by Regan Ure
I looked down at my hands as I decided how I should start. The bed shifted as Slater sat down beside me.
"My mom called me a couple of days ago to tell me my uncle, her younger brother, died in a tragic accident." I looked up at him. "I should have felt grief, I should have been upset, but all I felt was…relief."
Slater frowned.
"It's hard to remember when it started. I blocked it out totally." I reached up and touched my temple, trying to arrange my thoughts. "It was only when I had sex for the first time, when I was sixteen, that I started to remember. At first I thought they were just nightmares. But when I remembered more, I realized they were memories that I had somehow…suppressed."
His hand touched mine, and I looked down at long fingers covering my hand. As I gave him a side-glance, I caught him closing his eyes briefly as his jaw tensed. Was it difficult for him to hear it?
"It was so bad my mind blocked it out so I could cope." I hesitated, needing fresh courage to continue. I wanted to be able to tell him everything even if it changed the way he saw me.
"How old were you when it started?" he asked. His voice was tight, his eyes tormented.
I shrugged. "Like I said, it was hard to remember exactly, but I think I was around ten. He lived with us for a year. He used to come to my room late at night."
"You were just a child," he said, looking horrified.
I didn't understand it either. And worse, it was a family member, someone who was supposed to care about me.
"Phillip." It was strange to say his name. "He was a very late baby, he was only six years older than me. I tried to make excuses for him. Like, maybe he didn't really understand that what he was doing was wrong."
Slater shook his head beside me, and I stopped.
"He knew it was wrong. It didn't matter how much older he was, he would have known it was wrong," he assured me. "There is no excuse for what he did to you."
I swallowed hard when I felt my rising emotions. I hated thinking back to it. Remembering it made me feel dirty and tainted. Like no matter what happened I would never be clean again.
"It started out innocently. I didn't understand." I put my head into my hands, feeling embarrassed about what had happened. It didn't matter that I had done nothing wrong. Even when I realized it was wrong I didn't say anything. It would have hurt the people who loved me.
"You don't have to hide from me," Slater said, pulling my hands away from my face, and my eyes met his.
He was seeing me for the first time—warts and all, no hidden truths, laid out bare for him to judge.
I couldn't stand the look of sympathy in his eyes. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the shame wash over me. It was a familiar feeling and no matter what, I would always feel like that.
"You hear of girls being abused," I said. "They report their attackers so they can be brought to justice. But until you walk that path you don't understand how hard it is." I took a deep breath and expelled it, trying to stop myself from crying before I could say what I needed to. "They are the brave ones. There is no guarantee that they are going to put their attackers behind bars, but they still try. To put your most vulnerable self out in the open for everyone to see takes guts."
It took a few moments before I could say more. Talking about it was painful, like a knife twisting in my gut.
"Do you know how hard it is to reveal to people things like that?" I continued. "Could you imagine having to tell strangers what happened to you? Every time someone looks at you, you will wonder if they are thinking about it, judging you. 'Did she ask for it?' Had she been irresponsible?"
I closed my eyes briefly as the horror overtook me. When I opened them I dropped my gaze to my hands, unable to look him in the eye when I admitted the next part.
"I'm not them. I don't want people to know. It was bad enough that it happened but I don't want it out in the open. No matter what the evidence is, people would judge."
A tear escaped and I wiped it away as I took in a trembling breath. One of his hands covered mine and I felt the warmth of his skin enclose me.
"If I had said anything it would have torn my family apart. I was ten. At the time I didn't even understand what was happening. I didn't know it was wrong until it was too late. And even if I had, it would have been my word against his. Who would have believed a ten-year-old? Initially I didn't even know what was happening was wrong. I trusted…him."
Was it worse being abused by someone you knew rather than a complete stranger? I looked up at him as my eyes glistened with more tears.
"I just wanted it to go away."
His other hand reached up to caress my cheek gently. His eyes softened, looking more silver as he studied me.
"After I remembered everything, I managed to keep going, pretending it never happened. There were so many times I had wished I hadn't remembered. It would have been so much easier."
I still craved that not knowing; it had made my life better. Forgetting about it had wiped it from my life. Like it hadn't happened.
I could recall the first moment I had remembered. It had been like a wave of stifled emotions growing in me as I'd recalled what had happened. Fear, shame, confusion, self-hatred… I remembered every encounter like I was reliving it again.
Abruptly, he removed his hand from mine. It tightened into a fist.
"Slater?" I asked softly.
"I want to kill him," he said, the anger hoarse in his voice, still trying to rein in the anger he was feeling. "Hearing what he did to you, I want to make him pay. I want to hurt him as much as he hurt you."
I understood his protectiveness but there was no action that would make him pay as much as I had. There was no way to even the score. I reached out and took his hand into mine. After a few minutes he released the fist.
