Page 49 of Love is Angry

The hole inside me is only getting bigger. Colder.

“Rhue, I—”

“I’m impressed,” he says. His tone is like sulfuric acid dripped into my ears. He hates my fucking guts, and then some. I have absolutely no chance to redeem myself in his eyes. “If I were you, I would’ve texted to cancel. Surely, my parents will find another suitable tutor soon enough.”

“Rhue, you need to—”

“Yet you decide to be a brazen whore and show up,” he says, cutting me off again. “A whore with no shame. After you let my father, of all people, after fuck you in my parents’ bed, you still come here?”

“I was hoping I might get a chance to…” My voice trails off.

My words abandon me, because what could I possibly say to diffuse that blistering anger. He thinks I let Julian do what he did. He thinks…god, he thinks it was my choice.

“A chance to what?” he replies, feigning amusement. “I saw you. You looked me in the eyes while my father pounded your ass like a ten-dollar whore. The details are irrelevant. Madison, I liked you. I almost…fuck, I almost fell for you. It’s a good thing this happened now, though. I’ve been thinking about it, actually. And yeah, it’s good. It’s great. I definitely dodged a bullet with your skanky ass.”

My eyes sting, hot with tears.

If I tell him the truth, he might not even believe me. If I tell him the truth, he will confront Julian, at least. He’ll mention it, maybe. Should he believe me, he will absolutely start a war with his father over this—or worse, Julian will convince him that I wasn’t worth anything more than that ten-minute rape. That was all it took Julian to destroy me. Ten fucking minutes.

If I tell Rhue the truth, my father will be ruined. Whatever chance I have at a life will quickly follow down the drain, too. I am no match for this family. I have nothing to fight them with. My honor is dead. My strength, withered. I have nothing.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I blurt out and then my feet are moving, carrying me away from him. Away from this place.

I burst through the study door and nearly knock Roxanne down with my full body weight. She cries out, and I manage to hold her up and stop her from falling over. Funny enough, I’m sobbing like a little girl while trying to keep Julian’s wife upright. What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?

“I am so sorry,” I manage, then move to get out of this wretched house forever.

But Roxanne catches my wrist and holds me back, genuinely alarmed. “Madison, honey! What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Madison. There is absolutely nothing about you that says you’re okay,” Roxanne replies, lowering her voice as she briefly glances around, making sure no one sees or hears us. “Come with me. Let’s talk.”

“No, really, there’s nothing wrong. I’m fine, I just… I have to––” A knot tightens in the back of my throat.

I hate the way she’s looking at me. The pity in her eyes. The way it makes me feel like she can see right through me and down to the truth. But she can’t. Because if she saw the things that plagued me, she’d have the same look in her eyes that I do.

“Please,” she insists.

I’m too weak to make another scene. Too weak to keep fighting this fucking nightmare. Maybe I should tell her. Someone should know. A thousand scenarios dart through my head, each more ominous than the other. Few end with me and my dad surviving this. But there is a beacon of hope, a delicate smile on Roxanne’s face.

She brushes a hand over my cheek, alerting me to the fact that it’s wet with tears. “Let’s talk, Madison.”

The knowledge that she is a brilliant and highly respected psychologist, a woman of honor and great repute, would mean that there’s no better person to talk to. She’s probably helped girls just like me. She’d know how I can fix the ache in my chest, know what steps I should take to heal, to move on, to be stronger. But if I lay this burden on her, who’s going to take her burden?

“Talk to me, Madison,” she says and I don’t know what it is this time, but I fold, allowing her to guide me into the kitchen.

She asks the maids to leave us alone. To close the door behind them. I hear myself thanking her but can’t remember opening my mouth to say the words.

She leans against the kitchen counter, her hands pressed atop its surface. “Talk to me, Madison. Something happened. Something awful. It’s written all over your face.”

When I say nothing, Roxanne walks over to the fridge and grabs a jug of water, pouring me a glass. She adds ice and a squeeze of lemon, then brings the glass to me. I take it with shaking hands but manage to hold and drink from it. The cool liquid reaches my stomach too fast, the cool liquid stirring uncomfortably.

“Madison, please,” she insists, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “The pain in your eyes, it’s so raw. So heavy. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. I cannot, in good conscience, letyou leave here in this condition.” I sit on a barstool, my legs no longer able to hold me. “Was it Rhue? Did he hurt you?”

“What? No. Oh, god, no. He would never.” I say. “No. This has nothing to do with Rhue, I promise.”

“But someone did hurt you.”

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