"I know this is difficult for you, but we need to have some information from you to begin our 
case. The more information you give us, the easier it is to catch these criminals." The female officer 
said with a smile.

Monica nodded.

"Okay. Let's begin with your full name."

Monica swallowed. "Monica Luina Reyes." The officer wrote it down and then went on to ask her what 
her age was, where she was born, her parents names, her current address, her social security 
number and other pertinent information.

"Place of employment?"

Monica sighed. "Federal Bureau of Investigation."

The officer looked up and seemed surprised. "And your position there?"

"Special Agent."

The officer stared at her for a moment. "Wow. That's impressive."

Monica shrugged. All that training, Monica thought, and it didn't help me prevent a man from 
raping me. Even though she was wrong, she felt that's what the officer was implying. She was 
embarrassed.

"Okay, Ms. Reyes...let's talk about what happened tonight. Give me as much information as you 
can."

Monica took a deep breath and looked down at her hands.

"I was sleeping. I guess a noise woke me up, but I didn't think much of it. When I opened my eyes, 
there was a man standing next to my bed. I tried to get away, but he...jumped on me and held me 
down."

The officer nodded, and made notes.

"What can you tell me about the man who did this?"

"He was dressed all in black. His face was covered by one of those cloth ski masks. I couldn't see 
anything but his eyes, and I couldn't make out a color. His hands were covered by gloves."

The officer jotted down the information. "Did he say anything to you?"

She nodded. "He told me not to make a sound, and that if I fought him, he'd kill me."

"He had a weapon?"

"Yes, a gun. It...it was my gun. I left it on my dining room table when I went to bed. I should 
have put it away, but I was too tired. I don't know how he knew that I would have a gun...maybe he 
had another weapon with him but decided to use my gun when he saw it...I don't know." Monica said, 
rubbing her eyes. "He took it with him when he left." she added.

The officer nodded her head again, and turned the page in her notebook. "Alright, Ms. Reyes. I'll 
need to ask you some questions about the rape...they might be difficult to answer, but I urge you 
to give me as much information as possible so that we can catch this guy. Okay?"

Monica nodded.

"Was there actual penetration? Did his penis go inside you?"

"Yes." Monica answered.

"Did he ejaculate?"

Tears formed in Monica's eyes again, as she relived the experience. "I...I don't think so. He was 
wearing a condom."

"He wore a condom?"

"Yes."

The officer nodded. "Well, that's good news...that means that you won't have to worry about 
disease or pregnancy."

Monica shrugged. "He only used a condom so that it would make it harder to find him."

The officer nodded. "Yes, that's true, but at least it's one less thing that you have to deal 
with." she said. "It's sounding more and more like this attack was planned, Ms. Reyes."

"I know." Monica said. "I know there's not much to go on, either."

The officer sighed and placed her hand over Monica's hand. "We'll do everything possible."

Monica looked up into the eyes of the female officer. Her sympathetic eyes made Monica feel 
better, if only a little bit. She smiled, despite all of the pain she felt.

"Okay...can you tell me what caused the attacker to run away?"

Monica nodded. "I got pissed, basically. I just couldn't let him keep getting off on hurting me. I 
was ready to die to stop him." She paused. "I got one hand free and moved the gun away from my 
face. Then I somehow got one of my legs out from underneath him so I could shove him away, forcing 
him to withdraw. Then the gun went off - I don't know if he was trying to shoot me or it was an 
accident - but he must have got worried that someone heard the shot and would call the police. He ran 
out."

The officer was nodding again. "You're very brave, Monica."

"Thanks," Monica said, "but I think I was just crazy. A couple inches to the left and I wouldn't 
be sitting here."

The officer jotted down some more information, and then looked back up at Monica.

"One more thing...do you know how he gained access to your apartment? Did you have the doors 
locked?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, the doors were locked. I know he didn't come in through a window or anything. 
He must have come through the door, but I'm not sure how."

