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didn’t
stick around, but I don’t have any proof of that.”
    He
nodded, saying nothing.
    “When
I was twelve, I was already developing. I mean I looked like a girl. You know.
I had boobs and curves.”
    She
saw him swallow, and a look of sympathy crossed his face. She had to blink back
tears.
    “That
was the first time one of her boyfriends tried to crawl into bed with me. I
screamed my head off, and she heard me. He was gone in less than five minutes
and she apologized over and over, promising me it would never happen again.”
    Blair
was having trouble taking full breaths. Spots danced before her eyes, and she
struggled to hold the demons at bay. Just
long enough to get this out. Please.
    Oliver
moved closer and put a hand on her arm. That simple gesture calmed her
somewhat, and although she was amazed by that, she didn’t stop to analyze it.
Blair knew if she didn’t get all this out at once she never would.
    “She
was usually quite drunk when she brought the men home, and she went out more
often the older I got. I wanted to put a lock on my bedroom door, but she was
paranoid about something happening to me and not being able to get inside.”
    Oliver
made a soft noise of disgust, and she was grateful he didn’t state the obvious
stupidity of that reasoning.
    “The
first time … the only time one of
them raped me was when I was fourteen.”
    He
moved closer still and stroked her upper back.
    “I
didn’t tell my mother. I don’t know why. I was afraid, and ashamed, and so
conflicted about her lifestyle I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to
turn for help. I thought if I told a teacher or any adult at school they’d take
me away from her, and then who would take care of her?”
    Oliver
nodded again.
    “I
mean, she had no one else. The men were a joke. None of them really cared about
her, as far as I could tell. She wouldn’t have been able to rely on any of them
for help.”
    “You
were the caregiver.”
    She
nodded, trying desperately now not to cry. The sensation of panic was gone,
replaced by overwhelming sadness that she hadn’t been able to help her mother
at all, in the end.
    “I
went to my family doctor and lied, telling her I’d had sex with a boy at school
who was having sex with other girls, so I could get tested for STDs and get on
the pill.”
    “Oh,
Blair…”
    “I
know. Horrible, isn’t it? But it kept my mother from possibly being arrested,
and it kept me from being placed in foster care which, let’s face it, might
have been much worse.”
    “I
understand. I really do.”
    “I
also put a lock on the door. I didn’t care what she said. So it never happened
again because I stayed out of sight, and when one of them tried to get inside,
I screamed until she came and threw them out of the apartment.”
    “I’m
so sorry.”
    She
swallowed hard. “It worked for us. I mean, it was a horrible way to live, but
it served its purpose.”
    “Did
you date at all? Did you have any sort of a normal relationship?”
    “I
dated in high school, but I seemed to pick the losers. My shrinks have all told
me I chose them because that was all I knew. I don’t know if that’s true or
not. I only know they wanted nothing from me other than sex.”
    “Did
you give in?”
    She
had to avert her gaze for a second or two. When she looked at him again, she
still didn’t see disgust or anger in his beautiful eyes.
    “Sometimes.
I thought if I’d found one that cared about me, things would change, but I was
always wrong. A few encouraged me to drink and tried to get me to take drugs
with them, but I had already seen what those habits had done to my mother. I
drank some beer a few times, but that was only to try to fit in. I’d feel like
shit the next day, of course.”
    “When
did you start seeing a psychologist?”
    “After
my mother died. I had graduated from high school six months earlier and was
still living at home and working at a fast food place. The revolving boyfriend
phase was