would look at a carousel, I no longer felt
the same peace I once had.  It's strange how you view things
differently although they never changed."  She looked at him and
realized she'd lost him.  "What I mean is when I would ride on a
carousel, it no longer felt like freedom.  As it spun, I felt like
I was living the same moment over and over again, and the wind no
longer felt good--it choked me, moving deeply into my lungs--
filling them until I thought I would explode.  The carousel hadn't
changed--I had."

A couple strolled by, holding hands and laughing quietly with each
other.  Richard watched them in silence, holding Danica against him
gently.  He listened to her, not interrupting, and trying his best
to follow what she was saying.

"Five years ago a stranger stole my life--took something that
didn't belong to him--and for five years I've struggled to get it
back, without complete success.  I barely remember the days when I
could walk down a street or through a mall and feel absolutely
carefree.  I used to love strolling up and down the streets of
Toronto, window shopping and going into the market places to find
all sorts of treasures.  I wasn't afraid of much in those days--
certainly not my own shadow.  Strangers would talk to me--men would
openly flirt, and I'd flirt back--all of it being in good fun and
nothing meant by any of it."  She looked at Richard. "I miss that
person.  I miss who I was then."

Richard nodded and rubbed her shoulder, feeling like he was going
to cry.

"Do you know most women are raped by someone they know?"

He shook his head.  "I didn't know that."

She looked straight ahead again.  "It's estimated that there are
over twelve million rape survivors in the United States alone."

"Twelve million," Richard repeated slowly.  "Incredible number--
sickening actually."  He looked at Danica and waited for her to
look back at him.  "What makes someone want sex that badly?"

Danica shook her head.  "No, you don't understand, Richard, it's
not about sex; it's about power and control.  It's about one person
controlling another by intimidation, manipulation, and fear.  It's
a sexual expression of violence, not a violent expression of sex. 
Unfortunately, it's a deeply misunderstood crime."

Richard found himself nodding as she talked.  He'd never thought
of it in those terms before, but what she was saying made sense to
him.  "Was it someone you knew?"  He hadn't wanted to ask, but he
needed to know.

"No," she said slowly.  "I was at a party, and it was someone from
there, but we hadn't talked, and I'd never seen him before."  She
sat quietly for a moment, enjoying his warmth.  "I remember my
first real job, and I was able to take out life insurance if I
wanted to.  I couldn't imagine needing life insurance--I was twenty-
two and invincible.  The benefits administrator said I should take
out insurance, because we didn't know what the future looked liked.
We hear about people dying accidentally every day, and yet we never
believe it could happen to us."  She squeezed his hand.  "That's
what it's like--you can't believe it's happened to you, and then
suddenly you're on the outside looking in."  She let go of his hand
and hopped off the table.  "I'll be right back."

He watched her walk back towards the carousel and stop at a little
wagon, which sold popcorn, candy floss, candied apples, and other
fair-type foods.  A minute later, she returned with a large bag of
popcorn and a big smile.

"The smell was driving me nuts.  Don't you dare tell Zamboo I ate
popcorn after eating that wonderful dinner."

"I won't tell him if you share," Richard grinned.

They munched the hot buttery popcorn in silence.  A squirrel
watched them from nearby, and Richard tossed some popcorn on the
ground for it.  He watched Danica out of the corner of his eye,
wondering if he could find any words of comfort, although questions
filled his mind but stopped there--if she wanted to tell him, she
would.  She looked very comfortable, and it was hard for him to
imagine what she'd been through.  How did one survive such an act?

Danica tossed some popcorn at the squirrel and smiled slightly. 
She was silently trying to figure out if she wanted to share her
story with Richard.  He said he was serious about being with her,
and she knew she wanted to try and become close to him.  Over the
past two years she had tried a total of three times to get close to
someone, but it never panned out, and the harder she tried, the
worse it became.  Her therapist continually told her to give it
time and not to rush it, but Danica felt like she was stuck in
neutral.  She wanted to get on with her life, but at the same time
she didn't seem to be able to move forward, and reverse wasn't an
option as far as she was concerned.  Over the years she had slid
backwards several times, finding herself depressed and reliving the
past.  Even today, there were times when she would find her mind
drifting in the wrong direction and have to deal with it.  She was
tired of it and wanted to have a full life with all the joys that
came with having a partner.

Taking a deep breath, but not looking at Richard, she started.  "I
was invited to a party, which was supposed to be an end of the
summer bash kind of thing.  It was held in a backyard, and there
was plenty to drink and eat and a lot of people I didn't know.  I
found myself wandering from conversation to conversation, not
really interested in any of them, but I didn't want to leave too
early and insult the hosts, who had obviously spent a lot of time
preparing for the event.  It was almost midnight when I decided to
make my escape.  I said goodbye to the people I knew and then
decided to go to the bathroom because it was a long drive back to
my part of the city.  I went inside to find the bathroom in use, so
I waited. Inside it was pretty quiet--everyone seemed to be outside
enjoying the night."  She stopped and looked at Richard who had
turned and was facing her, the squirrel and popcorn forgotten.

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispered.

She smiled and put her hand into his, immediately feeling his
warmth and finding it comforting.  "The door finally opened, and it
was my turn.  When I opened the door to leave, there was a guy
standing outside of it, leaning against the wall.  I remember
smiling and telling him the bathroom was all his.  He didn't say
anything but moved towards me--I tried to go around him but he
pushed me back into the bathroom, closing the door behind us.  It
was obvious to me he was drunk, and I figured he was just being a
jerk.  I made some smart-ass comment and tried to leave again, but
he grabbed me and pushed me back.  What amazes me to this day is
that I wasn't afraid at this point--nothing inside of me told me to
run or scream."

