matter how much I want to keep hiding from it.
The only thing the shower helped me see clearly was that I shouldn’t have lashed out at Connor. I was putting all the blame on him because I was so scared to face questions I’ve asked myself about Henry.
It hurts that Connor spied on me, but as I pick through the denial with a clearer head, I see the real problem is Henry. What he really was. What he did.
I don’t think I can stress bake my way out of this one.
Once the initial anger faded, burning off fast, I understood I was scared in the pool house. Afraid to face the truth beneath the surface all these years.
Some part of me knew it wasn’t right, but I always pushed it aside. Now the burn of pain and humiliation is blistering. It’s something that could happen to anyone, but I never thought it would be me.
I sat under the spray until it ran lukewarm, leaving my body pink and tender. It didn’t wash away the feelings slithering beneath my skin.
Online boyfriend. It was the easiest way to explain away that I was talking about private things with someone I’d met on the internet. Easier to say we were together, because sending photos and having the intimate conversations we did…pretending to act out fantasies. I swallow thickly, shying from the thought. The things I did with Henry were the things couples do. I did them because if I didn’t, he’d break up with me. But that doesn’t make it okay.
What he did to me was wrong.
He used me. Abused me. Manipulated me when I was vulnerable, making sure I felt like shit if I refused to give him what he demanded. Punishing me for it with his silence until I was running back into his arms like a good little pet.
Henry was not an online boyfriend.
He is a predator.
Not only did he feed on my insecurities about my body—he made them worse. He actively whispered in my ear to knock me back in the dirt whenever I felt strong enough to overcome the negative thoughts, dragging me down with his claws into a pit of despair where he was the one in control of my happiness if he felt like giving it. If I did what he wanted.
Fear, that was how he controlled me.
A wheeze cracks my throat as I sit down hard on my bed, digging my fingers into the damp towel wrapped around me.
After a long minute, I lick my lips and take a deep breath.
“I am a victim,” I say hoarsely, wincing at the word once more.
Saying it out loud makes it real. I can’t run from it when it lives in my bones, lurking in my memories. I tremble on the bed, my knuckles white.
Did I bring this on myself? I responded to his attention in the first place.
As soon as the thought enters my mind, I vehemently refute it with a sharp jerk of my head. “No. I will not blame myself.”
Nothing I do will change what happened to me. I was at a vulnerable age that caused a perfect storm. Mom might have driven my negative feelings about myself, but we both aren’t to blame for this. Henry preyed on me. He is the only one to blame.
Acknowledgement of it all hurts. It’s embarrassing to think a smart girl like myself could be duped. The truth I never dared face rakes me raw.
This is still a lot to think about all at once. I don’t know if I can do it by myself without breaking down. Before I’m swallowed by my emotions, I finish getting dressed.
After a quick search online, I find therapists in the area who can help me process this. I save a list of potentials to the note app on my phone. Whether I decide to seek out therapy or not, I want to be prepared when I’m ready to cross that bridge.
For now, I need to get ready or I’ll be late. Maisy is expecting me at the market. It’s one of our favorite holiday activities to do together. I’m not missing out on it when it’s exactly what I need—another afternoon with my best friend, hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows, and something normal to take my mind off of all this for a while.
In the car on the way to meet Maisy, more memories and thoughts worm their way through the decimated remains of the mental walls, painting everything in