"Anytime in the last two years I could have said something, I could have done something about it, but I planted my head firmly into the sand and refused to acknowledge it. What if I wasn't the only one? What if I could have stopped him from doing it to someone else?" My teary eyes held his. He remained silent. "I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want them to know how weak I really am. I wasn't strong enough to try and take action against him, to make him pay. And now it's too late. The only people it would hurt would be my mother and my aunt."
He reached for me, engulfing me in his strong arms. A sob tore from me as I realized I had finally admitted one of my innermost fears. He stroked my back as he held me close.
"You are not weak," he murmured softly.
I gripped his shirt and held him as another sob escaped. Tears ran down my face and wet his shirt as I allowed my feelings to get free. Despite my turmoil of emotions, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.
Chapter Twenty-One
After a few minutes he released me. I wiped my cheeks.
"This wasn't your fault. Do you understand me?" he said, and I nodded. He leveled his eyes with mine. "It was his fault. There is no excuse. He knew right from wrong and he knew what he was doing was wrong."
A glimmer of anger flared in his eyes as he spoke. I nodded again.
"There's more," I told him. He frowned slightly.
I got up and walked over to my bag I had dropped on the floor by the front door. I retrieved the envelope.
"What is it?" he asked, his concentration fixed on what I held in my hand.
"He left me a letter. My aunt gave it to me this afternoon after the funeral."
"Have you read it?" he asked, his gaze moving from the letter to me. I shook my head.
"I'm scared to read it." I sighed as I handed it to him. Sitting beside him, I put my arms around my waist. "I don't know if I can take what's in there."
He looked at it for a moment. His thumb swept lightly across my name handwritten on the front.
"I doubt anything in here will erase what he did to you," he murmured softly. He was probably right but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away without reading the contents; it would always nag at me.
"Would you read it for me?" I asked him, afraid he would turn me down. "You can decide if it's something I need to read."
His eyes held mine for a moment before they dropped back to the envelope. Like before, I expected him to draw the line and hand it back to me, but he didn't. I watched as he opened it. Our eyes met one more time before he opened the letter.
I watched his expression while he read, hoping it would give me an indication of what it said. At one stage he gripped the paper a little tighter. He folded it when he was finished. He stood up and my eyes fixed on him.
"You should read it," he said, handing me the folded piece of paper.
I took it from him. "Are you sure?"
He nodded as he crossed his arms.
This time I only felt nervous as I looked down at my uncle's sprawled handwriting. I didn't feel fearful, because I knew Slater wouldn't let me read it if it was going to cause me more pain.
Jordan,
I didn't want to leave this world without asking you for your forgiveness. I knew reaching out to you if I was alive was only going to upset you so I decided to write this letter in the event of my death. I'm not even sure you will read this.
There are a lot of mistakes I've made in my life but what I did to you haunts me. Saying I'm sorry isn't enough but I was a coward and I was unable to take responsibility for my actions.
Not only was I not man enough to own up to what I did, I didn't want to hurt the people who love me.
I'm leaving the choice with you. I have included a statement that details my actions and you may share it with whoever you need to.
Know now I am paying for my sins and I will pay dearly for what I have done to you.
Phillip
I took a shaky breath as I put the letter beside me and looked at the second page. It was a full statement of him admitting he had abused me. It had his signature. I put it down and took another deep breath.
Slater was silent but I could feel his eyes on me.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
I let out an emotional breath. "Nothing."
Did his letter change anything? No. It didn't change what had happened, it didn't take away the shame I felt. The only confirmation his letter gave me was that he knew what he did had been wrong. I couldn't bring myself to use his statement to prove what he did to me. It would only cause more pain.
I rubbed my temple, feeling the familiar sting of tears. I swallowed.
Slater reached for me and pulled me to my feet. Confused, I looked up at him as his hands cradled my face gently. I stared into his eyes, which flickered to my lips before his lips gently touched mine.
It was a soft kiss that left my heart racing by the time he lifted his mouth from mine.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I had to do something. Seeing you like this is hard."
"Don't be sorry," I told him hoarsely. "Do it again."
His hand found mine. "Are you sure? I'm not sure that's a good idea."
I nodded. I needed him. "Please," I whispered.
He pulled me to him by my hand. His mouth covered mine as his arms wrapped around me. My arms encircled his waist and I opened my mouth as his tongue swept mine.
I concentrated on what I was feeling with this bad boy who held my heart firmly in his grasp, blocking out the rest. I didn't want to think about my past or my future. Even knowing what I shared with him here wouldn't last and would lead to heartbreak did nothing to deter me.
If this was all we had, then so be it.
His hands slipped under his baggy shirt I wore and he lifted it. I allowed him to take it off. Our lips met as I reached for his shirt, only breaking our kiss long enough for him to discard the clothing.
My hand soothed over his arms and I admired the swirl of colors there.
Mouth to mouth, skin to skin. My heart raced and every touch between us was amplified. He kissed me on my jaw and began to trail kisses down my neck. I held on to him when I felt my knees tremble.