Richard swallowed hard and held her hand in both of his.  He
didn't want to know for selfish reasons.  He didn't want to know
what had happened to the woman in front of him because he didn't
want to hurt.  At the same time, he wanted to know because, through
knowing, he'd be able to understand her.

"He started talking to me and moving towards me.  I'd decided I
could just go around him and then run like hell, but it didn't
work.  He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, saying things
like he'd been watching me all night.  As his fingers dug into my
arms, I started to become afraid.  I tried to get away from him--
fight him--but he was double my size, and I knew I was no match for
him.  I screamed and was rewarded with a punch in the face . . ."
Her voice trailed off for a moment.  "I tried to fight.  I tried to
scream.  I tried everything I was physically capable of, and it
wasn't enough.  At some point I gave up, and like someone who has
had an out of body experience when they are believed to be dead, I
left mine. I blacked out, but it didn't matter to him, apparently."
She was quiet as a couple strolled by.  Richard's hands held hers
tightly and she smiled softly at him.  "You okay?"

"Yes," he lied.

"So to make a long story short--although I suspect it's too late
for that--some other people from the party became worried when the
bathroom was busy for so long.  They probably figured someone had
passed out in there, and they broke down the door.  The guy was
restrained by several of the guys after almost being beaten to
death.  A couple of the women helped me, and someone called for the
police and an ambulance. I remember none of that.  What I do
remember is waking up in the hospital and feeling very sore and
stiff.  When I woke, my parents were there, and I knew something
was wrong when I saw tears in my father's eyes.  I'd never seen him
cry before, and never have since, now that I think about it.  I
didn't remember what had happened to me and couldn't figure out
what was going on . . . They had to tell me. Imagine telling your
child she'd been beaten and raped.  I don't know how they did it."

Richard felt his own tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and did
nothing to brush them away.  He wasn't ashamed of showing his
emotions.

Danica reached out with her free hand and brushed her thumb over
his cheek, wiping away some of the tears.  He kissed the palm of
her hand, and she smiled at him.  "All of that was the easy part. 
First my wounds had to heal, which included a broken nose and a
couple of cracked ribs, not to mention bruises everywhere, and then
I had to mentally heal."  She grinned at him and then said, "I'm
still trying to mentally heal and suspect I'll be doing it for a
very long time."  She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Do
you know about the stages you go through when someone close to you
dies?"

Richard nodded, "Sure, uhmm . . . shock, denial, anger, and
acceptance, I think."

Danica smiled.  "Very good; that's pretty close to what I
experienced.  I've been through shock and denial, anger, self-
blame, depression and then finally acceptance, which seems to be
ongoing."

"Self-blame," Richard said shaking his head.  "That's not right--
it shouldn't even be on the list."

"But it is," she said softly, "and it's one of the hardest things
to get past.  You go through the 'what ifs' and the 'if onlys,' and
you start thinking about everything you could have done differently-
-it could literally drive you insane.  It becomes your fault, and
you can list a hundred reasons why it's your fault.  They seem
totally logical to no one but you.  After that, depression sets in,
and you question your reasons for still wanting to be alive, if you
still do, that is."

"Did you?  Want to be alive, that is."

She whispered a barely audible ''"no" and looked over Richard's
shoulder so she didn't have to see his eyes.

Richard felt a shiver run through his body that had nothing to do
with the dropping temperature.  "It's getting cold," he said
softly.  "Why don't we find some place a little warmer?"  She
smiled at him, and his body warmed back up.  Taking her hand, he
led her back to his car, wishing he could always have her close and
protect her forever.

                          ~:~:~


"And then what happened?  Did you tell him the rest?"

"He took me to a little club, and we had a glass of wine and
talked, but not about the rape.  I was feeling a little drained,
and I didn't think he could take much more.  I thought I'd let him
process what information he had, and maybe later we'll talk about
it some more."

"Are you afraid to tell him the rest?"

"No, why?"

A rare smile.  "You've come a long way, Danica."

"It feels good--different.  I feel like we're connecting."

"Are you worried it won't last?"

"Yes."

                          ~:~:~


"So what do you want to be when you grow up?"

They were sitting in a small outdoor caf,, sheltered from the sun
by a large umbrella.  Danica studied Richard through her sunglasses
and pondered his question.  "A ballerina," she replied.

Richard smiled.  "Good choice, I hear they're in great demand
these days."

She leaned back in the padded chair and closed her eyes.  "I don't
know.  I thought I knew, but now I'm back to square one, and I just
don't know."

"We're still looking for a good receptionist," Richard quipped.

Danica laughed softly, her eyes still closed.  "It seems just when
I think I know I'm on the path my life is supposed to go in,
something happens and I get knocked off the road."

Richard watched as a soft breeze blew strands of her hair across
her cheek.  Three weeks had passed since their first date, and
slowly he was finding himself falling deeper for the woman before
him.  He was amazed with her strength.  Learning more about her
only increased his desire to know everything.  The subject of her
rape hadn't come up again, but he knew it would, and he wondered
how much of her story she'd left untold.  Knowing what he did, it
was easier to see how it affected her reaction to situations. Such
as how she went out of her way to avoid having to cross certain
paths of people.  She avoided crowds and would cross the street
several times so she wouldn't be confronted with them.  When they
agreed to meet at the caf,, he had arrived half an hour early and
watched her come down the street.  His heart ached as he read her
body language.  Being as attractive as she was, it was impossible
for her to go anywhere and not get admiring glances from men--some
even did a double take.  He studied her now and smiled.  She looked
very relaxed, almost as if she didn't have a care in the world, and
he hoped he had something to do with it.

"Danica?"

"Yes?" she whispered.

Richard took a deep breath.  "I was wondering if you'd let me cook
you dinner tonight."  There, he'd said it.  He wanted to be alone
with her--no outside distractions, just the two of them.  So far
they had only "appeared in public" together.

