Page 4 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

"You know?" he asks with surprise.

"Yes, and I handled it badly. I hurt her badly. So I'm begging you, William...please let me go in there and beg her forgiveness. Let me show her I can be a good man. Let me take responsibility for my wrongs and give me the chance to make it right for her. At the least, she deserves to know how very sorry I am."

He raises a meaty hand and scrubs his fingers through his hair, scratches at the back of his neck in contemplation. Finally, he nods and steps to the side of the porch, giving me silent permission to enter.

I expect him to snarl words of warning, or threaten to throw me out if I upset her, but he merely says ever so quietly, "Please make it right for her."

"I will," I say confidently, even though I'm scared shitless that I'll never see Sela look at me again with warmth, care, or desire.

The house is quiet when I walk in and I assume Maria's not here. I walk back to Sela's room and don't bother to knock on the door. I twist the knob and slowly open it, peering into the gloom. The lights are off, and the only way I can see Sela's bed is from an outdoor light that's on right outside of her room and illuminating the front yard. The glow filters in through the open blinds and I can see Sela laying on the bed, on her side, curled into a ball. My heart squeezes in pain over her attempt to crawl into herself.

There's enough ambient light that I make my way over to the side of her bed, reaching out to turn on the small lamp on her desk as I walk by it. My gaze locks on her and I'm surprised to find her staring straight at me, her blue eyes flat and empty.

Three more steps and I'm beside the bed. I kneel down on the carpeted floor, restraining myself from reaching out to her. Her face is blank, not a drop of emotion showing, but her eyes are slightly red, which tells me she's been crying.

I take a breath, let it out, and tell her, "You were raped by JT."

It's an emphatic statement. Not a question, not a guess, not a possibility. It's fact. It's truth.

So I acknowledge it.

She doesn't respond, but I don't want her to. I have so much more to say and I'm afraid her next words may very well be to tell me to get out.

So I press on. "It took only moments after I slammed that door in your face for it to sink in. Penetrate the truth of what you were saying. For me to believe you unequivocally. But you were already gone."

Another breath, and I quickly press forward, needing to explain my bad behavior before I could request absolution.

"Sela...you don't know much about my past, and if you give me the chance, I want to tell you all about it, but just know this...I couldn't even focus on what you were saying to me. It's like your words weren't punching through the anger, and I'm so fucking sorry for how much anger there was. My past has shaped me, and one of my weaknesses is a lack of tolerance for dishonesty. I couldn't see past you being in my office. I reacted so badly, and I'm ashamed and sickened of what I did to you. I have no excuse though...not really. I should have given you time to explain. I should have trusted there was an explanation. And when you told me that JT raped you, it truly just didn't seem possible to me. I thought you were talking about since you and I had met, and I just knew that wasn't the case. Knew it in my gut. But then quickly, I started thinking about everything I knew about you, and I remembered how you looked at JT that day you walked up to him at that Sugar Bowl Mixer. That look on your face. You hated him, and I realized...you had been raped by him. It had just happened long before you and I ever met, right?"

I don't wait for her confirmation, but I do lean forward a little closer to her as she stares at me. I don't think she's even blinked once during my story.

"I ran out of the condo after you, not five fucking minutes after you left. I couldn't find you. I went to your apartment and waited forever. I went back to the condo, hoping like hell you'd come back. I finally tracked you down here, and I had to come and tell you how very sorry I am for acting so harshly and not believing you. You have to know I'm going to beg your forgiveness after we talk, but please know this...I'll never forgive myself for what I did. I care about you so--"

"How did you know in your gut?" she asks softly, her first words to me, and I almost shudder in relief just from hearing her sweet voice. It's like music to my ears.

"Know in my gut?" I ask, confused.

"You said you knew in your gut I couldn't have been raped by JT since we'd met."

I hold nothing back, because if Sela grants me with her grace and forgives me, there aren't going to be any fucking secrets between us. "Caroline was raped," I say softly, and she gasps in response.

"Oh no," she says, sitting up slightly and leaning on her arm to peer at me. "Caroline?"

I nod, my heart twisting over the shit my sister's been through. "I've seen the hell a woman goes through right after. You weren't going through that, so I finally figured out...he had to have raped you a long time ago. Not to say you don't continually live with it day in and day out, but I've also seen how the healing can occur, and how you can move on with life. You clearly were doing that too. With me. It just finally made sense that you were talking about sometime in the past with JT."

She gives a tiny nod and drops her gaze from mine, her fingers plucking absently at the sheet. "It was ten years ago."

