“Thank God Mica came to find us,” Poppy said.
“What?”
“Mica heard someone scream and when she opened the door, she saw Brad on top of you, so she ran to find me.”
Of all the people to save me, it was Mica—someone I never liked, but after this, I was willing to accept that I may have been wrong about her. She studied me from her spot near the door. There was sympathy in her expression, but I saw something else too, understanding. “Thank you.”
She nodded in response before she turned and left the room.
“Stay down, asshole.” Caden growled to Brad. He lowered to his haunches in front of me. I could tell from Caden’s dark expression that I looked like hell. “He didn't...” He curled his hands into fists as he tried to ask the question I knew he didn't want to hear the answer to.
I was quick to answer since Caden looked ready to kill Brad and as much as the idea appealed to me, I didn't want Caden going to jail. “No, he didn't.”
He peered over his shoulder to a nearly unconscious Brad and spat at him. “You get to fucking live, shithead.”
There was a commotion at the door seconds before Mr. and Dr. Wright appeared. Right behind them were the police.
I had never seen Mr. Wright in full lawyer mode but he was a force to be reckoned with. While Dr. Wright sat on my other side and held my hand, Mr. Wright took charge and within twenty minutes, statements had been taken and Brad was taken into custody. The Wrights drove me to the hospital where I had to suffer through an exam which included having someone photograph my bruises and collecting DNA from under my fingernails. Shock had muddled my brain, but even when the shock subsided I knew clarity wouldn't follow. The boy in that room with me was not the Brad I had come to know. It was terrifying, the Jekyll and Hyde performance I had witnessed tonight.
By the time we got back to the house, the shock had worn off a bit. But the horror of the evening began to sink in. Caden walked me to the sofa, Poppy wrapped a blanket around me and Mr. Wright pressed a glass into my hand. The smell confirmed that it was alcohol, but I downed it and the warmth that immediately filled me helped to push back the terror.
“We need to call Bastian,” Caden said as he reached for his phone.
“Please don't.” My answer immediately had all eyes on me.
“Why not?” Caden asked.
In truth, I felt dirty. Having a mother like I did, I couldn't move past the possibility that I had somehow brought on Brad's behavior. Dr. Wright must have been reading my mind. She said fiercely, “You did nothing wrong, Lark. Rape is about control, nothing more.”
I heard her words and I knew I should call Bastian, but I couldn't help feeling that I had somehow asked for it. I didn't want Bastian to look at me and feel disgust or something worse.
“There's nothing he can do and telling him now will only make him insane. Please, I'll tell him, just not tonight,” I said.
“Okay, if that's what you want…,” Mr. Wright said. “But you are pressing charges.”
I met his hard stare and replied, “Absolutely.”
Physically I was exhausted, and though I knew sleep wouldn't come, I wanted to be alone. Dr. Wright seemed to know what I was thinking. “If you need to talk about it, our door is open,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Poppy hugged me hard. “Do you want me to sleep in your room?”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Okay. If you change your mind...”
I started from the room, but Caden stopped me. Our gazes met and held—he still looked furious, and I knew I’d feel shaky for a while longer—at the same time we stepped into each other. I buried my face in his shoulder as he pulled me close. He brushed his lips over my forehead before he took a step back. I managed a weak smile to hide the fact that I couldn't think of any words to express my gratitude for what he did for me, but he seemed to understand.
When I reached my room, I closed the door and immediately started frantically pulling off my clothes as I headed to the bathroom. I cranked the water up as hot as I could tolerate as I scrubbed every inch of my body. I jumped out of the shower for my toothbrush and brushed like a madwoman to get his taste out of my mouth. My skin was red and raw and my gums were swollen from brushing so hard, but I felt better. I slid down the wall of the shower and rested my forehead on my upturned knees.
The only person I wanted with me was the one person I was terrified to tell about my ordeal. I had willingly gone into that room with Brad. Had I asked for it? Had I subconsciously brought this on myself? Bastian’s face hovered just there behind my eyes and his look of disgust sent a chill through me. Would he think less of me? Would he look at me differently? The idea of it, of losing him, sent tears blending in with the spray from the shower.
Later that night while I lay in bed, I remembered Brad's odd comment about fate and us being linked. What had he meant by that?
***
The following morning, I couldn't look in the mirror, because my lips were bruised: a very visual reminder of the horror from the night before. I showered again and brushed my teeth to the point of blood. Just thinking about last night made me sick, physically ill. Part of me believed it had just been a terrible nightmare, but one look in the mirror disproved that. How had I not seen what hid under Brad's affable exterior? Never would I have believed that he was capable of hurting me and that was what fueled my fear that perhaps I really had brought it on myself. I wanted Bastian, wanted him to wrap me in his arms and make it all go away.
My thoughts turned to Mica. Had she been on the receiving end of Brad's unwanted attention too? Was that why her personality had changed so radically? They were friends, Brad and Mica. What a betrayal, it would have been like Shawn attacking me. It made sense though, how she no longer sought attention but tried to hide from it. A snippet of the conversation with my uncle about my mom flashed into my head. Hadn't my uncle said my mother had done the same, that she had withdrawn from everyone? My God, was it possible? No, I was still in shock and not thinking clearly.
Before I called Bastian, I needed to tell someone who was much closer to home. I called my uncle and asked if we could meet. He was so excited to hear from me that I felt guilty for not keeping in touch more often. As much as I hated my aunt, my uncle had only ever been kind.
We agreed to meet at the local cafe in town, which served mostly coffee and sandwiches, but it was the sitting areas with plush sofas and comfortable chairs that encouraged patrons to linger and chat.
My uncle was already there. As soon as he saw me, he stood up to greet me but when he saw my face, his joy turned into anger. “What happened to you?”
“It's why I wanted to talk with you.”
He gestured to the chair, and while he took his seat he studied me for a moment. “I'm listening.”
After a deep breath, I shared my nightmare. He sat silently and listened and the only reaction I saw in him was the hardening of his jaw and the fury that turned his eyes darker.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“And you've pressed charges?”
“Yes.”
“I'd like to assist Mr. Wright, if that is okay with you.”
His offer surprised me, but I readily accepted it. “I'm surprised by Brad's behavior, pissed and furious as well, but surprised. Brad participated in quite a few of the fundraisers that I helped with for your school and he always seemed like a good kid. His father, on the other hand, has no respect for women. We all went to school together, and he was just one of those guys that wanted what he wanted and to hell with how anyone else felt about it. There was even rumor that he had crossed the line into abusive, but I never picked up on that trait in Brad.”
“Neither did I. We were friends, at least I thought we were.” The news about Brad's father was as disturbing as it was revealing: like father, like son.
My uncle started to reach across the table to offer comfort, but seemed to think better of it and I guessed because he wasn't sure if I wanted to be touched after my ordeal. I reached for him and he instantly closed his fingers around mine. “Thank you for telling me. I'm really sorry about how things ended with your aunt, but you are family, at least to me.”