#Poser

by Cambria Hebert

“He told me that deep down, I’d always know what happened.”

  A shout forced its way out of me, and I lunged at the dresser, sweeping my arms across it and knocking everything onto the floor. It made a loud crashing sound, and I was pretty sure at least one thing shattered, but I was too busy heaving to even see.

  That son of a bitch.

  It wasn’t enough that he raped her? He had to taunt her too?

  Motherfucker was probably the reason she panicked when someone touched her suddenly. No wonder her body lived in the knowledge of what she suffered; he’d practically conditioned it to.

  I. Would. Kill. Him.

  “I don’t understand why I couldn’t remember, why I still can’t,” she said, once again like my outburst hadn’t even registered.

  “If I hadn’t seen those panties, I might not have ever remembered.”

  I didn’t want to ask. But I had to. “Were you wearing those that night?”

  “Yeah. I thought I lost them.”

  A trophy. He took a trophy to remember what he’d done to her.

  I took a deep breath and told myself to chill. I needed to get through the rest of this conversation without trashing our house. I forced myself toward the bed to sit down.

  “He drugged you. The pictures show him putting a roofie into a beer. You drank it. He took you back to your dorm, and then he… And afterward, he broke into Rimmel’s laptop.”

  “Why would he do this to me, Braeden?” she asked.

  The question broke my heart.

  I went to her, knelt in front of her chair. “I don’t have an answer for that, baby. I don’t know how anyone could hurt someone as perfect as you.”

  “You did too.” It was said without heat, without accusation. It was a statement. A fact.

  A spear to my chest.

  I did hurt her. I wondered if, in her eyes, that meant Zach and I were the same.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. The words weren’t enough, but it was all I had.

  “I’m tired. I want to go to bed. Alone.”

  I nodded and moved away from her. I knew she’d want to be alone. It was to be expected.

  I’d give her space. I’d give her whatever she needed.

  I walked out of the room. When I turned back, she was behind me, the door handle in her palm. Without another word, she closed it, silently, right in my face.

  I blew out a breath and leaned against the wall. Gutted, that’s exactly how I felt.

  I didn’t think I could feel any worse.

  Until she started crying again.

  She tried to hide it in the pillows, but I still heard. I heard every single whimper and gasp.

  It was hard not going to her; it was hard not pulling her into my arms. But she didn’t want me. I wasn’t sure she ever would again.

  And so as minutes turned to hours, I stood there in the hall and listened to the woman I loved cry until she was so exhausted she had nothing left.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ivy

  I refused to go to Braeden’s mother’s for Thanksgiving.

  I couldn’t pretend that way. I couldn’t go sit and smile and pretend while I ate turkey and pie and watched giant balloons pass by on the TV.

  I was done with posing. I was done with it all.

  I just wanted to be alone.

  I wanted to grieve for what was taken from me.

  My choice.

  My knowledge.

  My decision on how I would deal with it.

  He told her I was sick, that I must have some kind of flu bug. My temperature wouldn’t go down and I didn’t want to risk making everyone else sick. I admit I sort of smiled when I heard him arguing with her on the phone because she wanted to come over and check on me. She was a nurse after all.

  “I know you love her, Mom,” Braeden muttered out in the hall. “But she’s resting. She’s taken the cold meds and is asleep. If she’s not better in a couple days, I’ll drive you over here myself.”

  A few beats of silence.

  “Mom,” he groaned.

  A few more.

  “Mom!”

  I hoped she grilled him the entire dinner and made him uncomfortable and made him tell even more lies so he could cover up what he’d done.

  I was so angry with him. So hurt and confused. Not only had Zach violated me, but so had my best friend and my boyfriend.

  It was a triple whammy of betrayal.

  As I hid in my room for days, barely coming out, I reasoned out what Missy had done. And why she’d done it.

  My guess was she never planned on showing those photos to anyone. She never planned on letting anyone (including me) in on what really happened that night. She probably had the same motive as Braeden; she wanted to keep me from getting hurt.

  But then she changed her mind.

  She got pissed when I slept with B, so she lashed out and posted that picture.

  She probably had no idea it would lead to Braeden finding her out. Angry people make mistakes, and she’d been angry.

  No wonder she kept hanging around, kept trying to find a way back into our circle. She wanted to know if I knew. She wanted to know if I was going to rat her out for the shitty stuff she’d done.

  Maybe I would.

  But really, I probably wouldn’t. Ratting her out would only make it harder on me. I was so incredibly exhausted. I slept for almost three days and then hid in the covers with Prada and my thoughts.

  I called off sick to work, knowing I might get fired for not showing up on Black Friday. But the second I spoke into the line, my scratchy, hoarse, stuffy voice totally convinced Monica I wasn’t faking.

  Braeden came and went. He kept his distance just like I asked, but he was still there. He brought me food, which I barely ate. He brought me coffee (I drank that) and made sure Prada went outside and got fed.

  He never tried to touch me. He never asked to sleep in here, and he never even grabbed stuff from our closet or the drawers.

  I was too hurt to think about how he was feeling. I was too angry to care.