The officer wrote this down.

"Okay, Monica. I think that about does it. What we're going to do now is take your clothing for 
evidence and see if we can gather any information from them. We're going to have some people in your 
apartment to investigate the scene. Is there someone you can stay with tonight?"

"Yes...my partner, John."

"Okay, good. We're going to send you down to the hospital to make sure you don't have any 
injuries, and we'll have a gynecologist check you out and take some samples, just to make sure that we 
don't miss anything."

"Okay."

***

Two hours later, Monica and John left the hospital. John had been going crazy waiting for her. As 
they drove back to John's house in Falls Church, Monica didn't have much to say. It was nearly 
five a.m. The sun was beginning to show itself on the horizon, and birds began their cheerful 
chirping.

John helped Monica into the house.

"Want some tea?" John asked, knowing that Monica wasn't much of a coffee drinker.

Monica shook her head. "Water would be great, though."

John went off to the kitchen and filled a glass of water while Monica waited on the couch. She was 
exhausted, but she dreaded going to sleep, if she even could sleep. There wasn't one thing that 
she couldn't associate with the attack. Everything made her think of the terrible experience. It was 
one of those times in life that she wished she could just push the fast-forward button and get 
through it.

John came back with the water and handed it to her. She smiled.

"Thanks, John. Thanks for taking care of me tonight."

"It's nothing."

Monica drank some of the water and set the glass down on the coffee table.

"Could I take a shower?"

He'd nearly forgotten. "Yeah...sure. You can use the big bathroom. It's a lot cleaner than 
mine...trust me. You can sleep in my room, if you want, or you can sleep in Luke's room. It's, uh...still 
got a lot of his things in there, but I've kind of converted it into a guest room." John said, 
hoping that she wouldn't think that he was implying that they sleep in the same bed...although he 
would like it that way.

Monica nodded. "Luke's room would be fine. I know that nothing's really going to get my mind off 
what happened tonight, but I know that I couldn't have slept in my own bed. I don't know how I'll 
ever go back there. I guess I'll have to move or something."

"Don't think about that now." John said. "We'll work it out together. You're free to stay here as 
long as you want. I like having you here anyway. Makes *me* feel better."

Monica smiled, and so did John. Then he showed her to Luke's old room, and the bathroom. He gave 
her fresh towels, and even found some shampoos and things that were better suited for women than 
his cheap one-size-fits-all bottle of shampoo.

When she went into the bathroom, John said, "Just call me if you need anything." And he had meant 
it. When he heard the water running, he went into the guest room and placed some of her clothes on 
the bed. He turned the heat up just slightly so that it would be warm enough, and went to his own 
bedroom to lie down while she took a shower.

His heart ached for her. He had no experience that he could compare with hers, but he could 
imagine what it must be like. He'd never worked many rape cases in his time with NYPD, so he didn't have 
much to offer her. He would just have to be there for her. After all, he did love her, and he 
considered himself to blame for her attack, albeit indirectly. In all fairness, he couldn't have 
foreseen that it would have happened, but he didn't think that he'd ever forgive himself for not 
telling her the truth when he had the chance. He could have told her everything, and even if she 
rejected him, at least she would know.

Now that was all gone. He couldn't tell her he was in love with her now. She had too many other 
things to deal with, too many emotional demons to face. It would probably take years for her to feel 
secure enough to want a romantic relationship, and maybe even longer to feel comfortable in an 
intimate relationship. And chances were good that she never would be right again sexually. He felt 
bad, but not for himself. Only for her. The thought that she might never be able to have sex again 
without thinking of that *bastard* made him ill.

John sighed and closed his eyes. He knew she'd be in the shower for a long time.

***

Monica stood in the shower for nearly thirty minutes without moving. She just let the hot water 
massage her muscles, which ached with tension. She was so tired, yet so tense. She hoped that the 
shower would help her sleep.

