Page 48 of Tainted Tempos

“Hey,” she replies. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” I sound shaky. Nervous.

“You okay?” She sounds alarmed. Worried.

I let out another wheezy breath.

“Mckenna? Are you okay? Where are you?”

She’s one of my best friends. If I tell her, she’ll understand. She won’t judge me. She’ll listen. Help me navigate.

Didn’t I feel better after I confided in Mav? And this week, every evening, didn’t my emotional load ease after I spoke with him about my day, melted into his strong embrace, and kissed him good night?

Will telling Allegra shift the boulder on my chest another inch? Will each person I confide in lighten the load until it’s comprised of feathers? Practically weightless in its intensity?

“Kenny?”

“Allegra,” I say, my voice raw.

“What is it?” my friend whispers. “What do you need?”

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I admit. “I’m... I’m having a tough time.” Ugh, I hate how small I sound.

I drag in another lungful of air.

“Okay,” she replies. “Is it Mav? Have things been awkward between you? Or school? Are classes?—”

“Bran raped me,” I blurt out. Say it on a mouthful of bile. Spit it into the universe like a confession.

Allegra is silent for a second and then, “What? Bran? Are you okay? Where the fuck are you? I’ll?—”

“It was my 1L year,” I supply.

“Jesus,” Allegra gasps. “Where are you right now? Are you safe?”

“Yes. I’m in my car. On campus.”

“Are the doors locked?”

I smile and nod. I love Allegra. I love how unshakeable she is and how she shows up for her friends. She’s been through so much and has come a long way. Will I heal the way she has? Will I be whole one day? “They are.”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Okay. Mckenna, I’m happy you’re talking to me about this. Talking is good; it’s important. Now, can you start at the beginning? Do you want to tell me...everything?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I do.”

So, I tell her about 1L year. About that stupid night when I drank too much and felt desperate to fit in. About the distance from my parents and how it scrapes at my soul, chipping away a little more with each unanswered phone call, forgotten obligation, and lonely holiday.

I detail the snapshots that linger in the dark corners of my mind. Of that night, Bran, his heavy hand on my mouth, his wild eyes as he pinned me down. The way the floor cut into my back, the insurmountable height of the couch we were hidden behind, and the noise of the party that rang in my eardrums.

I admit I blocked it all out. Carried on, forged ahead. Until Vegas. Drinking too much, laughing too hard, and marrying Maverick. Waking up and having it all crash on my head. A riptide that dragged me under and a tidal wave that drowned me again when I resurfaced for air.

“And he knows,” I sob, painting a picture of our honeymoon in the Azores. “Mav knows. I told him everything. And he... God,Allegra, he still loves me. He’s been helping me with everything. I couldn’t do this without him.”

“Of course he does,” she replies softly. She’s been mostly quiet for our one-sided conversation as I word-vomited everything, dredging the past up from my stomach and pouring it out of my throat. But when she does speak, her tone is gentle. Calm. Stable. “And you could do this without him, Kenny. You’re strong and you’re a survivor. But I’m happy you don’t have to.”

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