Page 52 of Giving Grace

Grace

This might be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. When I said yes, I told myself I was doing it for Molly. That she deserved to be happy. That Ryan loves her. Wants to be in her life and the selfish thing would be to deny her that simply because I’m unable to handle the fact that I’m in love with him and can’t have him.

That’s what I realized, standing in his bathroom in my rumpled bridesmaid dress—That I’m in love with Ryan, That I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with him and I’m willing to do just about anything to keep him—even if it means invading his life and taking advantage of the fact that he has no idea what he was asking for when he asked us to stay.

Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and get dressed in the pair of boxers and T-shirt Ryan gave me, making sure I shut the light off before I exit the bathroom. The bedroom is dark and I’m sure he’s sleeping despite the fact that he wanted to shower before going to bed, so I’m surprised when I see the silhouette of him, sitting on the side of the bed, outlined in the dim light of the moon streaming through his window, like he’s waiting for me. Suddenly nervous, I stop in my tracks. “Do you want me to turn the light back on?” I ask him. “I wasn’t sure—”

“No,” he says quietly. “I just…” He swears softly under his breath “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s worried about me.

That I’m going to lose my shit.

Because I told him about Molly.

What happened to me.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, instantly defensive. “It happened a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t matter when it happened,” he tells me, his low deep voice reaching out to me in the dark. “It still happened.”

He’s right.

I know he’s right but I can’t accept it. Not right now. That’s the weird thing about trauma. Some days you’re okay. Some days you don’t even think about the thing that shaped you. Made you into someone you were never meant to be—and some days it’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that’s real.

“I ran track in high school,” I tell him quietly, because now is one of those time. I need to say it all out loud. Get it all out so it can’t hurt me anymore. So I can move on and try to be okay again. “I ran the 100-meter dash and one-mile relay—I ran anchor.” Somehow, I find the courage to close the distance between us and perch myself next to him on the edge of the bed. “My senior year, I was offered a full-ride track scholarship to a small, private, in-state college and even though I knew I was going to take it, I pretended I wasn’t sure so my parents would let me attend the special orientation weekend they offer to student-athletes they’re pitching their program to—basically it’s a three-day party hosted on a college campus. I…” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, swallowing hard against the bitter lump in my throat. “I was sponsored by a junior girl—she was there on a volleyball scholarship—and she showed me around and offered to take me to an off-campus party—and I said yes. The last thing I remember from that night is walking up the sidewalk of the house the party was in.” I look over at him and feel my courage begin to wane, because saying the words I was raped is one thing—telling someone how is what makes it real. What could potentially change the way they see you, the way they feel about you, forever.

Like he can read my mind, I feel his shoulder move against mine as he reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine in the dark. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay. That I don’t have to tell him if I don’t want to. He just holds my hand and waits.

“That’s where I woke up the next morning, alone in a strange bed—” Another deep breath. Another slow release. “Looking back, Even though I didn’t remember it, I think I knew what happened—I just didn’t want to believe it. So, I just left. Found my way back to campus and the dorm room I was staying in. When I asked my sponsor what happened she just shrugged and said she saw me drinking and having a good time but then she lost track of me.”

“Someone put something in your drink,” he puts two and two together, his tone strange and heavy, like he’s having a hard time pushing the words out of his mouth. “And she just left you?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I think so. I don’t know for sure—it was Sunday and my parents were coming to get me, so I showered and changed my clothes and went home like nothing happened.”

But something did happen.

“When I missed my first period, I blocked it out. Pretended it wasn’t happening, like everything else. When I missed my second period, I took three buses to the next town over and bought a pregnancy test. I took it in a McDonald’s bathroom—when it came back positive I threw it in the trash and went home.” This is the part I hate. The part that comes next. “When I missed my third period, I scheduled an appointment at an abortion clinic. While I was sitting there, waiting for my name to be called, I felt her move—this sort of fast fluttering in my lower belly—like a moth trapped under a glass. When they called my name, I couldn’t do it, so I got up and walked out.”

“And you never told anyone?” There’s no judgment in his tone. No reproach. It’s just a question, but I feel it anyway. The shame of what happened, because I was weak and stupid. Because I let it happen. Couldn’t stop it.

“I went back to the house—turns out it was a fraternity. I knocked on the door and the guy who answered it recognized me. Knew my name. I asked him point-blank if he was guy who raped me—”

Ryan’s hand tightens around mine, his fingers pressing against the back of my hand so hard I can feel my bones bend under the pressure of it.

“Jesus, Grace.” There’s the judgment. There’s the reproach—not because he thinks I’m to blame for what happened, but because I put myself in danger. I was stupid enough to go there alone. To stand on the porch of the house where I was raped and point a finger at someone living inside. “What happened?”

“He laughed at me and shrugged. Then he said, maybe it was me. Maybe it wasn’t. What are you gonna do—line the whole fraternity up for a swab test?”

“Do you know his name?”

The judgment is gone, replaced with something hard and unyielding. Something that reminds me of the first night we met. The way that douche with the Rolex looked ready to faint when Ryan asked him why he was bothering me. That he put an orderly at Sojourn in the hospital over something to do with me, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Something that should scare the shit out of me but doesn’t.

That Ryan is dangerous.

With a capital D.

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