“She walked off to find the guy she wanted to see there.” Closing my eyes adds vivid colors to the scene--the red lights around the room, the music blaring from the speaker, red cups of alcohol scattered over the floor. Red. “It was so loud. Everyone was drunk. Seemed like, just minutes later, she was stumbling after the guy out to the pool house.”
“Brady?”
I stare off, lost to the memory. The blur of the scene I’ve spent months pushing away with therapy and dark shadows. We’re just having a little fun.
“She stumbled after Brady?” The sound of Lucian’s voice draws me back to the present, and I nod.
“Yeah. Sorry. The beloved son of Tempest Cove,” I go on.
A flash of his naked torso flickers in my head, over the distant echo of laughter.
“She got drunk.”
Screams pierce my ears, and I screw my eyes shut, breathing hard through my nose as the sketchy memories arrive like half-drawn pictures with the edges erased.
“He tore her clothes off. And she was so intoxicated she couldn’t even fight it.”
The sharp tip of a blade scrapes over the stark white paper, connecting the lines of the image in pale gray scratches. I can’t bring myself to look at the mental image forming inside my head--the naked body of a girl lying on the floor. As if I’m looking down at her, scored onto the page in rough strokes.
“There were more of them. His teammates. Maybe four, or five, I can’t remember. They laughed, as he raped her. All of them watching, begging for a turn.”
A blackness stirs in the pit of my guts as the rest of the story seeps out of its locked compartment, the images clearer as more lines converge on the image, dark scratches filling with cold black ink, bringing details to life. Her half-drawn lids. The dirty carpet beneath her. Bruising marks where he held her too tight.
“Where were you when this happened?” Lucian’s voice fades beneath the remembered sounds of grunting and slapping skin, curses and crying.
“I was hiding. Hiding from all of them. I couldn’t breathe. But then I screamed. I screamed so loud, but no one could hear me.” I don’t even realize I’m clawing at Lucian’s chest, until my eyes focus in on the scratches streaked across his skin.
“What happened to the girl?”
What happened to the girl? His voice echoes inside my head.
“She screamed louder. Our screams were finally heard by a neighbor, who shined a flashlight. They all got spooked and ran off.”
“And the girl. Did she get away?”
“She did.” Like a movie reel, the memory continues to spin inside my head.
Wrapping my arm around Kelsey, both of us stumbling out of the pool house. The cold bite of winter air against my face, as the two of us made our way back to the car.
The urge to break down tugs at the back of my eyes, and I push off Lucian’s chest, concentrating on each breath, as my therapist told me to do whenever the anxiety struck me. Closing my eyes, I focus on every count, inhaling and exhaling, in and out, until the thrum in my veins slows, and when I feel Lucian’s arm tighten around my back, I open my eyes again.
“That must’ve been very traumatic to watch. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you tonight.” His comment lures me out of the dark thoughts, pushing them back inside their boxes.
“There’s a difference between roughness and rape. Someone completely betraying your trust. Making you feel small and weak. Worthless.”
“What I wouldn’t give to have been in that room that night.” The shadows behind his stare send a curling shiver down my spine as I imagine what unseen thoughts have captured his focus. “They would’ve regretted laying a hand on that girl.”
In spite of the distress humming through my veins, I try to picture that. The Devil of Bonesalt teaching those adolescent boys a lesson in karma. What a different outcome it might’ve been, and perhaps I wouldn’t have been plagued with so many nightmares after. “You’re the first time I feel safe.”
“And you’re the first time I’ve felt anything in a long time.” He kisses my forehead, squeezing my nape. With each passing second, the memories seal tighter, and my muscles tremble less.
“Tell me about the music. How did you come by such a gift?” His change of topic is a welcomed distraction from the few lingering sensations still humming inside of me.