Danica sat up and stared at him.  "At your place?"

He prayed that behind the sunglasses there wasn't any fear in her
eyes.  He shrugged and said slowly, "Or your place, or in the
middle of Victoria Park--wherever."

Her heart pounded.  "I don't know."

He leaned forward until he was close to her, but didn't touch her.
"Do you trust me, Danica?"

"Yes," she said, hoping she was being honest with herself as well
as him.

"I will never, ever hurt you, Dani--mentally, physically, or in
any other way humanly possible.  I couldn't." He reached out and
took her hand in his.  "I've been waiting for you all my life,
Danica.  Waiting for the miracle I know you are."

Danica smiled mockingly.  "Miracle?  Oh come on, Richard, I'm far
from a miracle.  I spend most of my time in emotional turmoil, not
knowing which of my personalities will appear next."

"I'm being serious here, Dani."  He squeezed her hand.  "You have
all the qualities of the woman I've dreamed about all my life.  I
feel connected with you, emotional baggage and all."

She pulled her hand away.  "You don't know anything about my
emotional baggage, Richard, so I suggest you back up a few steps."

He tensed slightly.  "I know enough for now, and in time I'll know
more."

"There's a lot more," she said as she sat up, taking a defensive
position in her chair.  She didn't understand why she was reacting
this way and tried to stop, but a wall shot up right between her
and Richard.

"Maybe we could discuss it tonight, if you want."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Richard looked at the ground and wondered what he had said wrong. 
He quickly replayed their conversation in his head and couldn't see
where he had fallen out of favour.  "Fine, we can discuss it when
you're ready, it's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal!" she said, her voice rising.  "It's a big deal
to me!"

"That's not what I meant, Danica, I just . . ." He stopped in mid-
sentence and watched a single tear slide out from under her
sunglasses and down her warm cheek.  "Dani, please . . . right now
all I know is I am very much in love with you."

She froze.  Time seemed warped, and there were no sounds around
her but her own breathing.  She closed her eyes tight and fought
what she knew would come next--the wind.  What she felt wasn't
rational, but Richard's confession of love dove deep to the core of
her being.  He loved her.  People who loved each other showed it in
a way she couldn't imagine she'd ever be able to express again.  He
was calling her name, softly over and over again, but she blocked
him out.  Eventually she would have to tell him she couldn't love
him in the physical sense, and he would reject her and ultimately
hurt her.  She couldn't allow that to happen--not today, not ever.

                          ~:~:~


"What happened next?"

"I got up and ran.  I ran all the way back to my apartment and
locked myself in.  Then I cried for about two hours."

"Did he follow you?"

"I don't know."

"He's in love with you."

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know."

"Wager a guess, Danica."

"Yes."

"Do you honestly believe he will hurt you?"

"Possibly."

"In what sense?"

"He's a man, and eventually he'll want to . . ."

"He'll want to what?"

"Have sex."

"Ahh, well yes that is a possibility, Danica.  And you're saying
that you'll never make love to a man ever again, is that correct?"

"I don't know."

A sigh.  "If you don't know, Danica, then perhaps you should have
given Richard the benefit of the doubt, and not assumed he'd want
to start making love to you anytime soon."

"But he loves me."

"Love does not equal sex, Danica."

"But eventually he'll want it."

"Maybe.  Sex isn't the basis of a relationship--not a good strong
one.  Don't get me wrong, I do believe a strong healthy
relationship includes sex, but that doesn't mean it's true for
every situation.  There are exceptions to every rule."

"I wouldn't want someone to be celibate because of me," Danica
confessed.  "I'm not worth it."

"Why don't you let him be the judge of that?"

                          ~:~:~


"Hi, Richard, it's Danica.  (pause)  Listen, I'm sorry about
running away last Sunday, and I'd like the chance to explain, if
you'll let me.  (long pause)  Anyway, you know my number, so call
me, please."

Richard played the message one more time and then hung up the
phone.  He'd tried to call her every day since she ran away from
him and only received her answering machine.  He couldn't go to her
apartment because the doorman would never let him in, and if he did
manage to slip by him, he knew that pounding on her door would
scare the hell out of her.  At first he had felt bad for her,
knowing that in some way he'd frightened her, but then he found
himself becoming angry at her as each day passed without a word or
even a sign that she was okay.  He picked up the phone and played
her message once more, not hearing her words, but only her voice. 
He silently questioned his sanity at getting involved with Danica.
Sure the attraction was there in more substantial ways than
physical, and God how he loved when she smiled.  His heart flipped
as she smiled at him in a vision that disappeared as quickly as it
appeared.  He started to dial her number when Peter came storming
into his office.  Richard slowly dropped the phone back into the
cradle; judging Peter's expression, he wasn't going to enjoy what
Peter had to say.

"What's up?"

"Coleman, that's what's up!"  Peter leaned against the window and
pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop his head from
pounding.  He looked at Richard.  "I just got word that he's being
investigated by the RCMP."

"What?"  Richard asked, leaning forward in his chair.  "Why would
they be investigating him?"

"Because they're the Royal fucking Canadian Mounted Police, and
they can do whatever they want!"

"Well there has to be a reason, Peter.  I can't imagine they were
just bored one day and decided to investigate someone for no
apparent reason."

"I don't know!  What I do know is I went there today for a meeting
we had scheduled two week ago, and found the place sealed up
tighter than a drum, with notes all over the doors.  I couldn't get
a hold of Coleman, but I did manage to track down someone who told
me about the RCMP."

"How bad is it?"

Peter threw his arms up in the air.  "Who knows?  Apparently no
one thought it important enough to tell us, the company who's been
working night and fucking day on their merger, that they probably
don't have anything to merge!"

