Page 83 of The Perfect Love

“So, I never want to pressure you to talk, but you just said a bunch of things that I don’t know what to do with.”

My head snaps up, and I meet his gaze.Shit. That’s not how I wanted to tell him this. We were going to cook dinner together tomorrow night, and I was going to tell him, but… no point in waiting now.

“Do you want me to get Robbie?” he asks.

I rest my hand on his thigh and shake my head.

“No. I need to tell you something.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. I’m ready for you to know.”

As soon as I say the words, that uglyshamehits me all over again.

Why does rape have to be such a dirty word?

Why am I the one who has to face the consequences?

Why am I the one who has to deal with people’s opinions and judgment?

Why am I the one who has to deal with the scars of this for the rest of my life?

I can’t change any of that.

But I can sayfuck shame. I can own what I’ve been through and do my damndest to hold the world accountable so there will be one less girl like me out there one day.

I turn to Trevor and take his hands, focusing on him. This isn’t about me pouring out my soul. This is about trusting him. Letting out the final part of myself that I’ve been hiding. Because this is official now, and as our relationship moves forward, he deserves to know. And I deserve to have unwavering support as I continue to heal from this.

I bite my lip as I breathe deeply through my nose. His eyes are so gentle, and his expressive features are filled with concernfor me.

“I’ve held back telling you why I left Syracuse because I know what I’m about to say will change things—add a weight to our relationship—but it’s important to me that you know. Before our relationship goes any further, I need you to know because it ties into why I have to ease into any kind of sexual relationship and my ability to trust. But you’ve shown me how deeply I can trust you, so…” I take another breath, then force out the words. “I was drugged and raped at a party sophomore year of college.”

Trevor

This must be what having a stroke feels like.

My girl…

My beautiful, strong, incrediblewomanwas raped?

The raw, primal anger burning inside me is too much. I want to rip my clothes off. I feel like I’m about to Hulk out. But then she keeps talking.

“I didn’t tell you last week, but the reason for my panic attack and turning off my phone was because I found out you play baseball—played at Syracuse—and the guy… he said he did too. My memory is so hazy, but I remember him being almost too proud about it, and—”

I fly off the couch.

“Who was it?” The words are a barely contained scream. Not at her.Forher. Because if I know the person who laid his hands on her, forced himself inside her, I will cut off every part of his body that touched her, then dump him in a shallow grave. I’ve never wondered if I’m capable of murder before, but fun fact, I am. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced visceral rage like this. I’ve wanted to rain hell on Hyla’s parents before, but this is next level.

Knowing that anyone has endured such a deep violation is horrific. But Chelsea? She’s mine. And even though she wasn’t when it happened, I’m still ready to go scorched earth, hunt this fucker down, and make him pay.

Kill my way across a continent? That’s cute. I’ll chase this guy to the ends of the earth, and when I get my hands on him, I’ll make him sorry he ever looked at her.

Chelsea blinks at me. “I don’t know. We had one drink together while playing pool, and he flirted with me. He must’ve spiked my second drink. The whole night and next few days after that are hazy. I don’t remember how I got back to my dorm that night, I only remember stumbling through the door and collapsing on my bed. For two days, I barely moved. Drank some water. Went to the bathroom. That was it. My roommate panicked and called our RA, who called my dad. He and Robbie showed up, and when I mustered a few words to tell them what happened, they took me to the hospital. I was swabbed and poked with all the tests they could do. My bloodwork showed trace evidence of me being drugged. And supposedly they got some DNA from my kit that didn’t match mine, but it didn’t match anyone else on file, either. It’s technically still an open case because I couldn’t remember his name or give a stronger description than hazel eyes and shaggy blond hair. On a campus that big… they weren’t going to find him.”

“But you said he played baseball.”

She shakes her head. “That’s what he told me. But who knows if that was true. I have no idea how much the police looked into that because I dissociated from life.” Her shimmering eyes drop to the floor. “I moved home and spent the next few months lying in my dark bedroom and refusing to talk to anyone. Not a shining moment for me. Eventually I clawed my way out, but—”

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