Page 39 of Rampant

When I was fifteen, he got me pregnant. I got an abortion, and when Dad found out, he went through the roof. I don’t know why he told Dad you raped me…no, that’s not true. He did it because he was jealous of you. He’s always been jealous of you.

You’re probably wondering why I went along with the lie. I ask myself the same thing all the time. But I’ve seen his rage, seen firsthand what he’s capable of, and he threatened to kill you if I didn’t back him up. Hindsight’s 20/20, they say. I know now that I should have stood up to him. You’re a big boy and could’ve taken care of yourself. At the time, though, the threat choked me.

Now it’s too late. You’ll be out in a year…less, actually. I need to let you go. I need you to get past this and be happy. I want your forgiveness more than you could know, but that’s an impossible dream. I wouldn’t forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.

Rafe, this is the last time I’ll write, and you’ll be safe because you’ll never read these letters. You’ll live your life hating me, and I’ll have to find a way to live with that. If I could say one thing to you right now, it would be how sorry I am. He did it because I love you.

Yours always,

Alex

I dropped the page, watched it flutter to the ground, and stared at it for what seemed like forever. She waited inside, and I found it ironic that she was scared to face me. That she wantedmyforgiveness. I’d kidnapped and done unforgivable acts—things I couldn’t even recall—to a victim of rape. Maybe I’d feel differently if I remembered the last eight years, but I didn’t.

So that begged the question…what the fuck was I supposed to say to her?

Gathering her letters, I rose to my feet and pulled the screen door open. She’d left the front door cracked. Slowly, I stepped inside and the sound of running water brought me into the kitchen where I found her loading my fucking dishwasher like it was an everyday chore she did.

She must have sensed my presence because she shut off the faucet, though she didn’t move or turn around. “You read them?”

“Every word.” I wanted to ask her so many things. Why didn’t she send the letters? Why was she giving them to me now? Most of all, I wanted to know the name of the scumbag who’d raped her. I had my suspicions, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it yet. I placed the envelopes on the table and fisted my hands. With all the pent-up rage rushing through my veins, I was surprised at how level my words came out. “Why are you doing my dishes?”

She shrugged. “To stay busy.”

“Can you turn around and talk to me?”

“I’m scared, Rafe.”

“I already told you”—willing the anger to leave my voice and body, I unfurled my fists and relaxed my stance—“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She propped against the counter, fingers clutching the edge. “I’m scared of what you’re thinking. We’ve been through so much together, but letting you read those letters was like giving you free access to my journal.”

“Why’d you do it then?”

She dropped her head. “I let everyone around me dictate my life. I’ve basically been a doormat. What I did, sending you away like that when you hadn’t even touched me…if I could change one thing, it would be that.” She inhaled then let the breath out in a whoosh. “I want to make this right,” she said, voice fracturing, “but I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again.” It felt like a dick thing to say, considering how the words came from a hypocrite’s mouth, but it was the truth. I wanted to tear into the person who’d done this to her. By the time I was through, no one would recognize his disgusting face. “Who raped you?”

She paused, back straightening before she whirled around to face me. “What?” Her large green eyes rounded in shock.

Shit. Fucking amnesia. The eight-year blank she knew nothing about.

“There’s something you need to know.” I gestured toward the half-filled dishwasher. “Those can wait.” I pulled out a chair and gave her a pointed look.

Rather than cross the few feet between us, she wiped her palms on her jeans. “Why are you acting like this?” Her voice rose, on the level of screeching, and the confusion on her face splintered through me. “Don’t treat me like I’m breakable. I want you back! Ineedyou back.” She blinked rapidly, sucked in several breaths, and to my horror, tears leaked down her cheeks. “Makeme sit in that chair.”

I gaped at her, at a complete loss. “Alex…come sit down. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk! I want you to turn back time and come after me.” She doubled over, her shoulders quaking with sobs. “I want you to take back control! Stop acting like nothing happened between us.” She wiped the hair from her eyes and slid to the floor, the fight bleeding from her body, then covered her face with her hands.

Carefully, I closed the distance and a sense of Deja vu came over me. I crouched in front of her, pulling her hands to the sides of her damp cheeks. “I don’t remember.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The last eight years, Alex.” Of their own volition, our fingers entwined. “I don’t remember any of it.”

He didn’t remember?

I searched his eyes, looking for a hint of recognition as I attempted to process what he’d told me.

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