Page 218 of Releasing 10
On top of that, I had been instructed to avoid all contact with the rapist bastard himself and to not even cross the street when his car was in the driveway.
Like I gave a damn.
I wouldn’t have pissed on the prick if he was on fire.
Not when he was the instigator behind this living, breathing nightmare.
Because of his actions, a line had been drawn straight down the middle of my world, with my oldest friend on one side and my girlfriend on the other.
The whole thing made me sick to my stomach, and I honestly didn’t think another human could feel as torn in half as I did.
Because Ibelievedher.
The authorities doubted her recounting of the night, and the grown-ups labeled her mentally ill, but I knew Lizzie Young better than anyone else, and if they could just be patient with her and look beyond their own fucking stigma, they would see what I saw.
A girl who was telling thetruth.
I knew her story had changed and shifted many times since the funeral, ranging from Mark pushing Caoimhe into the water himself to him being the reason she jumped in, but thatwasn’tbecause Liz was lying. It was because she wastraumatized. All she needed was time to piece her thoughts together, but apparently, that wasn’t how the law interpreted the holes in her story.
Unlike the others, I didn’t doubt my girlfriend for a minute.
If Lizzie said Mark raped her sister, then that’s what happened.
What I found myself torn over was her sudden and intense hatred of Gibsie. She blamed him for Caoimhe’s death as much as she blamed Mark. Maybe even more. I saw it in her eyes that day at the graveside when she fell to her knees in front of him. It was like a switch had been flicked in her mind, and he had become her mortal enemy. I knew she wasn’t thinking rationally, and I didn’t blame her one bit, but it broke my heart to watch her turn her anguish on Gibs.
Because while I wholeheartedly believed my girlfriend when it came to Mark’s role in Caoimhe’s demise, I also knew with absolute certainty that Gibsie had no hand in it.
He was as innocent as she was.
Something died inside of her that day, though. There was a part of my girlfriend that went into the ground with her sister, and I couldn’t stop it from happening.
It was as if her sister’s death had broken a pivotal part of her mind, and I couldn’t reach her like I used to. The light in her eyeswas gone and the change in her personality was as swift as it was contrasting.
Liz was a lot more closed off and aggressive now, with rapid shifts in her mood that could give a person whiplash. Her highs were nerve-wracking, and her lows were even more terrifying. At any given moment, she could switch between distant and aloof to affectionate and handsy.
Through trial and error, I learned on the job, finding ways to maneuver around and navigate through my girlfriend’s mood swings, but it was clear she wasn’t the person she used to be. Worse, nothing I did seemed to revive the part of her spirit that had been snuffed out that night.
All I could do now was try to hold on to the parts of her I could still reach.
Hold on for dear life and pray she didn’t slip from my fingers.
Readjusting the sleeping girl on my lap, I leaned against the stack of pillows at my back and forced my heart to keep a steady rhythm. I could feel her tears seeping through the fabric of my school shirt, but I didn’t move. Even in sleep, she cried for all she had lost, and it broke my fucking heart.
With her cheek pressed to my chest and her hands fisting my shirt, Liz clung to me like I was her last lingering lifeline, and sometimes, I thought I might be.
I had certainly become the on-call man when she took leave of her senses. Probably because I was the only one with balls enough to root around in her head and bring her back to me.
Her father certainly didn’t put in any effort. On the contrary, Mike had emotionally checked out after the funeral and Catherine, while she was here in the flesh, didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Claire had all the sense of a springer spaniel puppy, full of wagging tails and kisses but no substance, while Gibsie was her self-proclaimed enemy. Patrick was at aloss for how to help, and because of the rift between our families, my mothercouldn’thelp.
That left me.
“Hugh?” she mumbled drowsily. “Hugh?”
“Yeah, Liz,” I replied gently. “I’m here.”
“AmIhere?”
“We both are.”