  But as the days passed, I found my eyes lingering more on him when he would appear, before I retreated back into the small world I existed in.

  Mostly, I asked myself the same question over and over again.

  It wasn’t why.

  I knew why. The why might not make sense to me, but really, it didn’t have to. I knew deep down, being raped wasn’t my fault. The why wasn’t about me. The why was about Zach and whatever the hell was wrong with him.

  A single question haunted me most.

  Was it better to know the truth or would it have been easier to think it had been a one-night stand from hell?

  Some days I felt certain knowing the truth far outweighed the rest.

  But then sometimes, usually when I would lie awake in the dark and stare up at the glowing stars B and I put on the ceiling, I would wonder…

  Wouldn’t it hurt less if I didn’t know?

  I was torn.

  On the fourth day, somewhere in the house a door slammed. Rimmel wasn’t due back from Thanksgiving with Romeo until late the next day, so I knew it wasn’t her.

  It was totally possible it had been Braeden, but he hadn’t slammed anything since that night he shoved everything off our dresser. It all still lay broken and scattered.

  I heard some raised voices and sat up a little straighter, wondering what was going on.

  Footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Braeden’s angry voice grew louder. “I told you she’s sick! Leave her alone!”

  “If she’s too sick to see me, then she can tell me herself!” Drew yelled back.

  My brother! What in the world was he doing here?

  The door burst open and Drew stepped inside.

  His footsteps stuttered almost immediately. He took in the dark room, the messy bed, and probably my zombie hair and face in complete shock.

  He really hadn’t believed Braeden when he said I was sick.

  Had he thought I was tied u
p in here?

  “Ivy,” he said.

  Braeden hovered out in the hallway, peering past my brother at me.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. He looked terrible. It was like I hadn’t realized until just now. My heart felt bruised, so much so that I pressed a hand against my chest and rubbed.

  What was happening to us?

  Annoyed, I didn’t answer. Drew stalked to the door and slammed it right in Braeden’s face.

  “Get dressed. You’re going to the hospital.”

  “What!” I shrieked. “No.”

  “Don’t argue with me, young lady,” he said, sounding more like my father than my older brother. “I didn’t believe you were too sick to call and talk to Mom on Thanksgiving.”

  Guilt pierced my heart. Braeden called and told them all what he told his mother.

  “And I didn’t believe you were still too sick to call now, so I came back.” He said it like it proved something.

  “And?” I asked expectedly.

  “And you look like shit. I’ve never seen your hair look so bad. Your skin is so white you look like a ghost, and this room smells…” He wrinkled his nose. “And it doesn’t smell good.”

  “Rude,” I snapped. I had a right to be smelly.

  “If you’re this sick, then I’m doing what bonehead didn’t do.” He hitched a thumb at the door, leading me to believe bonehead was Braeden. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “No?” he countered like it was a dare.

  I stared him down.

  He marched across the room like he was going to yank me right from the covers. I prepared to kick him.

  His foot crunched over some broken glass and he stopped. Looked down. His eyes rounded at the mess all over the floor.

  “What the fuck happened here?”

  “Nothing.” I sniffed.

  Drew’s eyes narrowed and a deadly calm took over his body. “Did he do this?” he growled. “Did he hit you?”

  My mouth fell open. The fact that he would accuse Braeden of all people of hitting a woman was just ridiculous.

  “No!”

  “Don’t you dare lie for him.” Drew whipped the words at me. “Do you have bruises? How long has this been going on?” As he fired questions, he paced the room, his shoes crunching over even more glass. “I’m gonna kill him.”

  He stormed toward the door.

  “Wait!” I yelled.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  My body slumped. “Braeden would never do that.”

  “Then what happened?”

  The only answer I had left was the truth. I wasn’t going to lie. I hated lies. Besides, my brother would see through them in three seconds flat.

  “You should probably sit down,” I said and readied myself to say out loud what Zach had done to me.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Braeden

  He was upstairs a long time.

  The quiet resonating through the house made me nervous.

  I hadn’t been prepared for him to come storming back here, demanding to see Ivy. ‘Course, looking back, it’s exactly what I’d have done if it were Rimmel.

  I didn’t listen at the door even though I thought about it. Spying on my girlfriend wasn’t something I ever planned to do.

  I wasn’t even sure if she still was my girlfriend.

  Four days of nothing.

  Four days of her hiding inside her room, only coming out when she had to. I tried to talk to her a couple times, but she was completely closed off, completely lost.

  Still, I wouldn’t leave her.

  It brought up a lot of bad memories from when my mom was beaten and too hurt to get out of bed. The house would turn quiet. I would tiptoe around, afraid to be noticed by him.

  I didn’t want to live like this. But I didn’t know what else to do.

  I told myself in a few more days, she’d realize she couldn’t hide forever.

  True, she might hate me forever, but she couldn’t hide. I’d rather fight with her than have nothing at all.

  I was basically waiting it out ‘til Rimmel came home. My sister would know what to say to her. She would know what to do.

  But then Drew showed up.

  And now it was quiet.