Richard dropped his head into his hands.  "I guess we'll have to
wait to see what happens then."

"Like we have a choice!"  Peter started pacing in front of
Richard's desk.  Richard couldn't see him, but could hear his
repeated motions.  "So we pull out and send them a whopping bill
for the work we've done so far--we have grounds for breaking the
contract.  We can't afford to let this slide, and I'm not going to
let those bastards get away with this!  They couldn't even muster
up the decency to tell us."

Richard looked over at his big brother and shook his head. 
"You're right.  Do whatever you have to, but let's take them off
our roster and carry on."

"We've sunk a lot of money into this, Richard.  A lot of money."

Richard's phone rang and he looked down at the display and
recognized Danica's number.  He let his voicemail pick it up.  "I
know, and hopefully we'll recover it, but let's not worry about it
right now."

"How can you say that?"  Peter said, almost whining.  "We're
talking over two hundred thousand dollars here."

The light on his phone was flashing, and he became momentarily
mesmerized by it.  Peter's voice brought him back, and he stood. 
"Listen, it's business, and we'll do what we have to do, even if we
take them to court later or . . ."

"Or stand in line with all the other creditors at the bankrupt
sale," Peter said, cutting him off.

"Whatever it takes," Richard repeated.  Sometimes he wondered who
the older and supposedly wiser one between them was.  Peter was one
hell of a businessman, Richard admitted that openly, but sometimes
he became a little too emotional for his own good.  Richard often
wondered if he was more emotional in his private affairs.  They
rarely discussed their private lives.  Every now and then Peter
would brag about what appeared to be a conquest to him, but other
than that, nothing.  He wondered how Peter would react when he
found out about his relationship with Danica.

"Why don't you go play a round of golf and try to relax," Richard
suggested.

Peter sighed and looked defeated.  "Nah, I think I'll go get
drunk.  See you later."

Richard thought about Coleman for a moment and then pushed away
the thoughts for another time. Picking up the phone, he dialed into
his voicemail and waited.

"Richard, hi, me again.  Uhmm, I was just calling to say hi . . . 
so . . . hi."  There was a loud click, and she was gone.  She
sounded sad, and Richard frowned.  He pushed an outside line and
was about to dial when his assistant walked into his office with a
bouquet of flowers.  He put the phone down again.

"You shouldn't have," he said.

"I know, and I didn't," Mary said, handing him the flowers, and
then she turned on her heel and left quickly.

He found the small white card and smiled after reading the few
words.  "Seven o'clock, my place, you're cooking, I'm talking."

He looked at the phone again and decided not to call her back,
keeping her in suspense as to whether he'd show up or not.  He
laughed and gathered his briefcase, keys, and the flowers.  Who was
he kidding--wild horses couldn't keep him away.

                          ~:~:~


He arrived promptly at seven o'clock, armed with bags of
groceries, a bottle of wine, and the flowers that she had sent him
earlier.  Danica smiled and let him in, offering to take part of
his load, but he declined and asked to be pointed towards the
kitchen.

"I've got myself balanced here, and if you take anything, I'm sure
I'll topple over."

Danica led him to the kitchen, and she unloaded his arms.  "How
are you?" she asked quietly, as she set the bottle of wine in the
refrigerator and looked for a vase for the flowers.

Richard looked at her deeply and smiled.  "I'm much better now. 
Oh, and thanks for the flowers--I thought we could enjoy them
together"

She looked at her feet and shuffled from foot to foot for a
second.  Slowly, she raised her head and looked him directly in the
eye.  "I behaved like a fool, and I'm really, really sorry, Rick."

Richard decided he wouldn't let her off easily--he needed to
understand her actions, but she also needed to understand how they
affected other people.  "I admit your running away did sting a
little, Dani.  If we're going to become something--if there is to
be an 'us,' then we need to face these issues head on and not run."
He smiled softly as he looked at her.  She looked like a small
child who had been scolded, and her bottom lip was sticking out
just a little in a slight pout.  "Now you can take the sting away
by coming over here and giving me a hug."  He wasn't sure she would
hug him, but he gave it a shot.  So far, in their dating, she had
only kissed him twice, but had hugged him, or let him hug her,
several times.

She hesitated for half a second and then stepped into his open
arms, holding him close and hugging him tightly.  "Thank you," she
whispered against his neck.  For the first time she noticed the
faint smell of his cologne--it was so much like him, warm and very
masculine.  His body felt very warm against hers.

"And thank you," he said softly, and he held her tight against
him.  Her hair brushed against his cheek, and he took in her soft
fragrance.  He wondered if he should let her go and then slowly
released his grip. To his surprise she didn't let go of him, and he
smiled.

"Don't let go yet," she whispered and felt his arms surround her
again.  Leaning her head back, she looked up into his green eyes
and smiled.  Her hands moved to the back of his head, and she
gently pulled his lips down to hers, kissing him softly.  A
fluttering sensation took over her body, and she began to shake.

Richard pulled back from the kiss, feeling her little body shaking
against his.  "Are you okay?" he asked, concern furrowing his brow.

"Yes," she whispered and pulled his head back down.  A rare
moment, she couldn't explain and didn't even bother trying to
analyze it--she needed him.  She needed to express something that
seemed to ache to be set free.  The closeness, the small intimate
gesture, was foreign to her, yet they seemed so natural at the same
time.

He tasted her soft lips and felt her breath against his cheek. 
The kiss wasn't passionate or one produced from desire.  It was
slow and soft and unlike any kiss he'd ever experienced before. 
One could read more into a kiss of this nature than they could read
in a thousand words describing the emotions behind it.

Danica pulled her head back, her eyes still closed, and Richard
kissed the tip of her nose.  Her eyes popped open, twinkling, and
she smiled at him.  "I'm getting hungry," she stated.  She let him
go and stepped back.  "What do you need?"

