Chapter 6

Matthew slammed the door of his Audi and sank into the cushion. His breath came in short and rapid bursts as he leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand. His right hand lay beside him, burning and tingling.

He had just touched a woman. The woman did not touch him by accident. No. He had touched her. Voluntarily. Of his own accord and choice. Was he mad?

Matthew hurriedly reached over to the glove compartment and popped it open. He fished around and retrieved a clear tube of hand sanitizer. He spread the liquid thoroughly around his hands and sighed as the cooling sensation replaced the sting he felt earlier.

It was purely psychosomatic. He knew. He knew that nothing was burning his hand. Nothing left over from the woman he touched. And that did nothing to reduce the discomfort he felt from coming in contact with a woman.

Matthew replaced the hand sanitizer in the glove compartment, calmer and steadier. He tossed his head back and looked up at the roof of his car.

The rollercoaster of an evening played back in his mind. The red sweater woman. Her cry for help, the helplessness, and despair in her eyes. The hope that glittered through the tears as he helped her up and the gratitude she exuded when he handed her his jacket.

Last but not least, the boiling rage he felt as he heard Karly's words. The words of a rapist.

The words he had heard from his birth mother. From the first orphanage's manager and the second and the third and all the women who had had their way with him between them.

"I like his skin. It's fair and smooth."

"How old is he? Oh, that's great. I like them young."

"Don't struggle. It's less painful like that."

"You know what? Struggle. Struggle, little Matthew. I like it when you wriggle under me."

The words crept and crawled up his skin, settling below the surface, driving him crazy. Matthew jolted and shook his head wildly. He did not need any nightmares tonight. He reached forward and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Calm down," he whispered to himself. "Calm down."

Matthew had no idea how long he sat there begging himself to calm down. When he finally felt his sanity return, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

As he exited the neighbourhood, he tried to train his gaze on the windscreen and beyond but he kept sneaking glances through his windows and mirrors, hoping for a glimpse of the woman.

Where was she? What was she doing? Was she safe? He clenched the steering wheel, gritting his teeth as the questions plagued his mind. Was it really so easy to rape someone?

Up until now, Matthew had thought that rape was something that happened in the shadows of society. In dirty, greasy dives. At the back of seedy bars. At least, that was what happened in his case.

He never imagined that he could be confronted with sexual violence in such a manner. Concealed as sampling or previewing sexual relations with a potential marriage mate. Much less, in an establishment that was draped in gold and marble and frequented by the cream of the crop, the best of society.

Well, the so-called best.

It was naïve to think in such a manner especially as Matthew knew that the people who made up the one percent of society were not innocent. They lied, stole, defrauded, and killed. But rape…It just never occurred to him.

Maybe it was the way he avoided the issue drastically.

He slowed for a traffic light and his mind, not taxed with driving, immediately drifted to the very issue he wanted to avoid.

Rape.

He had saved a woman from being raped tonight. But what of other nights, where there was no one to lend a helping hand? Had a woman being raped in the room where he dined tonight? On the very table and on the same chair?

The thought consumed him, pounding away at his already fragile mind. A fresh wave of nausea battered at his gut, blurring his vision. A car horn blared behind him and Matthew tried to focus on the world beyond the glass. The light had turned green.

Placing his foot unsteadily on the gas, Matthew drove until it became apparent he could drive no more in his current state of mind. Instead of stopping in the middle of the street, however, he had the presence of mind to pull to the side, parking the car.

He felt like his brain was sloshing within his skull, his surroundings dancing and spinning around him. Damn, he needed a sedative. Patting the front of his chest, he tried to search for the sedatives he usually carried around in his jacket pocket, before remembering he gave the jacket to the woman.

"Damn," Matthew swore viciously. He opened the glove compartment once again, hoping that there was a forgotten sachet of benzodiazepines in it. After a minute of frantic, dizzied searching, he found one.

Sighing in sweet relief, he popped the tiny tablet out of the foil, tossed it in his mouth, and swallowed the tablet dry. Breathing hard, he leaned into the leather seat and closed his eyes. Matthew turned his attention from the blubbering mess in his head to his environment. He focused on the things he could feel, taste, hear and smell. Just as his therapist had suggested he do during an anxiety attack.

The cool draught of the air conditioning as it wafted past him and mingled with the smell of leather and air freshener, forming a scent he was very familiar with him. A scent that calmed him.

The faint sounds of horns from cars passing by him. The bitter aftertaste, the sedative left in his mouth, and the feel of the cushion of the headrest.

Matthew took it all in. He did not know if it was because the drug was finally working or the technique reduced his anxiety but he felt a lot better. No more sloshing. No more blurred vision.

That was a good thing. The bad news, though, was that he could no longer drive. Once sedated, he maintained his senses and his consciousness but his reactions were slow and sluggish. Putting himself behind a two-ton vehicle was putting himself and other road users in serious jeopardy.

Blowing air out of his mouth, he dug his phone out from his trousers' pocket and called his assistant. There was no need for too many words. His assistant had been working with him for years now so he understood the situation immediately. Flinging the phone on the passenger seat, Matthew turned off the engine and turned his attention to the world outside his Audi.

It would take his assistant about five minutes to get here. That was fine. He could wait.

As Matthew observed the city's nightlife, he realized he had parked opposite a bus stop. The fact meant nothing to him and he had moved his line of sight away before he processed the image he had just seen.

The woman. The red-sweater woman, although no part of her red-sweater could be seen under his jacket, was sitting on one of the metal benches.

Why was she there? It was late. She should have headed home. Why was she…? He watched as she wrapped the jacket around her firmly, looking utterly ruined and shivering even though it was a warm summer night.

Something twinged inside him. One tightly stretched cord in his heart trembled and Matthew's lips parted, his lungs seeking air to fill them. Like a man possessed, he shot out of the car, raced across the road, and came to a stop in front of the frail-looking woman.

He watched as she lifted her head and met his gaze. It struck him with the force and suddenness of a flying baseball how beautiful she was. Here, under the pale blue light of the bus stop, her deep brown eyes were so beautiful and sad. The spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks…

"Where…where is your home?" he asked, breathless.

She shook her head, her face full of dejection. "I don't have a home. Not anymore."

Matthew started to speak but stopped as he recalled Karly's vile words. I was doing your family a favour by taking you as my bride…You and your family will pay dearly for this.

Was her family the reason why she was here today? And were Karly's words true?

"Your parents…?" Matthew asked, with no idea what he was really asking.

"No," she whispered in a broken voice, fear clouding her features. "I can't go to them."

The evening air blew softly between them, bringing with it the scent of the busy city. Thousands of people milling about carrying on with their daily life. He could be like one of them. He could turn his back here and now and forget that this woman ever existed.

He had helped her once. Did he need to help her again? He could leave now. But he didn't.

Instead, he said in an equally broken voice, "Will you come with me?"