He lifted me and laid me down on the bed. He discarded his jeans before he returned to me. The oversized sweatpants were easy for him to remove and then his last item of clothing dropped to the floor. He fished out a foil packet from his jeans and tore it open.
"This might make things worse," he whispered when he lay above me. I opened my legs and he moved between them.
"Don't stop," I told him in a murmur, pressing my lips to his as my arms wrapped around his neck and brought him down to kiss me.
In one swift stroke he filled me, and I gasped. His mouth covered mine. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his hips. He set the rhythm and my hips met his.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel every single tingle, every movement of his body around mine.
His movements quickened and I held on, feeling the initial start of my orgasm before I realized I hadn't felt the need to hide. I had been with him every step of our union, and that left me reeling as I felt the first crash of my climax. I was still gasping when he tensed above me and came.
Still trying to understand what happened, he lay above me, trying to catch his breath.
"You okay?" he asked, searching my face for answers.
I nodded.
He moved off me and then walked to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He returned and slipped back into bed with me.
"Talk to me," he said, caressing my cheek.
I looked at him and smiled. "I'm okay."
There was no quick way to fix what had happened to me but, in that moment, I felt a glimmer of hope that I would be able to overcome it.
Then my mood was ruined when I remembered Cathy. I pulled the sheets to cover up my nakedness.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled as I tried to move off the bed with a blanket to hide me.
"What's wrong?" he asked sharply, stopping my exit with a hand wrapped around my wrist.
"I'm sorry I let this happen," I mumbled, unable to look at him directly because it was only a reminder of what I didn't have. I was mortified I had forgotten.
"Stop," he said, pulling me back down onto the bed, but I continued to struggle against him.
He lay above me, putting the slight weight of his body on me to stop me from struggling.
"Talk to me," he said. "Don't shut me out."
I pressed my lips together, not liking the horrible ache I felt in the middle of my chest.
"Cathy," I whispered. It was enough for understanding to filter into his features.
"There is no Cathy," he stated. "There is no one else."
And with that admission, his hold on me slackened and he moved off to sit beside me. I turned onto my side, not sure of what to say.
"You can't blame me for thinking you were still involved with her." He shrugged as he leaned against the headboard, refusing to look at me.
"No. It's what I wanted you to think."
I frowned as I sat up beside him, trying to figure out what he meant by that.
"Why?" I asked.
My phone started to ring. I moved off the bed, still clutching the sheet, and fished my phone out of my bag. I had been worried it was my mom looking for me but it was Taylor.
"Hi," she greeted me when I answered. "I just wanted to find out how you're doing."
"I'm okay," I said. Saying I was fine didn't sound right.
"How was it?" she asked.
"It was sad and emotional," I answered as I faced Slater, who was still sitting on the bed.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"With Slater."
"Slater?" she asked, sounding confused.
"Yes. He came to the funeral," I said, not comfortable telling her any more than that.
"Did you tell him where you were?" she asked. It was unexpected.
"No. Didn't you?" I asked, frowning. When he had shown up I had assumed it was Taylor who had told him, or that she had told Sin and he had relayed it to him.
"I didn't tell anyone, Jordan," she revealed. My frown deepened.
"I have to go," I tol
d her, needing to know how he had found me. "I'll call you back later."
When I ended the call, I crossed my arms, still keeping the sheet around myself.
"I have two questions for you," I said, walking to the foot of the bed. He slid from the bed and grabbed his jeans.
"How did you know I was here? And did you use Cathy to push me away?"
At the second question, he looked over his shoulder as he buttoned up his jeans. It was still distracting to see him half-naked but I was more determined to get answers.
He turned to face me and raked a hand through his hair.
"Let's get Cathy out of the way," he said, sounding determined. "Nothing happened with her."
I looked at him, disbelieving that.
"I won't lie to you. I used her. I wanted you to believe I had moved on."
His words hurt, the truth hurt. Feeling the need to be less vulnerable, I picked up the sweats and shirt he had lent me.
"I've done some pretty shitty things but I never meant to hurt you," he continued, but now I was hurt and angry. Then I remembered I had taken Levi as my date.
I had played a similar game. But I hadn't used Levi to drive him away, I had used him to protect myself.
I pulled the shirt on before I stepped into the sweatpants and tied them to keep them in place, discarding the unnecessary sheet.
"Why did you do that?" I asked, sounding as hurt as I felt. I didn't want to play games anymore. I loved him and wanted more with him even though it scared me.
But if we couldn't figure our shit out, then there wasn't any hope for us. And the only way to do that would be to be honest with each other.
"I don't do this," he said, sweeping his hand between the two of us. "I don't get emotionally involved."
"Why?" I asked, needing to know that it was because of his sister's death.
"Someone trusted me and I loved her more than I thought possible. I let her down and I will never get to tell her how sorry I am." His eyes glittered with emotion and I wanted to console him but I kept still. "I made a mistake and she paid the price."