"Wine," he said.

"I can do that," she replied and set off to get wine glasses while
Richard started unpacking the bags.

"I'm going to awe you with my ability to make a chicken stir-fry
that is out of this world," he said.

"And I'm not going to awe you with my inability to get a cork out
of a bottle," she said, handing him the wine and the corkscrew.

Richard opened the wine as Danica brought him her never-used wok. 
Slowly they arranged everything so that Richard was slowly cooking
the chicken and Danica was sitting on a tall stool in front of the
kitchen island chopping vegetables.  They chatted about little
things, and then Richard brought up the subject of Coleman's
investigation.

Danica stopped chopping the red pepper and looked at him.  "All
the signs were there, Richard, and I stated that in my initial
report to Peter two months ago.  I guess he chose to ignore it."

Richard added a few spices and turned the heat down.  "I find it
hard to believe he would ignore your intuition, Danica.  Peter has
nothing but respect for your opinion--you proved yourself over and
over again to all of us.  He must have overlooked it."

Danica shrugged and started chopping again, but her mind was
spinning.  She remembered getting the research on Coleman and then
moving forward and starting her own research, finding as always,
that she didn't have enough information.  Things had looked odd to
her, and the deeper she went, the more she began to wonder what
they were trying to hide.  She had been working on the Coleman
files when she had left Target Inc.

"If they go down, there'll be nothing left for their creditors,"
she stated before popping a piece of pepper in her mouth.

"Why do you say that?"  Richard asked, slightly alarmed.

"A feeling," she said.  "I don't think they have what they look
like they have on paper."

"Why wouldn't someone in our office pick that up?" he asked, more
than a little annoyed.

"Maybe I'm off base, Rick, but I had that feeling then, and I have
it now.  I'm really not surprised they're being investigated."

"Damn," he said and then shrugged.  "Okay, enough business talk,
it's just going to depress me."  He looked over at her neat little
piles of chopped vegetables and smiled.  "You're really quite the
meticulous little chopper, aren't you?"  All of the pieces were
almost exactly the same size.  "Actually, I'd have to say you're
kind of anal about it."

She stuck out her tongue and pelted him with a carrot.  "Pride in
workmanship isn't a bad thing."

"Yeah, whatever you say," he grinned and started tossing the
vegetables into the wok.  As he moved them around the wok, he
watched Danica set the table, and he closed his eyes, wanting the
comforting feeling he had to never end.  Together they were doing
something to which people all over the world didn't give a second
thought, but to him it was a major step in the right direction, and
he silently prayed they'd continue to move forward.

                          ~:~:~


"Why do you know that?" she asked while laughing.

"Hey, I know a lot of useless stuff," he said, trying to defend
himself and then realizing he wasn't doing a great job of it. 
"It's common knowledge that a Canadian invented basketball," he
said.

"I guess I'm not common then."

"In 1891 James Naismith did," Richard said and took a sip of his
coffee.  "It's said that he was tired of watching hockey and the
Maple Leafs were having a bad year."

Danica rolled her eyes and leaned back on the couch, curling her
legs up under her.  "I'll keep that little piece of trivia handy
for the next time I'm suffering through one of my parents' dinner
parties."

Richard looked at her and nodded seriously.  "Good idea--you'll be
very popular and people from miles around will seek your knowledge."

"Uh huh," she said and grinned.  She looked at him sitting at the
opposite end of the couch looking very relaxed and quite happy. 
She knew that in order to move on with their relationship, she had
to tell him about the events that took place after she was released
from the hospital.  She also needed to find out how he felt about
sex and the importance of it to him.  Without thinking, she blurted
out, "Do you want sex?" and then she turned crimson, realizing how
wrong the question had come out.

Richard blinked and noted the colour her face had turned.  "Uhmm,
not right now, I just ate."

Danica couldn't help but laugh and then said, "That's not exactly
how I meant to say it."  She could still feel the heat from her
face, and she looked down at her hands.  "What I meant to ask is
how important is sex to you?"

Richard set his cup down on the coffee table and turned sideways
on the couch, facing her.  "Let's see. How important is sex to me?"
She nodded, not looking at him, and he smiled.  "Well, I haven't
had sex since . . ." He paused and really had to think about it. 
"You're talking about sex with a partner, right?" Danica burst out
laughing, both out of humour and as a defense mechanism, and she
nodded.  Richard tapped his chin with his forefinger, really
pondering her question.  "Okay, the last time I had sex with
someone was, and don't quote me but this has to be close, I'd say
six years ago."

Danica looked at him, her face very solemn.  "Seriously?"

He nodded and smiled at her.  "Seriously."

"But.  Well, I mean, I thought men, you know, need it."

"People need it," he corrected her, "but some people don't partake
just for the sake of saying they have it. Does that make sense?"

She nodded and twisted in her seat.  "But you must have . . .
urges."

"Sure, and I have a solution for that."

"That being?"

"I have a man-to-hand relationship," he said, not cracking a smile.

It took Danica a second to realize what he meant, and then she
laughed and buried her face in a cushion from the couch.  "Too much
information, Rick . . . way too much information."

"Hey, you asked," he said, finally smiling.  When Danica looked up
at him, he noted the blush on her face, and his smile broadened.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah."  He looked at her, and his smile softened.  "Listen,
Danica, I think it's wonderful that you want to discuss this with
me, and I'm proud of you for bringing it up.  I admit I have sexual
urges like any other red-blooded male, and I admit that the thought
of making love to you is very appealing, but if it never happens,
it never happens.  The most important thing in the world to me is
you being comfortable, and I promise you with all my heart, I will
never, ever initiate sex between us."  His eyes met her blue tear-
filled ones.  "I'm afraid if you want this body, then you're going
to have to tell me."