Finally, she grabbed the soap and went to work. She washed all of the places that he had touched 
her at least ten times. After a half an hour, she stopped, realizing that all the soap in the world 
wouldn't make her feel clean again. She washed her hair and got out of the shower.

She turned the fan on to take the steam out of the room as she dried herself off. When the mirror 
had cleared, she began to comb her hair. And suddenly she found herself staring at her reflection. 
It was the first time she'd been able to survey her own wounds from the attack. Her face was 
bruised and cut, her wrists were also bruised. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired-looking. She had a 
nasty scrape on her stomach that she didn't remember getting. It stung when she touched it.

She didn't recognize this woman.

Just mere hours before, she had been a confident, self-reliant woman. She held a prestigious job 
with the federal government. She owned her own apartment, she took care of herself. There wasn't 
much in the world that scared her. Now all that was different. Her confidence was shattered. 
Self-reliance? She couldn't bear the thought of being alone. And everything scared her, especially the 
sight of her own reflection. She began to cry.

John knocked softly on the bathroom door.

"Monica? I set some clothes out for you on the bed in the spare room. Want anything to eat?

"No, John...thank you, though." She said, and then opened the door, wrapped in the oversized 
towel. John looked into her eyes, and saw the tears there. But he had been expecting that. He gave her 
a reassuring smile and led her into the bedroom. The clothes were there as he had promised. He 
left her alone in the room to change. When she had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, she 
went to find John downstairs. She found him drinking a cup of tea and staring out of his window at 
the sunrise.

She smiled softly and made her way over to him. Even though she had not asked for it, he had made 
her a cup of tea. She picked it up and sipped it, then set it down again. She couldn't help but 
yawn as she looked at the sunrise.

"Tired?"

She nodded.

"Think you can sleep?"

She nodded again. "I think so. I feel pretty drowsy after that shower."

He looked at her. Her face was cut and bruised, but she still looked beautiful. Her eyes were so 
sad, though.

Monica could sense that he wanted and needed to comfort her. And she needed it as well. She 
stepped closer to him, and laid her head on his chest. She heard him sigh as he wrapped his arms around 
her. They stayed locked in each other's arms for a long moment. Then she looked up at him.

"I feel so unsure of myself, John. Like I'm a different person than I was yesterday."

He stroked her cheek. "I know this is gonna be tough on you. But I'll be there every step of the 
way."

"I couldn't do it without you." she said to him.

He shook his head. "I think you're strong enough. But you don't have to be strong all the time."

A tear slid down her cheek. "What if I can never be strong again?" John wiped the tear away and 
stroked her cheek.

"You will be. But until then, I'll be here."

***

She woke from the nightmare and looked around the room as if she expected her attacker to be 
there. She knew when she fell asleep that she would have the dreams, that not even in sleep could she 
escape the fear.

Monica rubbed her eyes and thought of Data, the android character on Star Trek and how he could 
turn his emotions on and off at his will. She wished she could do that now, and simply walk through 
the next few months of her life feeling no emotion, but healing from her experience.

Of course, that was impossible.

She wanted John. She remembered his kind words earlier, his comforting touch. She thought that 
when he touched her, she would only be able to feel her attacker's arms, holding her down. But John's 
embrace was like a warm, comfortable blanket, and she longed for that now. She threw the covers 
off of her.

John's door was open. She watched him sleep for a moment, and then walked over to the bed. She 
slid underneath the sheets next to him. No words were spoken as he moved closer to her and put his 
arms around her.

At that moment, Monica knew she would sleep the rest of the day. She felt safe.

***

"I'm glad you decided to come today, Monica. Many victims are reluctant to see a counselor after 
this sort of thing."

Monica smiled at Dr. Crist, a motherly woman in her late forties.

"You seem to be in good spirits, despite your ordeal." Dr. Crist said, smiling softly. "That's 
wonderful if you truly are in good spirits, but I don't want you to think that you have to be."