"I am so sorry, baby," I say, and I bring my hands to rest on the edge of the mattress. My voice cracks, almost deserts me, when I say, "I'm so fucking sorry, Sela. I can't stand to know you were hurt like that. It's tearing me up and I want to do something to make you feel better, but I don't know what to do other than beg you to let me try."

She drops her gaze again, her brows furrowing inward with consternation. For a moment, I know what I did was so heinous I feel like she just starts to slip away from me, but then her eyes snap back up to mine in question. "Do you really believe me?"

"That JT raped you?" I ask, but I know that's what she wants to know. "Yes. I absolutely believe you and I'm so fucking sorry that I wasn't telling you that immediately when you said it. I was just so angry about finding you in my office."

"But I was in your office. I stole your key, made a copy, and was searching through your office," she says with a pointed look.

"You forgive me Sela for what I did and you get a fucking pass on my office. In fact, you can look through anything in there you want."

And Christ above answering my prayers, she smiles at me. It's small and quite thin, but it's genuine.

She pushes up further on her arm, leans in toward me. "You hurt me."

"Yes," I whisper, my breath now frozen in my lungs as I await her verdict.

"Don't do it again."

"Never," I vow.

"It's actually a good thing," she says softly, and her hand slides across the bed to rest on mine. "That you hurt me."

I blink at her in surprise, my wrist turning so I can clutch her fingers. "Excuse me?"

"For me to be hurt like that, it means I cared for you deeply, otherwise your reaction wouldn't have mattered to me."

I grip her her tighter, almost afraid to hope.

"And for you to be so angry," she continues. "To the point where you weren't even really understanding what I was trying to tell you...Well, I guess that speaks to the same thing. You had feelings for me you felt were betrayed."

"Yes, but that's no excuse for--"

"Beck," Sela cuts me off, leaning closer to me. She rests her forehead on mine before whispering, "I'm tired, and I'd really like to go home to our condo."

"Thank fuck," I mutter before surging up and onto the mattress, pulling her hard into my arms. She presses her face into my chest, her arms wrapping around me, and I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in hours.

The ride back to San Francisco is quiet but there's no tension. I don't have the stamina to hold on to it, and I don't have the strength to consider what's happened today. Beck holds my hand tightly, still expertly navigating his Audi through the darkness. Rush hour is over and the ride into the city goes by quickly.

r /> Despite what I did to him today. Despite what he did to me. Despite what he's learned, despite the pain we've both caused, the silence is comfortable and unassuming. I know we have to talk, and I know he needs details. But God...I dread giving him the details. I know deep down the only reason Beck appears so calm right now is because he's in shock over what he's learned today, and I suspect still mired in guilt for the way he treated me. When he learns the whole truth of what happened to me...when he gets those terrible, sordid details...he's going to go ballistic. I just know it.

I need details too, because Beck's seen the devastation that rape can cause a woman. He's lived through it with Caroline, and despite the ache I constantly carry around due solely to that one hideous night of my life, my thoughts keep coming back to Caroline and the horror that she shares with me. I tried a survivor's therapy group about six months after my first hospitalization, and by the third session, I knew it wasn't for me. I didn't want to share what happened to me, and I didn't want to know what happened to the other women. Much of that had to do with the fact that I really didn't know what happened to me.

I had flash memories that I didn't realize were memories, but rather suspected they were nightmares. Vivid splashes of images and feelings that I thought were nothing more than my mind playing horrid tricks on me. The doctors explained that Rohypnol, in addition to relaxing me to the point where I wouldn't have been able to fight my attackers, causes partial amnesia. I existed in a world where I couldn't separate fact from fiction. It meant that I could give precious little in the way of valid information to the police to help them pursue my attackers.

I had no clue where Dallas and his friends had taken me, so the police couldn't investigate. I was too high to pay attention. I didn't even know Dallas and his friends' full names, no clue where they were from, or how the police could locate them. I had very little memory I could provide about what happened before I was given a drink laced with a date rape drug called Rohypnol, and that was due to the sole fact that I was stoned out of my mind when we arrived at the party. It was tremendously embarrassing to admit those things to the officers while my parents listened. They never showed an ounce of disappointment in me, which was a blessing, because the weight of my own self-hatred for putting myself in that situation was crippling.

So I had just tiny clips of moving images, almost like I was watching a movie in bed while on the verge of going to sleep. Not sure what I was seeing, not sure if I had seen it before, and completely clueless about whether it really happened at all. The only solid proof the police had that I had been raped was the blood in my underwear, the tears and bruises in my most private places, and the semen in my hair. Obviously, there was no match to the DNA in any criminal database, which meant my attackers didn't have criminal records.

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