Her heart was pounding so hard it was almost deafening in her ears
and then a wave washed over her and the sound stopped.  She heard
his words and read his face, knowing he meant exactly what he had
said.

"There is one thing though."

"What?" she asked softly.

"I want you tell me right now if it's okay that I touch you, and I
mean hug you, take your hand, put my arm around you and even kiss
you.  It's all the contact I ask for Danica, but if you're not
ready for spontaneous touching like that, then tell me now."

The calmness inside of her felt incredible and she mentally felt a
wall come crashing down around her and disappearing.  She looked at
him and answered his question by crawling across the couch and
wrapping her arms around him as she pushed her face into his neck
and cried softly.  They were not tears of pain, but ones of freedom.

                          ~:~:~


"She was right, Peter; it's right here in her original notes."

"How the hell did I miss it?"  Peter asked and dropped his head on
his desk.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"And fuck," Richard said, tossing the report on Peter's desk.

Something suddenly hit Peter, and he looked up at his brother. 
"How did you know it was in her notes?"

"She told me on the weekend."

"You saw her?"

"Yeah, we don't have that clairvoyant thing happening yet."

Peter eyed him.  "You're dating Danica?"

"Yes.  Hey listen, I think we should contact our wonderful lawyer
and find out what he thinks of this mess. At least we'd have some
indication of what'll take place should the RCMP shut Coleman down."

"You're dating Danica?"

Richard leaned forward and stared at Peter.  "Yes, Peter, I am
dating Danica.  Danica is dating me. Together, we are dating each
other."

"She's gotta be hot in bed."

Richard stood up, straightened his tie, and then leaned down,
placing both of his hands on Peter's desk. In a very calm, low
voice he said, "If you ever make a comment like that again, you'll
live to regret it." He stood up, smiled, and then headed down the
hall to his office.

                          ~:~:~


"I'd like to start coming just once a month instead of every week."

"I agree.  It's time, and I believe you're ready for this."

"I think I can do this."

"I know you can do it, Danica, and so do you.  I told you a time
would come when you'd automatically know deep inside yourself it
was time to let go and take back what is rightfully yours."

"My life--my whole life."

"Good.  I will see you in one month's time and Danica?"

"Yes?"

"I'm very proud of you."

                          ~:~:~


"When I got out of the hospital, I moved back in with my parents. 
I was a mess both physically and emotionally.  The physical healing
came naturally, but the mental part didn't.  I went through most of
the shock in the hospital, and by the time I hit my parents' place,
I was angry.  I remember going out to one of their many fields and
just screaming.  I yelled 'why me' over and over again and then I
started being filled with a hate for him.  I wanted to kill him.  I
used to fantasize about being alone with him and making him suffer.
In the fantasies, he couldn't touch me; he could only be hurt by
me.  I killed him over and over again, each time with a deeper
satisfaction, and I felt no guilt for my thoughts."

"Danica?"

"Yes?"

They were at her apartment, and she was sitting in a chair across
from him, with her feet propped up on the coffee table, looking
very serious but relaxed.  They had just come back from a long walk
through Springbank Park, where they had fed the squirrels and rode
the carousel a few times.  He could feel that she needed to talk to
him, so he suggested they find somewhere quiet to kick back and
talk.  She readily agreed and promised to cook him dinner later as
she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him back to his car.

"I think I need you over here beside me before I hear this."  He
patted the cushion beside him.  He was surprised when she got out
of her chair, walked across the coffee table, and pounced on the
couch beside him.  "Nice landing," he said as he wrapped his arms
around her shoulders.

She smiled and leaned back before pulling her knees up under her
chin.  She hugged her legs close to her, and he rubbed her back
gently, waiting for her to start again.

"Left alone with my thoughts, I tried to analyze why it had
happened, and it became increasingly harder not to blame myself.  I
was na<ve about a lot of things, and it suddenly hit me that I must
have done something to bring it on."

"Danica," he said in a pleading voice.

She looked at him, and her look asked him not to interrupt.  "I
started to hate myself, wondering when and how I had become such a
despicable person.  I had deserved it because I'd done something--I
had to of.  Why else would one human do that to another?"

Richard groaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and
wishing she had never felt that way.

"Self-blame.  It's very hard to explain it to someone who's never
been there.  It's like watching a woman repeatedly return to a man
who beats her because she firmly believes she deserves the abuse,
and there is nothing you can do or say to change her mind.  There
are short periods where you look at yourself and know you're not
thinking clearly.  A flash of doubt and then the anger comes back,
but you talk yourself out of it, and then it's your fault again. 
It's a hard thing to get out of."  She took a breath, looked at
him, smiled bravely, and continued on.  "My parents were trying to
make me go to therapy, but I didn't want it. Hell, I didn't need
therapy; what I really needed was a gun.  You see, I was moving
into a depression, and I really just wanted everything to end.  The
days became darker inside of me, and I thought of ways to make the
hurt go away."

Richard's arms were suddenly around her, and he pulled her tightly
against his chest.  She adjusted her position and wrapped her arms
around his waist--her head resting against his chest.  "Unbeknown
to me, my parents had been seeking help in trying to help me, and
the counselor working with them explained how dangerous I was going
to become to myself.  They continually urged me to get some help,
and at the same time, they monitored my every move.  Pills suddenly
disappeared from the medicine cabinet, and I had to ask for an
aspirin if I needed one, and then they watched to make sure I took
it, because they didn't want me stashing pills, I guess.  Sharp
objects disappeared and I was under twenty-four-hour surveillance. 
I couldn't have done it anyway.  I was afraid to live, but even
more afraid to die."

"Thank God," Richard whispered and held her tight.