The smile dropped off Monica's face. It was true; she didn't really want to smile. She only came 
her to talk, and she didn't really want to do that, either.

"So, how are you feeling today, Monica? Use as many words or phrases as you'd like to describe 
it."

Monica folded her hands neatly in front of her, and thought for a moment.

"Scared."

"That's understandable. Anything else?"

"I'm scared that I'll never be normal again. That I'll never really get over this. That I'll never 
be the person I was."

Dr. Crist nodded. "That's a very common concern. When something like this happens, many women feel 
that they have lost all control over their own life. They become afraid of everything, and 
everyone. You're probably finding that you can't complete a simple task without thinking of the attack?"

Monica nodded. "I can't do anything without relating it somehow to the...incident."

Dr. Crist made a note on her clipboard. "These feelings, Monica, are very normal. And, while it 
may be hard for you to realize it, it does get easier. Every day it gets easier."

Monica shook her head. "It *hasn't* been getting easier, though. I can't sleep...I can't eat...I 
can't even brush my teeth without crying." Monica bowed her head, feeling the familiar stinging 
behind her eyes. She wished that she could just get through one damn hour without crying.

"It's only been two days, Monica. You can't expect to heal this quickly. But it will come. Little 
by little, you'll begin to take control of your fears, your emotions...and your life. A lot of 
women feel like they have to recover in the shortest time possible, and they often fail, leaving them 
feeling even worse. First off, you need to realize that it takes time - unfortunately, a long time 
- to work through this kind of trauma."

A tear rolled down Monica's face. "I just want my life back."

Dr. Crist nodded. "I know. You wish that you could be the person you were before this happened. 
Probably a very confident, empowered woman, judging from your line of work. Independent, I'm 
guessing as well. You're not used to relying on anyone, are you?"

Monica shook her head.

"It's difficult to change that if it's something that made you happy. But if I can give one piece 
of advice to follow, it's to accept help when it's offered. From me, from others you have been 
through this, family, friends...anyone that's willing to help you take some of the burden off your 
shoulders. Talking about your situation to those who care about you may be difficult for you, but 
you will find a great release in getting this off your shoulders and letting others help you deal."

Monica nodded, although there was really only one person in her life that she could feel 
comfortable discussing this with, and that was John. But she knew she'd even have a hard time talking to 
him.

"May I suggest something to you, Monica?"

Monica nodded, feeling slightly numb.

"There's a support group for women who have been raped. It meets every Tuesday and Thursday at the 
South Presbyterian Church, but you don't have to go to every session if you don't want to. The 
group is a kind of haven for the women who attend it. It gives them a chance to open up and discuss 
their experiences without having much to fear from reaction. In addition to our sessions, I think 
you might benefit from this group."

Monica thought on this for a moment. "Maybe...maybe I'll go. What time do they meet?"

"Seven o'clock. It usually lasts an hour and a half to two hours." Dr. Crist said, scribbling the 
address down on the back of a business card. She handed it to Monica. She stared at the card.

Rape Survivors. South Presbyterian Church, 2301 S. Malone. Tues. & Thurs., 7pm.

"Can I offer you another piece of advice?" Dr. Crist asked.

Monica nodded.

"I don't know if your religious, Monica, but prayer also helps."

"Thanks." Monica said. "I probably would have forgotten that."

***

Monica climbed into the seat of John's pickup, where he had been anxiously waiting for her.

"How was it?" John asked, expecting to hear the worst.

"Actually, it was better than I had expected. I...I do kind of feel better. I think I'll keep 
seeing her."

John smiled and waited for Monica to get her seatbelt on before he drove off. "That's great, Mon. 
Lord knows she's got to be better to talk to than me."

Monica shook her head. "You've been wonderful, John. I mean that. No doctor could replace you." 
John smiled gratefully at this, and reached over to take Monica's hand. He squeezed it.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me." He said.

