“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t understand it the way you do, but I’ll try. If you share with me when you’re struggling, I’ll help any way I can. I promise, Ruby.” I squeezed her hands. “I will not let you down ever again.”
“What? Erin! You never let me down!”
“I did, Ruby.” The guilt I had been carrying around for a long time came crashing down around me. “I was so wrapped up in my own life, in enjoying college and dating and going out with friends. I didn’t want to deal with your problems.” Hating myself for what I was about to admit, I started crying, too. “I blamed you for Mom and Dad. I was so angry with you. So, I told myself I didn’t care and that you weren’t my problem. I should have been a better sister.”
“No, no, no,” Ruby said, throwing her arms around me. “You’ve always been the best sister. I blamed myself for Mom and Dad. Of course, you did, too! We were so young, and we had no idea how to handle the trauma of losing them like that. I lost myself in pills and cocaine, and whatever else I could find to send me into the oblivion and numb my pain. You lost yourself in school and work and your friends.”
“I tried to stay busy so I wouldn’t have time to think about it,” I realized, suddenly putting together all the pieces.
“And I’m glad that’s the path you took,” Ruby insisted. “I’m glad you stayed away from the shit that almost killed me.” She rubbed her face with both hands. “The shit that got me into all this trouble I’m in now.” Lowering her hands, she explained, “One of the girls on my cell block had a connection inside. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the guards who brings in the drugs and cell phones and contraband. She offered me a free taste, and I resisted—at first. Then, one day, I got the shit knocked out of me by this big bully bitch, and I started thinking about how many more months I had to go, and I lost it. I wanted to forget everything.”
“So, you accepted her offer?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“It wasn’t the pills I preferred. It was fentanyl. It was a huge fucking dose, way too much for the first time, at least.” Ashamed, she shook her head. “We did the deal in a supply closet by the laundry, and I passed out almost as soon as I put the pill under my tongue. When I woke up, I was alone in the dark—and then he found me.”
“Kavanaugh?”
“Yes.”
“And he...?”
She nodded. “Twice.” She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. “After that, he would take me out of my cell whenever he wanted. A few weeks ago, before I got moved to the processing center to leave the jail, he had taken me to a room that I had never seen. It was in a part of the jail I had never been to or even knew existed.”
When she stopped, I understood that she needed a moment to gather herself. I held onto her hand, and she started to speak again. “There was a camera on a tripod. Like the kind beauty influencers use to film their makeup tutorials,” she explained. “What he did to me had been terrible before that, but the idea of him recording it so he could watch it or share it broke me. I didn’t even try to fight him, and that just made him angrier.” She winced. “I could barely walk the next morning.”
“Oh, Ruby,” I cried. “Oh my god.”
She inhaled a shaky breath. “He kept me in the room for too long. We heard men’s voices, and he dragged me into a storage room. He used duct tape to wrap up my wrists and ankles and covered my mouth with it so I couldn’t make any noise or try to catch anyone’s attention.” She rubbed her mouth as if remembering the feeling of the tape. “The men had one of the girls with an ICE hold. She was younger than you. There were four or five men. Maybe more. I couldn’t see them. I could only hear them.”
I tried to visualize the picture she painted with her description. It must have been terrifying, like something out of a horror film. Part of me wanted to ask her to stop her story, to leave it unfinished so I wouldn’t have the