Page 77 of Forever Fake

I scan the article, which is all lies and twisted truths, scrolling all the way down to the video at the end. My mouth goes dry.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Against my better judgment, I push play.

Our privates are blurred but the video clearly shows Oliver railing me from behind while I’m tied up, my face contorted in pain—or pleasure—it’s difficult to tell since there’s no sound. But I remember that night with vivid clarity. The pain, my cries for him to stop only urging him on, and how helpless I felt that I couldn’t get away, how I couldn’t fight back.

He’d given me some kind of drug that kept me lucid but unable to control my body. Then he treated me like a puppet, arranging me how he wanted and tying me in place. Then he?—

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Blake’s steely tone draws my attention. He’s standing in the doorway, arms folded, his features so impassive they could be carved of ice.

I lick my parched lips. “Did I enjoy what?”

“Screwing Oz. You sure look like you were having a good time in that video.” His eyes flash with malice.

I’m stunned into silence. Bile rises in my throat. My stomach heaves, and I dart to the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before retching my guts out. I’m shaking, tears streaming down my face. How could he think such a thing?

Blake storms in after me. “You can stop with the act now, Gin. I know all about your relationship with Oz. Yourlover.” He spits the word at me.

“He’s not my lover,” I manage to get out before dry heaving into the sink. I didn’t have much to eat yesterday.

“Then what the fuck do you call this?” Blake shoves his phone in my face, the video playing.

I bat it away with enough force that his phone flies across the room, skidding on the marble floor. “Do you really want to know what that’s called?”

“Yes, I do!”

“It’s calledrape!”

Blake freezes, every muscle in his body tensing.

When he doesn’t speak, I continue, “Take a c-closer look at that why don’t you? I’m screaming for him tos-stop! But you don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m a liar and a slut. That I’d cheat on you with my horrible ex because you’re too insecure to realize I’d never, ever do such a thing. You have no idea what he did to me.” My voice breaks on that last word. I sob, my legs giving out and I sag to the cold stone floor.

Suddenly Blake drops to his knees, then he’s caging me in his arms, my face buried in his chest. I’m so mad at him, but I don’t have the energy to fight him right now.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m a goddamn idiot. Of course I believe you, sweetheart.”

He believes me. That’s all it takes to break me wide open.

I ugly cry at his admission. He holds me tighter and I draw on his strength to get me through another anxiety attack. By going against Oliver’s demand, I brought this on myself. Of course he’d leak that video to the press in order to punish me. Now the entire world thinks I’m an awful person. A cheater.

But I want Blake to know the truth. He deserves it.

Eventually, I hiccup, blow my nose on a tissue, and lean against Blake’s solid chest, his arms wrapped securely around me.

My first confession comes out flat. “My uncle started molesting me when I was nine.”

He tenses around me, but doesn’t say anything, giving me space to speak.

“I told my father but he ignored me, accused me of l-lying, so I never went to anyone about this kind of thing again. Not when I was eighteen and a guy raped me in a pool house, or any of it. Then–”

“You don’t have to tell me this, magpie. You don’t owe me any?—”

“I need to tell you,” I whisper like I’m already losing my voice. “I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” he murmurs close to my ear in a quiet, soothing tone.

“Afraid you’d hate me, that you’d look at me differently. That you wouldn’t w-want to touch me ever again.”

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