Page 77 of The Worst Kind of Promise
I don’t say anything.
His large, rough hand palms my shoulder, a silent attempt to siphon the worry out of my quaking body and into his robust one. I wish I was one of those girls who stayed strong in times of chaos, who stood her ground and spoke up when she felt threatened. I wish I had spit in Saxon’s face. I wish I had slapped him. I wish I had communicated to him just howdeepmy rage goes. And now, I’ll never see him again, and I’ll never be able to confront him about that night.
I speak for the first time, gargling around the shards of glass in my esophagus. “He was…”
Kit connects the dots faster than I can, which I’m thankful for. I don’t think I could bring myself tosaythe word. Words hold a lot of meaning, weight. They stick with you. They represent different things. And some words are more dangerous than others. Some words serve as a constant reminder of the victim you are. No matter what the context is, or who says them, some words follow you like a tenebrous shadow. Always there. Until they merge and become one with you, with your name, with your achievements.
Kit’s lips knot, then tighten into a straight line. “Was that the man who…raped…you?”
It feels like there’s a giant ravine separating me and Kit. A ravine that holds all the trauma from that night—that’s preventing me from going to him and living out the rest of my life safe in his arms.
I nod, feeling my tear ducts begin to sting, unable to stem the emotions bleeding out of me. My nose is stuffy, my mouth begins to salivate, and my stomach roils with queasiness.
I’ll never be able to move on if I don’t work through this trauma. I’ll never truly be happy with Kit if I don’t let him in. I have to be the one to jump the gorge. My little ledge of safety is slowly crumbling, torpedoing to that lightless bottom. I have to take a leap of faith. I don’t want to end up trapped in a deep, dark cave.
“Senior year. Prom night. He—I—everything’s so blurry. We were drinking. A lot. We were having a good time. I w-was never interested in him romantically. We just went together as friends.” The words rush out, the percussion of my breaths matching the plink of dirty rainwater on the corroded fire escape beside us. “We stayed at a hotel for the night since our prom was a city away from our hometown. I was tired. I was drunk. But Saxon was wide awake. B-before we agreed to go together, he always made jokes about wanting to have sex on prom night. The girl he was seeing at the time, she was asked out by another guy. I was…the backup.”
The more I talk about it, the worse the pain gets. Like someone taking a scalpel and slicing me from navel to throat. Gloved hands ripping my skin back, baring my bloody ribs to recycled air, then those same hands plunging into the fleshy matter of my internal organs. While all I can do is watch.
The angles of Kit’s face are blade-sharp, the muscles in his upper body coiled in on themselves like a cobra waiting to strike. His hands are still bleached white from excessive tension, and there’s something alarming about his stare—the ferocity behind it strong enough to weaken knees and topple empires.
Tears, snot, and saliva slick my face in a disgusting resin, and the heat in my body is catapulting to new temperatures. My hands continue to shake, clawing rapaciously for something to stabilize myself. “I was barely conscious. He started touching me, soft at first, but the more I tried to move, the rougher he became. I wasn’t aware enough to fight back even if I wanted to. Then he stripped me of my clothes, whispered terrible things in my ears, penetrated me without any precautions to dull the pain. I remember trying to scream, but I don’t think anyone could hear me.”
“Oh, Faye.”
I look up at Kit through fogged eyes, my breath gossamer-thin, my heart skittish, somehow trying to hide itself from him, even though it’s stored safely in the chamber of my chest.
More salty rivulets cascade down my undoubtedly blotchy face, pebbling at the red seal of my waterline. “I was terrified.”
Kit holds the side of my cheek with his hand, his touch velveteen despite the callouses weathering his palm. I reunite with his touch, feel my heart peek out just the slightest at the familiarity, feel the tears dwindle to a slow-moving pace.
“I’m sorry, Faye. I’m so sorry that happened to you. I wish I had known you back then. I wish I could’ve protected you.”
“I wish so too.”
“I can’t believe I just let that fucker walk away unscathed,” he chews through his teeth. His voice has just the right amount of venom to kill a grown man—or Saxon.
A frown snakes onto my chapped lips. “Kit, I don’t want you to do anything. It’s…all in the past now. I don’t have any evidence he even assaulted me. I couldn’t take him to court. I don’t think I would even want to.”
“You deservejustice,” he growls.
“A lot of victims don’t get the justice they deserve.” I swallow down some of the remaining terror in my body.
“Please, Kit. I just need you to be here with me,” I beg, and almost instantly, the fury notched into his incensed features disappear. He’s been freed of the wrath-like creature operating his movements. No curled lip, no trembling fist; even the twin, black holes of his eyes are starting to lighten.
He embraces me in a hug that almost knocks the wind out of me, his arms squeezing so tight that I’m not sure if he plans on letting go. “Thank you for telling me, Faye. I need you to know that as long as I’m in your life, I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you, okay? I never want you to feel that kind of pain ever again.”
I’m on my tiptoes as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, clinging to his shirt like he’s my salvation, breathing his strength into me so that one day I can protect myself.
“Thank you, Kit.” My heart’s pushing against the prison bars of my ribs, trying to slither its way through the gaps, trying to get tohim. My blood pumps for him, my lungs breathe for him. Kit’s the reason I’m alive right now. If he hadn’t picked me up that night at the gas station, I don’t know where I’d be.
29
KNOCK, KNOCK
KIT
Finding someone who doesn’t want to be found is easier than you might think. Especially if you have a hell of a motive. I know what Faye said. And if it were under any other circumstances, I would’ve respected her wishes. But I can’t. Not when she’s had her whole life ruined by a pathetic, mousy-looking rich boy.
