Page 68 of Fracture

By the time we’re dry and dressed, Stella’s voice is audible through the walls. She’s talking loud, in a tight staccato that tells me something isn’t right. Dylan frowns at me, and we head out into the hall just as Stella emerges from her room. She’s dressed in a black slip dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed bright crimson as she rubs her forehead with her index finger and thumb.

“Mallory, I am not going public with this.” She sighs heavily. “Withthis. What happened back then. I’m not doing it.” She waves a hand angrily through the air as though whoever this Mallory is were right in front of her. “No, enough. I cannot go through that again. I won’t. Please don’t call this number again.”

She swipes her finger over her phone screen, and looks up at us both, eyes wide and shoulders heaving.

“Who was that?” Dylan asks, moving towards her slowly as though she’s a deer he’ll startle back into the woods.

“A re- reporter.” Stella’s breath hitches in her throat, and her hands start to tremble violently. “She- she keeps fucking calling me, ab-about…” She cuts off suddenly, her hands shaking so hard she drops her phone, and her pupils blown as she looks at us. “D-Dylan, I-” She gasps, her chest sucking in hard.

I’ve seen this too many times, when I held Dylan as he tried to stay quiet, so the other inmates wouldn’t hear him and think he was weak, an easy target for being a kid scared out of his fucking mind in prison.

Stella’s having a panic attack.

Dylan reaches her before me, closing the distance between them and taking her in his arms.

“I’m here,guera. You can feel my skin, it’s real, and I’m here.”

She makes a sound like a sob, strained and catching amongst the breaths that can’t escape her throat. Her knuckles are white as she clutches onto Dylan’s arms.

“I’ve got you,guera,” Dylan murmurs soothingly. “The floor under your feet, can you feel it?”

Stella nods frantically.

“Feel how cool it is,” he croons, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, rubbing gently. “Feel my hand? That’s real, Stella. This is real. You’re safe, we’re here. Breathe for us,guera.”

“She… She told me…” Stella’s voice is high-pitched, still filled with panic. “She told me, Stanley Iverson, he’s… He’s sponsoring Gloria’s campaign.”

Dylan gives me a sideways frown. “Iverson?”

I shake my head, trying to remember the name. Trying to place it amongst all the bloated elites my mother mingled with, the pasty white faces of all those disgusting men who leched over Stella whenever our parents threw a party.

“Baby girl, who’s Stanley Iverson?”

Tears run down her cheeks, and her eyes are wide with terror as she looks at me. “Remember m-my s-sixteenth birthday.” It’s all she says before she covers her face with her hands, and burrows into Dylan’s chest.

Dylan’s arms crush her against him as she starts to wail, and ice and fire run down my spine at the same time.

Her sixteenth birthday.

As if I could ever forget. When Dylan had bought her all the flowers. When she’d worn that cute white and red polka dot dress, and danced with me under the full moon.

When her father had let her have her first glass of red wine.

And she’d started to sway on her feet. And he’d scooped her up, and told her what a special day it was.

The day after her sixteenth birthday, I found her crying in the bathroom, covered in bite marks and scratches, and unable to sit down.

It would be over a year before I’d understand what had happened. Before she’d finally tell me what caused the screaming nightmares that had me rushing into her room to hold her until she fell asleep again.

I stalk into my bedroom and type out a quick text, before pulling on a t-shirt and jeans, shoving my feet into my sneakers and heading back out to where Dylan is still holding Stella. She’s gone eerily silent, just trembling in Dylan’s arms every few seconds, as shocks of grief travel through her nerves.

“Stay with her,” I tell him. “I need to go see somebody.”

Dylan doesn’t even need to ask me for what.

He knows.

We’ve always known this was coming.

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