Danica turned her face towards him and felt one of his tears hit
her cheek.  She squeezed him and rubbed her head against his chest.
"Do you want me to stop, Richard?"

"Yes," he said in a weak voice, "but you can't stop.  You can't
stop now, Danica, so continue."

"Almost seven months had passed, and I was a shadow of my former
self.  I didn't care about anything.  I weighed ninety pounds, if I
was lucky, and I didn't care what I looked like.  I fought with my
parents and still refused to seek help.  My father told me later
that the thought of dragging me out of my room and forcing me to
talk to someone had crossed his mind daily, but he was afraid it
would set me back further. They knew what I was going through,
clinically anyway, as they were still talking to people about it. 
I didn't care to listen to them, so I blocked them out and became
my own best friend, or worst enemy. Maybe both.  I remember I
couldn't even look at myself in the mirror because I hated myself
at times, and other times I felt sorry for myself and knew I would
just cry if I saw what I had become."  She stopped talking and
pushed herself up to look at Richard.  Smiling softly, she touched
his wet cheek and then kissed it.

"One day I went into the bathroom and caught my reflection in the
mirror.  I was mesmerized and moved closer, studying the face
looking back at me, and it wasn't me.  The eyes were blank and
hollow, the face ashen--and talk about your bad hair days."  He
smiled and she smiled back.  "The woman in the mirror actually
scared me, and I tried to look away, but her eyes held mine.  I
asked her what she wanted . . ." Danica stopped and tried to read
Richard's face to see if he thought she was a kook, but his eyes
told her he didn't.  "I asked her what she wanted, and she answered
by asking if I wanted to end up like her.  I didn't.  She was
hideous, and I started to cry, and she cried with me.  She told me
I needed to get on with my life and stop fighting the people who
loved me and were trying to help me.  I could trust them, and I
could lean on them while I made myself get better.  I cried harder,
and she told me I needed to be strong, and then she smiled and told
me to take one last long hard look at her because it would be the
last time I saw her--her fight was over and mine was about to
begin.  I cried when she left me and not because I was going to
miss her; it was because I was glad she was gone."

"My God," he said softly and stroked her hair before wiping a tear
from her cheek. 

"I know the woman in the mirror was me.  I knew it then, and I
know it now.  It was like releasing something that was holding me
down, or back."  She leaned against his shoulder.  "The rest, as
they say, is therapy history and here I am, over five years later."

Richard felt numb.  "Here you are," he repeated slowly.  He didn't
know what to say.  His heart ached, as though it had been hit with
all her pain at once, and he found it hard to contain his tears,
born of both sorrow and happiness.

Danica pushed herself away from him and straddled his lap before
wrapping her arms around his neck. He engulfed her and held her as
tightly as he possibly could without hurting her.  With wet cheeks
pressed together, they simply held each other for a very long time.

                          ~:~:~


"I want to know more on how to deal with this, I guess.  I was
just hoping that by coming here I could find out if I'm doing
enough--or what I should be doing.  I'm a little confused, as you
can see."  Richard looked at the woman across the desk from him and
shifted in his chair.  Her stare was making him a little
uncomfortable.

"You're currently in a relationship with a woman who was raped, is
that correct?"

"Yes."  She smiled at him for the first time, and he let his
breath out.  "She means the world to me and I just want to be
prepared, you know?"

"How long ago did it happen?"

"Five years."

"Did she get help?"

"Yes, and she still is."

"Good for her.  Now tell me a little about yourself and your
relationship, please."

Richard thought it odd, but decided to do as she asked and he
started telling her a little about himself.

Geraldine Waller listened as Richard's smooth voice talked on. 
She wasn't listening to the words as much as the tone and the
emotion when he started talking about his relationship.  It wasn't
often that a man would come into the Crisis Center and ask to talk
to someone.  She'd been volunteering at the center since it opened
in 1979 and had seen a lot of people come and go.  They held family
counseling sessions, one-on-one sessions, and group therapies, but
rarely did someone like this man come in, just to make sure he was
doing all he could be doing for the woman he loved.  She smiled and
nodded at him as he talked, and she wondered if he knew what he was
getting into.

"Have you ever seen her react strangely to someone or something,
and you haven't understood it?"

"Before--in the past when we first started dating . . . well,
actually even before that, because we worked together.  She would
react to certain things in a very weird way.  I didn't understand
them then, but I do now."

"And how do you think you handled those situations?"

"I just listened to her and tried to comfort her even though there
were times I had no idea what was going on inside her mind. 
Sometimes it was scary."

Geraldine nodded and smiled.  "Do you think she's told you
everything about what happened and how she felt then--and now?"

"She seems to be very upfront about it," Richard said slowly.  "I
mean, I'm not sure if something like that happened to me, that I'd
be able to tell people about it.  It has to be very painful."

Geraldine smiled.  "One thing you do need to understand Richard is
that talking about it--over and over again--telling the story, is a
way of healing.  It's part of the process, and yes it's a painful
one, but she's telling you because she trusts you, and she needs to
be a whole person with you.  If you don't know the hell she has
been through and what brought her back from that hell, then you'll
never be able to be completely aware of each other, because pieces,
very important pieces, will be missing.  Does that make sense?"

"Yes."  He looked down at his hands.  "I hate that it happened to
her, or any other woman for that matter. It's such a waste."

"I agree," she said as she slumped back in her chair.  "It's such
a loss for everyone.  The victim loses their self-image, their
sexual safety, and a lot of times, the ability to ever be intimate
with someone again. They lose control of what used to be their
life.  The people around them lose the victim if they don't hold on
tightly and be there for them."  She was silent for a moment, and
then she looked over at Richard and smiled.  "The good new is, for
you anyway, is that your lady sounds like she is getting her life
back together, and she's lucky to have someone like you helping her
do that."

