Page 71 of Heart of a Rebel

But as I look out at the room full of faces that will soon turn to me, my stomach spins.

On the redheaded woman’s cue, I’m shuffled up the staircase and told where to stand at the side of it. I stand tall and try to reclaim the courage I had when I walked in tonight wearing this dress, but alone in front of the crowd it’s not as easy as I’d like.

I hear a man with a microphone introducing me, the crowd clapping. I feel the hand on my lower back that guides me to the center of the stage. And then it’s quiet. I’m standing before a sea of people by myself, swallowing hard as feedback cuts through the speakers.

My speech is on the tip of my tongue as I look out at all the faces. A well-rehearsed story that leaves out the gory details of my life and focuses on the women this charity is meant to help. Because that’s how I prefer it. While the spotlight shines on me most of the time, in these situations, I’d prefer it doesn’t.

But as my lips part and I find the band’s table in the crowd, my eyes fall on Adrian, I want to quiet the self-doubt playing in my head.

You’re a fraud.

They deserve better.

You’re hiding.

I want to be stronger.

“Thank you all for coming.” I plaster on a smile and hope it doesn’t reveal my hesitation. “The Lilac Foundation is a cause close to my heart, so I want to start by saying your time and donations are appreciated.”

The heartbeat of the room echoes in my ears as I take a deep breath.

“Some of you have been to this annual gala before. You’ve heard me talk about the importance of using your voice as a platform for those who are struggling to find their own. You’ve heard me talk about being the person who speaks up for others to ensure they aren’t brushed aside in the system. But all along, I’ve been quiet myself.”

Murmurs ripple through the room. No doubt already wondering if the rumors in the press are true. And part of me wonders if I’m actually saying this. I’m going off-script, and I can’t seem to help it.

One sentence and I’m lighting a fire that will inevitably spread, leaving Adrian to deal with the mess. But as I look up at him and he nods for me to continue, one tick confirms what I already know about him. He isn’t intimidated by my voice like so many other men, he wants me to use it. He supports me in being myself and speaking my truth. Welcoming any headache the press might give him as a result.

My eyes move to Sebastian, who smiles as he meets my gaze. My brother is here; the band is here, supporting me unconditionally. Whether I continue after this tour or not, I’ve got a voice many don’t. A voice that can be used for change. It’s time I do it.

“What you haven’t heard me admit before is that I’ve also been a victim.” It comes out like glass shards, but they don’t immediately take my voice, so I keep going. “I’m sure you’ve seen recent reports in the media, and rumors are already starting to spread. So to put those to rest, I’m going to speak my truth. Six years ago, I was sexually assaulted, and it’s still something I’m healing from within myself. I was scared to say this out loud for a long time—that I am a victim. Because I worried if I showed my weakness, I couldn’t be strong for those around me. But the truth is, my weakness and my pain are what make me stronger. It’s where I found my voice and learned to speak up for others. So while I’m not ready to divulge everything that happened, I am ready to stand here tonight and tell you that I am no longer going to live as a victim, because I’m a survivor. Something I was reminded of recently.”

My eyes lock on Adrian’s, and I try to hold back the lump in my throat.

“I was lucky enough to have a strong support system around me after everything happened, but so many women and men don’t. They suffer in silence, are brushed off, or worse, are told they’re lying. That’s why I started this foundation, to provide validation that is too often stripped away. To help victims of abuse be heard, even if I was suffering from my own. So while we sit here tonight and pat ourselves on the back for helping a good cause, I want you to remember what it is that our time and money will actually do.”

“And to those of you out there like me, who have experienced some sort of domestic, sexual, or physical violence in your life, and have carried it around like a secret out of fear or embarrassment. I want you to know someone hears you. Someone feels your pain. Someone believes you. And while I’ve been quiet for far too long, I’m done now. I’m going to be loud. And I’m going to stand up for your justice as well as my own.”

Turning, I walk off the stage, hearing the echoes of claps around me. I might not have gotten into the gory details of what happened when I was assaulted, but I sliced open the wound far enough to let the infection show. The messy parts they’ll talk about.

Let them.

I’m done getting on stage and showing a false version of myself just to keep them comfortable. I’m ready to share my ugly truth and force them to see me for who I really am. And even if my monster is out there watching, threatening me to hold my tongue, I’m no longer going to do it.

Shut your mouth or pay the consequences.

Fuck that.

I hope he saw this.

As I make my way back to the band, people stop me to give me quick smiles and greetings, but it’s all lighthearted and awkward. The thing about abuse is it brings out the strangest reactions from others: pity, nerves. People don’t know how to look at you or what to say when really all I’ve ever needed is them to be there.

Around the room, I feel eyes and hear whispers. A game of telephone already starting. Seeking out my gory details. I’d like to think they want to know because they’re trying to understand but they just want the dirt.

“Proud of you, sis.” Sebastian stops beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

Cassie stands there with her eyebrows pinched. “Is that why you started this foundation?”

“I needed to do something.” I shrug.

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