Page 47 of Absolution
My horrific revelations issue from my numb lips like someone else is speaking. “I orgasm when I’m violated. It feels good because my brain was wired this way from the beginning. Men look at me, and they know I’m prey. I was designed to be raped. And I like it.”
If my stomach weren’t empty, I’d vomit again.
“No,” Dane snarls. “Never say that about yourself.”
His perfect face blurs as my eyes fill with tears. “But it’s true. I get off on being overpowered and violated. I let it happen. I always let it happen.”
“None of this is your fault,” he insists.
A sense of powerlessness hollows out my chest. Everything I’ve built with Dane, all of the dark desires I’ve learned to accept, are rooted in something disgusting. In this moment, I’m robbed of all agency. There’s nothing empowering about embracing my sexual nature with my master. Because it’s never been my choice. I’m like this because of what a sick man did to me when I was a child.
My soul shreds, and an animal wail fills the bedroom. Dane’s arms wrap around me as though he can hold the remnants of me together.
But even my dark god doesn’t have the power to fix me. I’ve been broken for my whole life. Now I finally understand why.
16
ABIGAIL
My eyelids are sandpaper, and my tear ducts are dry from crying all night. Dane held me through it, stoic and silent. I know he must be wrestling with his own reaction to the revelations about Uncle Jeffrey, but he’s bottling up whatever he’s feeling for my sake.
I was surprised and almost disappointed when he allowed me to leave the house without him. I’m desperate to keep my husband close, but I can’t lean on him all the time. And he deserves some space to sort through his feelings too.
I take a deep breath and kick off my sandals at the end of the boardwalk. My mother waits for me on the beach, lounging in her chair with her face tipped back to catch the sun.
This is an exclusive, members only stretch of beach, so we’ll have relative privacy for this awful discussion. There are a few couples with children splashing in the surf, but they’re several yards away. No one will hear this conversation over the sound of crashing waves.
I straighten my large sunglasses, ensuring my red-rimmed eyes are covered. The last thing I need right now is a cutting comment from my mom about my appearance.
“Abby!” She smiles when I approach her, and she almost sounds genuinely happy to see me. “I’m so glad you called. I was worried about you when you got sick. That husband of yours is very cold. He was downright rude when he told us to leave your gallery.”
“Hi, Mama.” I greet her instead of responding to her pointed comments.
I settle down into the chair next to her and attempt to lean back in a casual posture. But I’m far too stiff to pull it off, and her keen eyes rake over me, noting my vulnerable state.
“Marital troubles?” she guesses piteously. “That’s what you get when you don’t ask for your mother’s advice in choosing a husband.”
I decide to cut the bullshit. I’m too exhausted to dance around this difficult subject.
I have to know for sure.
“I was sick yesterday because I had a flashback when Uncle Jeffrey touched me,” I say, keeping myself carefully detached from my emotions. After my anguished night, they’re dulled enough that I’m able to talk about this in a calm, rational tone.
“I think he might’ve…” I stumble over the words, but I force myself to continue. “I think he abused me when I was little.”
My mother waves a dismissive hand. “No need to be so dramatic. Your father was hard on you sometimes. I acknowledge that. But children these days don’t understand discipline and respect.” She shakes her head. “In any case, Jeffrey doted on you. Don’t you remember how often he used to babysit you? He loved it.”
I suppress the worst of my shudder.
“Be honest with me, Mama. I’m not talking about being beaten.”
Her icy blue eyes flare for half a heartbeat, and then her face becomes impassive. She takes a sip of her wine.
I won’t allow her to evade me.
“I think Uncle Jeffrey molested me as a child.” I force the declaration past the lump in my throat. “I have to know if it’s true.”
She stares out at the ocean, her expression disturbingly serene.