"No," he said softly.  "I'm the lucky one for being allowed in."

Geraldine would have rolled her eyes had she not seen the
sincerity on his face.  She stood up and moved beside him and took
his hands when he stood too.  "Richard.  Go to her and love her the
best way you possibly can.  Keep her safe, and beyond everything,
listen to her without prejudice when she talks. There will be rough
roads ahead, my friend, I won't lie to you about that, but together
you can travel them.  She needs someone strong, who will listen and
be there for her, and I think you fit the bill."

Richard smiled and squeezed her hands.  "Thank you.  I'm glad I
came, and I thank you for your time."

She smiled and opened the door for him.  When he had disappeared
from her sight, she turned and leaned against the door and closed
her eyes, wishing there had been a Richard in her life many years
ago.

                          ~:~:~


"There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the
bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."

--Thornton Wilder



"You're impossible," she said, pushing hard on her end of the
couch until she had him pinned against the wall with it.

"What?  All I said is it would look better on the other side of
the room."

Danica put her hands on her narrow hips and stared at him.  "Rick,
we just moved it from the other side of the room where you said you
didn't like it!"

"Don't I have the right to change my mind?"

"No, only women reserve that right; now get out from behind there."

Rick moved from behind the couch and then dove on it.  "I think
it's perfect right here," he said as he put his hands behind his
head and pretended to go to sleep.  He could hear her moving around
but was shocked when she pounced on top of him.  He opened his eyes
and wrapped her in his arms, smiling up at her.

"Okay, get up and help me, or I'm going to continue to squish you
into the couch."

"Oh right, all five pounds of you."

She pushed her hair back and got a very determined look on her
face.  "Listen, if we don't get this house in order, your sons will
arrive tomorrow, and I'll be embarrassed."

"You've never seen their apartments--they wouldn't even notice we
have mattresses standing in the hallway and a dresser in the
kitchen.  They'd probably applaud your decorating abilities."

"Rick."

"Dani."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes before dropping her head
down beside his.  "Remind me again why I love you so much?"

"My cooking."

"Oh yeah, that's right.  Rick."

"Dani."

"Please help me get this place in order."

"I can't."

She raised her head and looked down at him.  "And why not?"

"Cause you're squishing me into the couch."

                          ~:~:~


She sat on the porch swing, a glass of wine in her hand resting on
her lap, and she listened to the sounds of the night.  Crickets
chirped and frogs croaked.  The sky was a blanket of stars safely
covering all those below it.  She smiled and looked around, feeling
happier than she ever had in her life.

After dating Rick for over a year, they had taken the plunge and
bought a house in the country together. She had taken a part-time
job as a financial advisor and had signed up at the University of
Western Ontario for some courses in computer science.  She still
wasn't sure what she wanted to be when she grew up, but she was
sure she was headed in the right direction.

She heard Rick moving around in the house, unpacking the rest of
the kitchen.  He had told her to get out when she started dictating
how the glasses should be arranged.  Her plan had worked perfectly,
and now she was relaxing in her favourite spot.

Her mother kept asking when they were going to get married, and
didn't really like the reply of "when the time is right."  She knew
both of her parents were happy for them, despite the fact they were
"living in sin."

"What's the smirk for?" Richard asked as he joined her on the swing.

"No reason, I'm just happy."

He put his arm around her.  "Happy I finished the unpacking?"  He
looked at her pretending to be shocked by his statement and
grinned.  "Oh, like I didn't know that was your master plan."  She
smiled sweetly and started to bat her eyelashes at him, and he
rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, right."

Danica set her wineglass on the window ledge and turned in her
seat, dropping her legs over his.  "I plead innocent, sir."

"Innocent, my ass."

"What about your ass?" she asked, grinning wickedly at him.

"You're incorrigible," he laughed.

She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and smiled at him. 
"Would you want me any other way?"

"Nope," he said as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her
tightly against his chest.  He smiled when she started nuzzling his
neck and sighed softly.  Sometimes it was hard for him to control
how his body reacted to her, like right now.  The smell of her
hair, her warm lips against his neck, and her hand rubbing his
chest was almost more than he could bear.  He tried quickly to
think of something else, but it was too late.  "I think the phone's
ringing," he lied, moaning softly as her wet tongue touched his
earlobe.

"Let it," she whispered against his ear.  She pressed her body
against his as her lips sought out his.

They kissed deeply, each needing to become closer to the other and
let their bodies say things that words could never tell.  Over the
past few months, their touches had become more intimate--more
revealing.

She felt his body start to tremble when she started unbuttoning
his shirt.  Her eyes followed the opening buttons as her fingers
brushed against his chest.  They had never made love, although they
were now sleeping in the same bed.  The course they followed was
natural for them--it was filled with love and comfort and beyond
that, complete understanding and trust.  When she had finished
unbuttoning his shirt, he asked her what she was doing.

"You once told me that when I was ready that I would have to make
the moves on you, so I'm making the moves."

His head started to spin.  "Dani, you . . . I . . . I mean, I
don't . . .  Are you sure?"

She pulled herself onto his lap, kissing him deeply as she leaned
back with her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, their lips still
lost in the kiss.  He held her around her waist and allowed her to
pull him down onto the floor of the porch.  Slowly they lost
themselves in the night.

                          ~:~:~


She unwrapped herself from Richard's arms and crawled out of bed,
moving silently across the carpet to the French doors, and opened
them, feeling the warm summers breeze caress her naked body.  She
stood there for a moment and then smiled as she returned to their
bed.  Snuggling back against him, his arms went around her, and she
felt his warm kiss on the back of her neck.  She closed her eyes as
the wind swept through their room.

The wind blew but made no sound--there was no longer a reason to
run.

--End

www.missbehavin.com

www.missbehavin@rogers.com



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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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