Page 7 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

"No," I wheeze out, the air burning my chest as it's expelled.

Her chin goes higher. "Then JT was on me while someone else held me down. I remember panties stuffed in my mouth so I couldn't scream, but honestly...I didn't have the strength to. I just laid there...and took it."

I hunch over, hands to my knees, and stare at the floor as I swallow hard...willing myself not to scream or throw up.

"I only have flashes...snippets of scenes. He pulled out of me, removed the panties, and came in my mouth. Put his hand over my nose and mouth and made me swallow it. That is one of the clearer memories."

I lurch upward, the room spinning and my vision going dark for a moment until I become focused on the front door to the condo. I bolt toward it, snarling, "I'm going to fucking kill him. Going to beat him to a bloody pulp."

Sela flies off the couch and steps in my way, hands coming firmly to my chest. I look down at her, see the strength and resistance in her eyes, and my hands clap to her wrists. Not in an effort to push her away, but with burning need to pull her into me. My arms wrap around her upper back and I hunch my shoulders so I come protectively around her.

"I'm going to kill him," I whisper, my throat burning and tears stinging my eyes.

"No, you're not," she says softly, her own hands moving to my lower back and pressing in. She rubs slow circles, willing me to calm down. But all I can imagine is my fists pummeling into JT's face, until his nose breaks, then smashes, then becomes obliterated until he starts to drown in his own blood. I'm going to hold my hand over his nose and mouth and I'm not going to let up until his lungs suffocate with blood.

"Calm down," she murmurs, rubbing harder at my back. "You need to hear it all."

"I can't," I croak out, sniffing in deeply and blinking my eyes to clear the wetness.

Sela leans back, far enough so she can look up at me. "Let me get it all out, Beck. You haven't heard the worst."

"I can't," I implore her. Because it will only fuel me to come up with something even more heinous to rain down on JT's head.

"Please."

"Sela."

"Please, Beck," she says, then wraps a delicate hand around my wrist. She leads me to the couch, and my leaden legs don't move for a moment, so she pulls on me harder. I follow numbly and she pushes me down onto a cushion, crawling right onto my lap to straddle me. My arms encircle her lower back automatically, hers going to my shoulders as she looks down at me.

"Somehow I got home. JT put me in a cab, paid the driver, I suppose. I was out of it, not really sure what happened to me...just those flashes that I described to you. I was starting to feel pain; I had bruises starting to form and while I was still stoned and drugged, I had this sort of deep understanding that I had caused this to happen."

My body tightens but she continues, not letting me rebuke her for the blame game again.

"I got a utility knife out of the kitchen drawer. Went into the bathroom. I hated myself so much for what I'd let happen to me--for being stupid enough to even go with strangers to that party, for flirting and pretending to be a big girl--that I cut down into my left wrist."

I suck in a startled breath before grabbing on to her wrist, twisting it so I could see. I had seen it before, I realized. My thumb grazes over the small, inch-long scar that cuts at an inward angle. It's thin and red with a slightly raised and bumpy edge, but it's so small I never would have connected it with a desire to end one's life.

"I didn't try hard enough," she whispers, and I raise my eyes to hers. "I pressed down, and the minute it punched through my skin, I regretted it. There was a lot of blood, but it wasn't a large cut and I didn't hit a vein. I was still high as a kite and I fell to the floor, I think more wigged out over what I'd just done than anything. It woke my parents and they found me quickly. Called an ambulance."

"Christ," I mutter, looking back down at the scar.

She's silent, giving me a moment to collect myself. I consider everything she's told me. A brutal gang rape, the loss of her innocence, and a brief, desperate moment where she thought to end the pain forever. But the strength she must have had, to pull herself back from the brink before she could do irrevocable harm.

"No one realized I was raped until the doctor examined me. My parents were freaking out I had tried to kill myself, not having a clue about what really happened. They obviously tended to the wrist first, but once they realized what had happened to me, they used a rape kit. The police came and I was interviewed for what seemed like forever. They found Rohypnol in my system, which is why I don't remember much."

Still holding her wrist, stroking the scar, I ask, "I don't understand. This was ten years ago. Why wasn't JT arrested?"

