Page 55 of The Rowdy Ones
I stick my tongue out at her.
“I run a bar of soap over tongues when my kids do that,” Aunt Eve says, amusement in her voice. “The white parts of his fur near his mouth are stained with blood. I’m going to trim most of it off when we get out.”
“He’s a white dog?”
“All colors. You don’t know colors, though, do you?”
“I know what they mean, but I can’t remember what they look like. It’s dark these days for me.”
“He’s black and white spotted on his back. His chest is white and his underbelly and legs are copper. His feet and snout are white. The most unusual thing about him is his two different-colored eyes. One’s blue and one’s brown.”
I like that his eyes are different. Like mine.
“He’s beautiful,” I say happily.
She snorts. “He’s dirty and goofy.”
“My baby.”
As soon as I say the words, my smile falters. I’m reminded of my actual baby. The poor, innocent little thing that died before it had a chance to live. Did I want to be kidnapped and raped? No. Did I want to get pregnant from the man who raped me? Also no. But I was pregnant and all I wanted was to care for that sweet baby, needing desperately for some good to come from an awful situation.
I lost it, though.
And I’ve been dead inside since.
Until we came up here to stay. Because of the school, Weston and Gwen, my walking cane, and now Scout, things are looking up.
“I lost so many,” Aunt Eve says in a rare show of vulnerability. “Each time was excruciatingly painful. Like someone carved a hole out of my heart. There are so many holes in my heart. It never stops hurting.”
Tears form in my eyes and I try to blink them away. I’m unable to and let out a soft sob. This has Scout whimpering with worry.
“Hush now,” she tells him. “She’s fine.”
I laugh through my tears. “Are you mean to everyone, Aunt Eve?”
“Yes.” The water splashes some more and then she says, “I know your sadness, Destiny.”
My stomach flips at her words.
“Not all my losses were after I was with Atticus. Many were from before. When I was younger than you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I love them all…” she trails off, voice cracking. “Even though my brothers and father hurt me to get me pregnant.”
I knew she’d lost babies, but I didn’t know this part. “You had sex with them?”
She’s silent for a beat and then says, “They raped me. That’s the word my husband uses for it. Like the bad people did to you. My family was very, very bad.”
It makes me wonder if it was violent like Ronan’s or soft, sweet, and gentle like mine. They’re all awful in their own way. I’m grateful for the night Rowdy cut into our tent and then into the flesh of my rapist all to save me.
He was my hero that night.
Still is.
“I see how Rowdy looks at you. My older brothers had the same hungry glint in their eyes.”
I’m jolted from my memories of my savior. Jerking my head her way, I gape at her. “What? Rowdy’s not like them. He saved me.”
