Page 17 of Don't Speak
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat what you were saying?” I ask her.
“Yes. I know this is difficult, but we are opening a case for her suicide. Charlie left a note detailing why she took her life, and it seems as though she was a victim of sexual assault. She named the man in question, and detectives are already on their way to his house.”
“Wh—What?” I choke out. “Did you say… sexual assault? Charlie? My baby sister? Sexually assaulted?” My mind is spinning a million miles an hour, and my emotions are playing hopscotch between rage and despair. There is too much for me to wrap my head around today. What does she mean Charlie was sexually assaulted? Why didn’t Charlie tell me? She could have confided in me, and we would have handled this together. My stomach roils with disgust, and I grab the small trash can by her desk, emptying what little I had in my stomach into the bag.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I didn’t want you to find out on the news, and I felt like you should know. I have the letter if you would like to read it. She did address it to you.” Detective Walsh slides the letter across her desk, leaving it placed in front of me. “I’ll give you a moment,” she tells me before getting out of her chair and exiting the room.
I grab the piece of paper, staring at it a bit longer before I wipe the tears from my eyes and slowly unfold it.
Dean,
I want to start this off by saying that I’m sorry. I know how you must be feeling right now, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. Six months ago, I met a man online. Mom was on her 5th bender, and I wasfeeling lonely. I hate bothering you all the time, so I just figured I could make a friend elsewhere. We got to talking, and for a while, it was nice. He helped me through issues with Mom and really listened to how I was feeling. He made me feel seen, feel heard. I didn’t know that he was a monster in sheep’s clothing. He lied about his age, telling me he was 17 years old. He asked me to meet him at the park so we could hang out in person for the first time. By now, I guess you can figure out which park that was. Mom was passed out, so I left. It was late, and I should have known better, but Dean, I was so lonely. You were working, and I just needed someone. When I got there, I didn’t see anyone yet, so I sat on the swings, waiting.
Before I knew it, someone was grabbing me from behind, wrapping a hand around my mouth, and placing a cloth over my face. When I woke up, my shorts and underwear were gone, and there was a man… raping me. When he realized I was awake, he placed his hand back over my mouth. His whispers haunted me for weeks. “Shhh. Don’t speak,” he said. When he finished, I felt frozen in place. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. He told me if I ever told anyone, he’d kill you and Mom. Dean, I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you. When he left, I rolled over to putmy clothes back on. When I grabbed them from the mulch, I noticed a wallet on the ground. It was his. I still have it. You’ll find it in my room in my sock drawer. His name is Sean Edwards. I can’t live with this Dean. I feel lost. I feel ashamed. I feel violated. I feel broken, dirty, and disgusting. Please forgive me. I’ll always be with you. I love you, big brother.
Charlie
Tears flow down my face as my heart breaks into a million pieces. For what happened to her, for how she felt like she couldn’t tell me, for how she was violated. That fucking monster took my sister’s innocence. Took my sister from ME. My little butterfly. Rage consumes me, and I squeeze my hand, crushing the note.
When Detective Walsh knocks on the door and asks if I have finished reading, I vow right then and there that there is only one way this ends.
Sean Edwards will fucking die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I couldn’t sleep at all last night, and it wasn’t because of a nightmare this time. Consider me officially worried. It’s been weeks since the original news story broke about Sean’s release. Is it him? Did he find me? If it were, I feel like I would have noticed him taking a photo of us in the bar, considering it was empty except for the staff.
I know what I should do, but since when do I do anything Ishoulddo?
I had taken the photograph and placed it with the other one, hiding them away in my nightstand. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
I’ve been staring at the wall in my living room for what feels like hours. When I woke up this morning, I stress-cleaned. The house looks immaculate. All of my laundry is completed, carpets are vacuumed and shampooed, everything is dusted, and my kitchen floor is so clean that I could probably eat off it. I won’t, but I could.
After finishing every last task I could think of, I had nothing else to do but waste time. I work the night shift tonight, so I need to start getting ready soon. I feellost.My brain is battling between doing what I know I should and just ignoring it, hoping it will go away. I have always told myself to never get attached to a city, knowing I’d have to pick up and leave after a few years anyway. I thought it would be easy. When you move around a lot as a kid, never staying in one place for more than two years, it really affects your ability to make friends, knowing you won’t be around long enough to develop a strong bond with someone else. Heaven forbid I allowed myself to. If I did, I opened myself up to the pain of having to leave them behind. By the time I was in 5thgrade, I had gone to five different schools. I just want to know what it feels like tobelong.
Amelia moved here specifically to be close to me. When I had to move from the city where we originally met, she wouldn’t let me go alone. There’s no way I could leave her behind. And now that Dean is in the picture, I really don’t want to leave. My heart and my brain are battling to the death, it seems. One will win eventually, and I know that no matter what, I won’t like the outcome.
Getting up off the couch, I head into the bathroom to start my routine of getting ready for work.
The bar is packed tonight. There are two bachelorette parties and a birthday party, and the local college frat boys are here partying it up post-finals week. There are so many people here that I am unsure how anyone is able to move. I am glad tobe behind the bar at this point. But with a large crowd comes a busy night. We haven’t stopped making drinks since the club opened four hours ago, and since we were given a heads-up about the events tonight, we were able to prepare for the crowd by having three bartenders tonight. Dean, Cora, and I are all making drinks. Cora is making a martini, Dean is making an old fashioned, and I’m making a Long Island. We are all in a groove, knocking out patron after patron. It’s going to be a tiring night, but the money we'll be pulling in from tips will be worth it.
“This Dean guy is smokin’ hot, girl,” Cora says while making her next drink.
“Isn’t he?” I chuckle, a blush gracing my cheeks.
“Oh, you like him, don’t you?” she taunts, giving me a wink.
“What? No. You know I don’t get attached, Cora,” I respond, ringing up a patron and swiping his card.
“Who says you have to get attached? Just fuck him. You know, a one-night stand and shit.”
“I can’t have a one-night stand with my co-worker. That would be a disaster. Besides, I don’t want to lose this one. He actually knows how to do his job.” I giggle. We have had some shitty bartenders come through here. Cora and I even begged Ben to fire some of them, and we offered to work every single day until someone competent enough was found.
“While that could be the case, I think this one would be worth it.” She winks, turning to place the drink on the bar and sliding it to the customer. She adds the drink to his tab and takes the next order.
“Besides, I’ve caught him checking you out at least ten times since the shift started,” she teases. “He’s been watching you every time he makes a drink.”
“You’re seeing things. If he’s checking out anyone, it’s you,” I tell her. It’s true. The girl is drop-dead gorgeous and has a banging personality to go with it.