"Because I didn't know who he was. Couldn't even remember much about my attackers other than vague features. Color of hair, maybe an idea of how tall they were. I didn't even know where the mansion was located. They tried to investigate as best they could. Contacted local cab companies to see if they could find who drove me to my house, but they couldn't come up with anything."

"Then how did you know it was JT?" I ask, not in a disbelieving way, because I trust fully that Sela knows he was involved.

Sela's hands move, dislodging my own so she can lace our fingers together. "I was hospitalized involuntarily because of my suicide attempt. It was a pitiful attempt, but it was enough to hold me. It was the first of three hospitalizations that happened over the next few years. I drove myself crazy trying to remember details. Drove myself to absolute breakdowns fueled by guilt and self-loathing for even putting myself in that situation. I barely graduated high school. Lost all my friends because I couldn't stand to have them looking at me, wondering what was going on inside my deranged mind. I became paranoid, worried I'd get attacked again, so I hardly ever went anywhere. My parents circled in closer, became almost obsessive in their protection of me. I tried counseling and group therapy, but none of it helped. It's like I kept filling up with all of these horrible feelings compounded with helplessness at not having resolution, until I'd just snap and get committed again, although I never tried to kill myself after that first attempt."

"How did you survive?" I ask her pleadingly, because I need her to get to the part where she tells me she pulled through.

She gives a shrug and a light laugh. "I just...gave up trying to figure it all out. Also, I took some really good antidepressants, but eventually I just had to move on. It helped when I enrolled in college, gave me a new focus."

"But there came a point when you figured it was JT?" I prompt her.

"Yes," she says with serious eyes. "A little over six months ago. I was watching an entertainment news show, and JT was on it. They were doing a piece about The Sugar Bowl."

"And you recognized him?" I guess.

Her eyes turn a darker shade of blue, her lips flatten out in a grimace. "No. I recognized the tattoo of the red phoenix on his rib cage. It was one of the things I distinctly remembered that night. One of the other guys had one on his wrist too."

This news jolts me so hard I come flying up off the couch, clutching Sela by the hips so she doesn't fall off. I quickly set her on the floor and take three steps to the side, away from her. My mouth hangs open in disbelief, and my left arm comes up across my chest, over my right shoulder, where my fingertips press into the area where the top of my phoenix tattoo resides.

She watches me carefully, knowing the impact this is having.

"I wasn't there," I croak out, thinking the reason she's watching me is to see if there's culpability.

Immediately, her eyes grow apologetic and she steps toward me quickly. I step backward but that doesn't stop her. She barrels into me, hands coming up to clasp to the sides of my head. She presses her fingers in and holds me tight. "I know you weren't. You couldn't. I know you, Beck, and I know you'd never do that to a woman."

"It's why you ran," I murmur. "The morning after we met. You saw my tattoo...when I was in the shower. Didn't you? So you thought then that I might have."

"It was before I knew you, Beck," she chides me. "Yes, it freaked me out, but by the time you came to my apartment the next day, I had reasoned it out. There's no way a man who gave me my first orgasm...made me feel safe and secure enough to let go, could ever do that to me. I don't understand the connection with the tattoo, but I know it doesn't revolve around rape. I know it in my heart."

Beck pulls away from me, takes another step back, and his hand covers his mouth as he looks at me with wild eyes. He reminds me of a spooked animal, but I knew the tattoo connection was going to send him in a tailspin.

"You've done nothing wrong, Beck," I say softly, hoping to calm him down.

He lets out an almost hysterical bark of a laugh as his hand drops. "I kicked you out of our condo when you told me you were raped. I...I...took the side of a gang rapist over yours, and fucking threw you out in the hallway like a piece of trash."

"Easy, baby," I coo as I walk up to him. "You need to let that go."

"Fuck," he cries out in a deep bellow of misery as he looks at me with tortured eyes. "How could you even trust me? I'm a fucking friend and business partner to a rapist; I didn't believe you when you told me when JT--"

"You believe me now," I say firmly as I take one more step into his space and place my hands on his chest. "And you apologized for that crap that went down yesterday. You had reason to be pissed at me. I broke into your office, Beck. I betrayed your trust too, yet you've let that go. You have to trust that I can let it go too."

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