James didn’t forgive me right away; he still hasn’t entirely. He did believe me when I told him Simon raped me. I was worried he would think I wanted it, and truthfully I did want it. As soon as it started though, I didn’t.
The two of us decided it would be best for me to get out of the area. I knew Simon was hallucinating that night. Abbey told me his father was dead; there was no reason for him to act like he was speaking to his dead father unless something chemically was going on inside of his head. I had no reason to be fearful of Simon in his normal state, but the way he switched like that. The aggression he had the night he raped me and the night he tried to kill me was scary. I couldn’t be near him. I also wanted Simon to live with the guilt he hopefully had over killing me. I wanted him to truly think he had killed me and blacked out. I wanted every single day to be just another day he could go to prison for what he “did.” I wanted it to eat him alive from the inside out.
It wasn’t hard to decipher a plan that would make him pay. One that would keep him teetering on eggshells for the rest of his life.
Simon did stab me—he was guilty of that. He would have been guilty of attempted murder had I gone forward to the police or tried to press charges. I knew though that after everything Abbey had already been put through, that was the last thing I would do to her. I was done hurting Abbey. She was carrying a baby now. That child is more important than any of us. Even someone like me could admit that.
I decided to pretend Simon had killed me. I knew he wasn’t in his right mind. The words he was speaking and the look in his eyes. It would be easy to fake my own death and for him to believe he really killed me. My blood was in their kitchen; he knew he had stabbed me. He had blacked out from the stress. I was able to get James to agree to corroborate my story. He spent the morning the following day telling Simon and Abbey I had been found murdered, death by stabbing. I would let Simon decide how he did it in his own mind. How I got from their kitchen floor to wherever the hell I ended up in his mind. He could try and put it all together on his own. I hoped he would go mad from it.
James and I decided to go as far as to even schedule a private viewing and funeral, closed casket of course since I was very much alive and well, despite two lingering flesh wounds. I knew this would make it believable to both Simon and Abbey. I felt bad about deceiving her even more that I already had, but it needed to play out this way. My life depended on it.
James said he surprised himself with his acting skills. It helps that when he gets so frustrated and mad, he cries. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as Simon—it took everything he had inside of him to not beat his ass—but he did it. We pulled it off. Simon will forever be on his toes waiting for the police to gather enough evidence to indict him on a murder charge. Abbey will never have to explain to her baby that her loving husband is going to jail for rape or murder, because I will never tell the authorities what happened that night. I owe it to Abbey, to her baby. The satisfaction of Simon never being able to rest easy again is enough for me. He will always think about me. He will forever believe he murdered someone and that is justice enough.
James and I are in therapy, who would have thought. I still think therapy is bullshit but I go for him. It’s actually helped somewhat. We’ve learned to be honest with each other about our needs.
James told me he would continue marriage therapy with me as long as I stayed in individual therapy as well, to get my mind right. I told him about Benjamin, Ryan, everything. There is no part of me that is foreign to James now. My psychiatrist is nothing like I imagine Abbey to be, this new one of mine has a lot to live up to. In time though, I think she may be able to get through to me, if I let her in. I hope I will.
James and I have one more stop to make before jetting off on vacation to the tropical paradise that is the Bahamas. I roll the passenger window down and extend my arm out into the summer breeze. The sun shining down on my skin is warm and I smile up toward the sky, letting the rays beam down on me, my hair blowing every which way.
I slowly open my eyes and look over at James. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other on my knee. He gently squeezes me and lets up, alternating pressure. He appears relaxed, his head tilts back onto the headrest and his shoulders ease downward.
I feel alive in this moment. Like all of the things in my past are just bad dreams, nightmares, tiny, made-up fragments of my former life that I can push to the back of my mind and let slowly fade away.
James drops me off at the front door and I walk into the building, knowing my way around. I have to make sure she knows everything, every last detail so that she can protect her child from the monster that is Simon Paulson. I won’t be able to live with myself until she knows everything. It’s a fair trade, I think. I won’t ever go to the police about Simon’s actions, but she cannot tell him I’m alive. I’ll lay out all of the information, each puzzle piece will finally be in front of her. She can then make an educated choice of what to do next.
I knock softly on the door and open it to see Abbey sitting with her pen and notebook writing away. I slowly shift my black cat eye sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, just a little, enough to make eye contact with her. She sits and stares at me, appearing to be frozen in time. Her long brown hair spills over her shoulders, her mouth opens slightly but nothing comes from her lips. She falls pale in color, almost like she’s seen a ghost.
“Hello, Abbey,” I say.
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Those We Trust Page 16
