This chapter contains themes of relationship abuse and sexual assault. Discretion is advised for readers of this chapter. My overall goal is more awareness on these topics, however I understand that some readers may find this episode triggering of their traumatic experiences.

     By the time Em wandered home, the sky had shifted to a deep gray. The clouds were threatening rain. Thunder clapped in the distance. I was still on my porch swing, the type to enjoy the eerie stillness in the air before a thunderstorm. I went inside to make some tea.
     Cup in hand, I returned to the porch just as the bottom fell out of the sky. The rain slammed the earth in a torrential downpour like I had never seen. I calmed substantially while listening to it drumming its cadence on the rooftops. The air became so dense with humidity that my clothes began to get damp. I laid back in the porch swing and closed my eyes.
     Rain always had a way of making my problems feel miles away. I never gave a care for umbrellas in light sprinkles. I relished the feeling of the rain on my face, the droplets in my hair. I never worried about getting caught in a downpour. I escaped the conditioned fear of getting soaked in a storm; I felt alive. I was almost taken by an impulse to walk into the deluge. I dampened it as I heard some squelching and splashing out on the road. Probably a poor soul forced to drive in this storm.
     My ears pricked up as they registered yelling in the distance. It was almost a wail, drawn out and desperate. The splashes on the street were on the side walk. Next, thudding footsteps up my porch stairs. My eyes fluttered open to another problem finding me.
     Mark pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt away from his wet hair and dripping face. His white tee shirt was ripped at the collar, halfway across. He was soaked from the crown of his head to his toes, with water droplets dripping from his chin. He stood there, panting. 
     "Good god. Did you run here?" I heaved up from the porch swing. The distant yelling continued. I began helping him out of his soaked hoodie, "Please come inside and dry off. You're soaking wet."
     The sweatshirt dripped on my bare feet. Neither of us moved. We stood there, scanning each other's face. My eyes made their way down to the rip in his shirt. "Mark, why did you run here? What happened?"
     I slowly reached toward the rip. He flinched as I grazed the fabric with my fingertips. I gently took his hand and led him inside, a worried look furrowing my brow. I pulled him into the kitchen.
     "She... she tried to seduce me," it was as if he had just registered my question. "I said 'no.' She didn't want to listen. She just kept trying to touch me."
     "Angela assaulted you?" I slowly let go of his hand.
     He shook his head, swallowing hard, "She tried to. I got away; I ran. She insisted that I owe it to her, for all she's done for me. For all I put her through."
     "You don't owe her a single thing. Not a single thing." I pointed at the rip in his shirt, "She did this?"
     "She was trying to keep me from leaving."
     I eased a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He put both of his hands to mine and leaned is head into it. His skin was cold and clammy from the rain. 
     "Please tell me if there is anything else."
     "There isn't. That's all that happened, without going into details. I... don't think I can do that right now."
     "You can do that when you are ready. For right now, we could focus on getting you into dry clothes." I stepped off to my bedroom in a desperate search for over-sized clothes. I lucked out with a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, printed with the logo of my university. I snatched a towel out of my bathroom and padded back to the kitchen. 
     I silently set the clothes onto the table. He lifted his sopping wet shirt and wrestled it off. I fled the kitchen to let him change, a blush creeping across my cheeks.
     I stood in the dark living room, holding the towel. Mark walked right past me without a word, and sat on the couch. I walked over, and flopped the towel on top of his head. I gently massaged the towel against his head.
     I sat down, too, and rubbed at his wet hair until my arms were tired. I lifted the towel and looked at his face. He was blushing slightly. 
     "Things are going to be okay," I told him, "I don't know how to handle this, but I'm not going to abandon you while we find out."
     He nodded. I got up to put his sopping wet clothes into the drier, when my phone rang. It was Em.
     "He's safe and dry at my house," I didn't bother with a hello.
     "Good," she breathed a sigh of relief, "I've talked Angela down, so she isn't going to be calling our county sheriff. They'll just call it a 'domestic' and won't do much other than suggest they work it out. Not to be defeated, she consulted her contract and FAQ sheet from the lab. She called their trouble hotline; they've got a mediator and a lawyer coming tomorrow afternoon."
     "What does that mean for him, Em?"
     There was a moment of tense silence. "I can't say anything good. She's determined that if she can't use the contract to manipulate him, she's going to send him back. At any rate, on the advice of the lab, she's refusing to see either of you without the counsel present."
     "That's an annoyingly smart move, especially since she attempted to sexually assault Mark."
     The lack of surprise was evident from Em's pause, "I thought something like that might have happened."
     We ended the call soon after. If Angela returned Mark to the lab, that meant he would be free of her contract. But I had no idea what else that would mean for him.