  What if she went home with him? Would she just pack up and leave like that?

  What would I do if she did?

  Would I let her go?

  No.

  I’m letting her go without a fight.

  Suddenly, the quiet was disrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs. Drew shouted my name, and I knew she’d told him.

  I didn’t have time to be surprised because he came at me like a frickin’ freight train.

  “You son of a bitch!” he roared and threw out his fist.

  I let him hit me. Hell, I welcomed it. I deserved it.

  My head snapped back and I felt my lip split. The warm ooze of blood pooled in the corner of my mouth, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

  “My sister was raped and you did nothing about it!” he ground out and pulled his fist back again. I moved just before it connected, and he spun.

  “Watch it,” I growled. One free hit was all I allowed.

  And how the fuck dare he say I did nothing?

  I’d been killing myself for months, trying to help her heal without making it worse.

  “I knew something was wrong. I even asked you. You didn’t say jack!” He threw out his fist again, grazing my jaw.

  I shoved him back. He hit one of the stools at the island and knocked it over. It made a loud bang when it hit the floor. “Don’t hit me again.”

  The dumbass rushed me. Clearly, he didn’t know not to do that to a football player. I sank into a crouch and reversed his rush. I picked him up around the waist, spun him around, and dropped him on his back.

  He caught me around the ankle, and I bent at the waist, delivering a rapid punch right to his jaw. Drew rolled, knocking my legs out from under me, and we tumbled on the floor, exchanging blows like we were in the ring.

  I was bigger than him. And physically in better shape. He got winded, but I was just getting started. I pinned him to the floor. His struggles to buck me off were useless.

  “What kind of man doesn’t protect his girl!” Drew shouted.

  I saw black. Not red. Black.

  I pictured Zach’s face. I heard my father’s yell and my mother’s cry. I felt Ivy lying in bed at night, trembling in my arms from nightmares she didn’t even remember the next morning. She had no idea I burst in our room at night. She had no idea she crawled right into my arms.

  It was just more shit I didn’t tell her.

  I drove my fist into Drew’s face. I felt his skin split and saw the blood run. In the process of our struggle, we’d knocked down all the barstools and rattled a couple pictures hanging on the walls.

  I drew back my fist to hit him again, no longer in control, no longer caring the damage I inflicted.

  “Braeden!” Ivy shrieked, terrified.

  My fist froze in midair, and I looked over my shoulder.

  “Stop!” She rushed into the room, horror on her face.

  Drew took advantage of my distraction and rolled, pinning me beneath him. His fist buried into my side, and I grunted but then locked my arms around him to throw him off.

  “Don’t hurt him!” she pleaded, tears in her voice.

  I let out a curse and rolled. Drew landed on his back, his chest heaving. I jumped up and wiped at my still-bleeding lip.

  “Oh my goodness!” She rushed forward. “You’re bleeding!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, your face,” she crooned and lifted her hand to the tingling spot near my eye.

  I held my breath. Was she actually going to touch me? Was that worry in her eyes?

  Drew groaned from the floor. “I’m bleeding too!” he whined.

  Ivy dropped her hand and went to his side
. “You’re an idiot. What the hell did you think you were doing coming down here at him like that?”

  “Deserved it,” he mumbled, his lip already twice its normal size.

  “I told you it wasn’t his fault.”

  “You told him?” I asked, still dabbing at my lip.

  She glanced up. “Yes.”

  I nodded. I was fine with it. She could tell whoever she wanted. But I wasn’t. That was her call.

  Drew groaned like a damn pansy, and I rolled my eyes. I went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of peas. They must have been in there for ice pack purposes, ‘cause no one in this house ate peas.

  I threw them at Drew and they smacked him in the stomach. Ivy gave me a hard look, and I stared back, keeping my face stony.

  “Go sit down,” she told her brother, disapproval in her tone. I watched her walk to the freezer and pull out an actual ice pack.

  It was blue and flexible. She wrapped a kitchen towel around it and then crossed to me.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, pressing it to my cheek.

  “No.”

  “Liar!” Drew yelled.

  I smirked. “I’m used to taking hits. Unlike some people.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes but was gentle when she lifted the ice and looked at the area. “Hold this one there.”

  “What if I want you to?” I said so low only she could hear.

  “Sometimes we don’t get what we want,” she said equally as quiet.

  I took the ice and held it to my face.

  She picked up another towel, wet it, and then started dabbing my lip. It burned like hell.

  “I’m sorry he took this out on you.”

  I shrugged. “I can handle it.”

  She pulled the towel back and stared up at me. Her eyes were bloodshot and not nearly as vivid as usual.

  “You look like shit.” Her voice was blunt.

  “So do you.”

  “How come he gets a real ice pack and I get peas?” Drew whined.

  “Would you prefer carrots?” I quipped.

  “You’re an asshole. My sister could do way better than you.”

  It stung. Probably because it was true.

  Ivy gasped and turned away from me. “Andrew Wayne Forrester!”

  I smirked at him behind her back. Dude’s middle name was Wayne. “You a cowboy in another life?”