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Finally. I grin and lean back. “Duly noted.”
“Ok, ever since – what happened – I’ve had trust issues.” I nod. “Lila’s been encouraging me to date, to not let my fear control me. I joined a dating website, and she’d pick guys for me to go out with.”
“How’d that go?”
She laughs without humor. “Awful. A couple of guys immediately said they weren’t interested in someone with that much baggage. More than one called me ‘damaged goods’. A few assured me they could ‘fix me’. One offered to take me straight back to his place to remind me how great sex could be, to get me over my ‘hang-ups’. I went out with at least twenty different men, and they all sucked in varying degrees.”
I’m instantly pissed. They didn’t want to deal with her “baggage”? They called her “damaged goods”? They offered to “fix her”, like she’s the problem? Who the hell has Lila been setting her up with? No decent guy would say shit like that if they knew even half what she’s been through.
I suppress my temper. Getting mad won’t help her. Instead, I shrug like it’s no big deal. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea. You just ended up with a bunch of slimy eels.”
She laughs. “That’s basically what Lila said, but she used horse references and the term ‘old gray mares’.”
I study her thoughtfully. “How much of your past are you sharing? If they’re talking about ‘baggage’ and ‘fixing you’, it sounds like you're putting a lot out there.”
She nods. “I tell them. Not graphically, but I let them know I was kidnapped and raped and have intimacy issues.”
She might not be giving them details, but she’s certainly sharing more than I would have expected. “Are you sure that’s first date material?”
Her answering nod is quick and firm. “I learned the hard way. The first time I went out with a guy, I didn’t tell him anything. I thought it was too personal to share with someone I'd just met. Things were going well. He seemed nice, and he was easy to talk to. We were having a good time, so we went for a walk after dinner. Then he pulled me into an alley and pressed me against the wall to kiss me.” Her face falls. “He thought he was being romantic. I pulled my gun on him and had a panic attack.”
“I’m guessing that killed the mood,” I murmur. Having a panic attack and threatening to shoot her date? Not good.
But maybe there’s more to it. Maybe in telling them her history, she’s sending the message that getting to know her won’t be easy, protecting herself by subconsciously pushing them away.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe she’s simply weeding out the obvious losers.
I wisely keep my Dr. Phil moment to myself. “You’re giving these guys a lot of heavy information right off the bat. It might unintentionally imply that getting to know you will take a lot of work. Someone who’s just met you hasn’t had time to see you’re worth the effort. Men who know you are more likely to want to gain your trust.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she admits. “I didn’t want to waste my time with guys who were only looking for a hookup.”
“I understand. Just maybe wait and see how things are going. Better yet, skip the websites and go out with someone you know, someone you’re attracted to.”
Her demeanor changes immediately, her expression changing to one of defeat. “The thing is, Mark, I just…” She bows her head and looks ashamed. “I think I’m too broken for any of it. It’s not just that I’m afraid of physical contact. It’s like… I see a good-looking guy, and my brain recognizes he’s attractive, but that’s all. There’s no sparks, no desire, no passion. It’s like that part of me is dead.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Those bastards took so much, and even though they're dead, they still keep winning.”
I lean across the table and take her hands. “Look at me, Charlie.” I wait until her sad eyes look up. “They don’t get to win. You’re too much of a fighter to let them.”
Tears trickle down her face, and she drops her gaze. “All I’ve done the last four years is fight, Mark, and I’m so tired. I’m not sure this fight’s worth the effort.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
I jostle her hands to get her attention. “Listen to me. You’re a fighter. You fought your way back after the shit they did. You fought your fears when you slept on a bench with your gun every night because you refused to be a victim. I know you’re tired of fighting. We all get tired. But when one of us is too tired to fight, the other one holds us up until we’re strong enough to fight again. One of these days, you’ll find the guy you’re meant to be with, and he’ll know you’re worth the effort, and you’ll have a beautiful life together.” I squeeze her hands. “You can’t give up yet. It’s not even halftime, Baby Girl.”
She bolts around the table, and I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I dry her tears and kiss the top of her head. “I meant every word of it.”
She sits beside me, snuggling into my chest. “So you think the dating app is a bad idea?”
I shake my head. “I said you might be better off with someone you already know.”
She tilts her head back and looks up at me. “Blake wants to be one of my Wednesday Winner versus Whiner dates.”
An image of Tom’s overly-friendly assistant coach pops into my head, followed by a brief flash of irritation. “What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t do well with dating.”
My tone is wry. “So you immediately shot him down?”
“Not exactly.” She leans her head against me again. “I said I’d think about it.”