They went quiet for a few moments, and Monica wished that she could think of something else to 
talk about, but it was impossible. Her mind had been so filled with all that had happened; she barely 
remembered what they had been doing at work the day before the rape.

"I think I'll be going to a support group." Monica said suddenly.

John nodded without taking his eyes off the road. "Sounds like a good thing."

Monica nodded, and went back to being quiet, nearly the whole way back to John's house. She felt 
so comfortable with him, she felt that she was doing him wrong somehow, by not telling him what was 
on her mind. Nothing he didn't know about, really, she just felt like talking suddenly. Telling 
him the things she had been able to tell the police officer, and the counselor. Maybe more. Someone 
to share the burden with, she remembered.

"I want to talk about what happened that night." She said. John turned to look at her. "I want to 
tell you."

About that time, they were pulling in front of John's house. He put the truck in park and turned 
off the ignition. "We should go inside first." John said.

They walked in together, and Monica sat down on the couch. John took off his jacket and laid it 
aside, and then sat down beside her.

He knew she'd want to talk about it eventually. And as much as he wanted to be there for her, to 
endure the pain with her, it scared him to death. He knew it was selfish, and in the end, he would 
listen to every word she had to say. He only wished that he could make it all go away, make it not 
true. But that would never happen.

"Tell me everything."

She looked up at him with bright, tear-filled eyes. How he hated to see her suffer. She spoke in 
quiet tones. Her eyes drifted off as she remembered.

"It was so humiliating. I've never...felt so powerless. I know that I can physically dominate most 
any man - I have a weapon, and I have defense training - and yet, there was nothing I do to stop 
him."

John shook his head. "He had a gun, Monica. You can't blame yourself for not fighting him. It 
could have cost you your life."

She nodded, although hesitantly. "I know."

Monica wiped tears away from her eyes. "He was so rough, John. And I was...dry, you know? But he 
didn't care, of course. And he...touched me with his hands - I thought I was going to be sick."

She glanced down at her hands before going silent again. Then she went to tears again, and covered 
her face with her hands. John touched her shoulder gently, and Monica let herself be taken in by 
his arms.

"Damnit..." John muttered.

Monica looked up at him. "What, John?"

John hesitated for a moment before he said: "This is all my fault."

Monica looked surprised, and shook her head. "How can you say that, John? Don't say that. How 
could it possibly be your fault?"

"It is."

Monica continued shaking her head, but had to wonder what he was talking about.

"If I had...done things differently that night...if I'd...said what I wanted to say - you wouldn't 
have been alone that night."

"John...what do you mean?"

John sighed deeply, and looked down at the ground. "I wanted to kiss you."

Monica bit her lip.

"I wanted to tell you how I felt about you...I just couldn't say the words. But, if I had...maybe 
things...good things...would have happened that night."

Monica smiled slightly at John's admission, and then said:

"You thought that...if you had told me that we would have slept together."

John nodded. "Well, maybe."

Monica couldn't help it. Her smile widened. "I would have liked that, John."

John looked up at her, and then released the breath he was holding. He took her hand and squeezed 
it. They regarded each other for a moment, contemplating what they had just said to one another.

"I can't believe I just told you that." John said nervously, and then chuckled. "But...I'm afraid 
now, that I've just given you something else to think about...another problem to deal with."

Monica squeezed John's hand again. "No, John. I've wanted to hear you say that for a long time. 
It's just going to be...difficult for me to think about anything...romantic right now. And God 
forbid, anything sexual."

John nodded his head. "I shouldn't have unloaded this on you, Monica."

Monica smiled. "Don't say that, John. If anything, you've given me great hope. Like...like I have 
something to work for."

Later that night, Monica slipped into John's bedroom for the third night since the rape. Just like 
the previous two nights, he didn't say a word. He let her crawl into bed beside him, and he 
wrapped his arms around her gratefully. Only this time, it felt different, to both of them. They slept 
in each other's arms, not just as friends and partners, but as two people who loved each other.

***