Page 48 of Taming Liberty

I take in a deep breath and try to be strong, try to will the sting in my eyes away. “When I was a freshman in high school, there was this boy, Corbin.” His name feels like acid on my tongue, and I can’t help but wince. “He was a senior, and he invited me to prom. That’s, like, a young freshman girl’s dream, so of course, I went.”

I clear my throat and Angel squeezes my hand. “So anyway, a few of his friends invited us to a hotel to drink. One of them had rented a room and scored alcohol from his parents or something. I’d never drank before and thought I was so cool hanging out with seniors. And I didn’t want to be the lame one who said no, so…”

I move my eyes to Angel’s chest and rush out the words before they bury themselves back down inside of me. “So it turned out Corbin had rented a room too. I was too nervous to tell him I didn’t want to go to it, then when we were in there, I broke down and told him I didn’t want to have sex, and…”

I lift my hand with a shrug because I can’t bring myself to say the word again. But I remember it. I remember every last detail of it. The way his sweaty palm tasted while it covered my mouth. The panic I felt while I tried to scream. The tearing sound of my pantyhose followed by the sinister unzip of his pants.

I remember him taking my innocence, the way the cheap wine tasted when I threw it up, and I remember the drive home. Hestilldrove me home. After he ruined me.

We didn’t say a word to each other the whole drive, but after he parked the car in front of my house, he grabbed my wrist before I could get out of his mom’s Ford Explorer.

I can hear his voice perfectly in my head, word for word, every connotation and can see the emptiness in his eyes stare back at me in my mind.

“No one will ever believe you if you tell them what happened. They’ll just think you’re a slut who didn’t want to get in trouble by her parents.”

And that was it. He let me go, I went inside, and I never spoke to him again. I never told anyone it happened because I was scared and ashamed and humiliated. The most fucked-up part is that now that I’m an adult who’s lived for a minute, I know that he was right. No one would have believed me. And those who did wouldn’t have really cared.

I swat away a tear and let out a wet laugh as if anything is even remotely funny. “So that fucked me up. Then, my parents never really loved me. I mean they did, they tried, but they were old and tired and didn’t really want to raise a kid. I was just kind of there.”

I tip my head back, searching the ceiling for the right words. “When I met Robert… I don’t know. I didn’t date a lot before him, and it felt fucking incredible to be someone’s trophy. It wasn’t love, but I didn’t fully realize that when I got married. I don’t think I fully realized it until I heard him laugh about selling me as a sex slave… What I really fell in love with was the feeling of being wanted by someone powerful. And honestly…”

My chest vibrates with my shaky breath, more tears slipping. “Honestly, I just didn’t want to give it up. I gave up everything else. My education, my dreams, my fucking self-respect… But I couldn’t give away that.”

“But as you know,” I continue, laughing again. “That was all bullshit anyway. He didn’t want me. I don’t even know what he wanted.”

I pull my hand away from Angel’s and swipe away moisture under my eyes. “I’m so fucking tired of crying.”

Angel takes my hand and brings it in front of me where he holds it tight.

“Liberty…”

I’ve barely been able to glance at Angel this whole time. I close my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to look at him when they open.

His face is soft, no signs of disgust nor a lot of pity. Concern yes, but not pity. He cups my cheek and roams his gaze over my face. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He finds my eyes again. “I understand you better now… Thank you for sharing that with me.”

He tenderly brushes away each tear that leaks out.

This is the way I imagined Angel before we met.Justlike this. The great listener, always empathetic, always kind, never thrusting his judgment or his answers to all my problems at me. He’s a surgeon with a scalpel, ready to open me up, and I spread welcoming arms to let him.

And then he tells me nothing in return.

“I don’t have a wine allergy by the way,” I say, my voice filled with fake humor. “That’s what I drank the night… On—on prom night. I threw it up then, and now I get nauseous at the thought of it.”

His body shifts as he nods.

It’s quiet for a beat, and thoughts race around in my head so fast it makes me dizzy.

“Tell me something real,” I say when I can’t take the silence any longer.

I plan to go on, to beg, to clarify what I mean, but I stop myself. He knows what I want.

Another minute of silence passes. The plea in my eyes slowly turns to quiet resentment. I think for sure he’s either going to lie or refuse, but finally,finally, he speaks.

“The backstory I pretended to have was real.”

My features relax, and it’s only now that I realize I was looking at Angel expectantly. I shift closer to him, hoping to convey that he has my full attention as effectively as he conveyed that to me.

“It isn’tmybackstory, but I know someone who had a spouse who was incapacitated. They spent years trying to be loyal and put their own life on hold, but eventually, they found someone else.”

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