Page 60 of Just Me

“We need to call Bastian,” Caden said as he reached for his phone.

“Please don't.”My answer immediately had all eyes on me.

“Why not?”Caden asked.

In truth, I felt dirty. Having a mother like I did, I couldn't move past the possibility that I had somehow brought on Brad's behavior. Dr. Wright must have been reading my mind. She said fiercely,“You did nothing wrong, Lark. Rape is about control, nothing more.”

I heard her words and I knew I should call Bastian, but I couldn't help feeling that I had somehow asked for it. I didn't want Bastian to look at me and feel disgust or something worse.

“There's nothing he can do and telling him now will only make him insane. Please, I'll tell him, just not tonight,”I said.

“Okay, if that's what you want…,”Mr. Wright said.“Butyou are pressing charges.”

I met his hard stare and replied, “Absolutely.”

Physically I was exhausted, and though I knew sleep wouldn't come, I wanted to be alone. Dr. Wright seemed to know what I was thinking.“If you need to talk about it, our door is open,” she said.

“Thank you.”

Poppy hugged me hard.“Do you want me to sleep in your room?”

“Thanks, but no.”

“Okay. If you change your mind...”

I startedfrom the room, but Caden stopped me. Our gazes met and held—he still looked furious, and I knew I’dfeel shaky for a while longer—at the same time we stepped into each other. I buried my face in his shoulder as he pulled me close. He brushed his lips over my forehead before he took a step back. I managed a weak smile to hide the fact that I couldn't think of any words to express my gratitude for what he did for me, but he seemed to understand.

When I reached my room, I closed the door and immediately started frantically pulling off my clothes as I headed to the bathroom. I cranked the water up as hot as I could tolerate as I scrubbed every inch of my body. I jumped out of the shower for my toothbrush and brushed like a madwoman to get his taste out of my mouth. My skin was red and raw and my gums were swollen from brushing so hard, but I felt better. I slid down the wall of the shower and rested my forehead on my upturned knees.

The only person I wanted with me was the one person I was terrified to tell about my ordeal. I had willingly gone into that room with Brad. Had I asked for it? Had I subconsciously brought this on myself? Bastian’sface hovered just there behind my eyes and his look of disgust sent a chill through me. Would he think less of me? Would he look at me differently? The idea of it, of losing him, sent tears blending in with the spray from the shower.

Later that night while I lay in bed, I remembered Brad's odd comment about fate and us being linked. What had he meant by that?

***

The following morning, I couldn't look in the mirror, because my lips were bruised: a very visual reminder of the horror from the night before. I showered again and brushed my teeth to the point of blood. Just thinking about last night made me sick, physically ill. Part of me believed it had just been a terrible nightmare, but one look in the mirror disproved that. How had I not seen what hid under Brad's affable exterior? Never would I have believed that he was capable of hurting me and that was what fueled my fear that perhaps I really had brought it on myself. I wanted Bastian, wanted him to wrap me in his arms and make it all go away.

My thoughts turned to Mica. Had she been on the receiving end of Brad's unwanted attention too? Was that why her personality had changed so radically? They were friends, Brad and Mica. What a betrayal, it would have been like Shawn attacking me. It made sense though, how she no longer sought attention but tried to hide from it. A snippet of the conversation with my uncle about my mom flashed into my head. Hadn't my uncle said my mother had done the same, that she had withdrawn from everyone? My God, was it possible? No, I was still in shock and not thinking clearly.

Before I called Bastian, I needed to tell someone who was much closer to home. I called my uncle and asked if we could meet. He was so excited to hear from me that I felt guilty for not keeping in touch more often. As much as I hated my aunt, my uncle had only ever been kind.

We agreed to meet at the local cafe in town, which served mostly coffee and sandwiches, but it was the sitting areas with plush sofas and comfortable chairs that encouraged patrons to linger and chat.

My uncle was already there. As soon as he saw me, he stood up to greet me but when he saw my face, his joy turned into anger. “What happened to you?”

“It's why I wanted to talk with you.”

He gestured to the chair, and while he took his seat he studied me for a moment. “I'm listening.”

After a deep breath, I shared my nightmare. He sat silently and listened and the only reaction I saw in him was the hardening of his jaw and the fury that turned his eyes darker.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“And you've pressed charges?”

“Yes.”

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