Page 41 of Protected from Malice
“Um, okay.” Rafe looks at me, nonplussed. “No tea, then.”
“I think it tastes like potpourri,” I explain. “It’s not nice. And it leaves a weird aftertaste in my mouth.”
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “I don’t know that I’ve ever eaten potpourri. But I’ll take your word for it. We can get something else to drink, instead.”
“I tried it once. Back when I was a kid. We had a glass bowl that my mom would fill with potpourri around Christmastime. It smelled so nice, I thought it must taste good, too. But—” I make a face. “It didn’t.”
“I tried Crisco once,” Rafe admits. “I must have been ten or so. I was at a friend’s house, and his mom was baking. I thought the Crisco looked like?—”
“Frosting. I know.”
“It didn’t taste like it,” Rafe adds with a sad shake of his head. “What a disappointment.”
As I look at him, my chest squeezes.
Nerves erupt in my belly.
I could put this off. Wait until Indy gets here.
Or… I could tell Rafe right now. Take this burden I’ve been carrying for over two years and share it with someone I trust.
“Eden, you can talk to me, you know that, right?” His gaze is soft. Understanding.
“I know.” My heart thuds hard. “I… I know I need to. But… it’s scary.”
Rafe squeezes my hand again. “You don’t have to. But if you do, I promise I’ll be right here to support you.”
My face goes hot, not from embarrassment this time, but from the fear and anxiety flooding through me. I take a shuddering breath. Close my eyes to prepare myself.
Then I open them to meet his worried gaze. “I’m afraid this might have something to do with what happened. With the man who wants to take me.”
“Afraidwhatmight have something to do with it?”
“What happened two years ago.”
Rafe tenses. His fingers stiffen around mine. “What happened, Eden?”
I lower my gaze to the bedspread, studying the zigzag pattern of blues and grays. “It was a little over two years ago, really. The end of November. Right after Thanksgiving.”
As I cast my mind back to that terrible night, the memories threaten to crush me. To constrict my chest until I can’t breathe and throw me into a full-blown panic attack.
A tremor shivers through my body.
“Eden.” His thumb rubs back and forth across my palm. Worry darkens his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I do.” After two years, I can’t keep it a secret anymore.
“You’re shaking,” he observes. “Maybe this isn’t the best time?—”
“There’s never going to be a good time.” I take a few deep breaths, letting each one out slowly. I concentrate on separating myself from the violence of the memories. On seeing them like a distant observer instead of the one who was there.
“I was coming home from work,” I continue. “Since it was late November, it was already dark by the time I got back to the apartment complex. But it wasn’t the first time I’d walked across the parking lot at night. I didn’t think much of it, really.”
And just like that, I’m back in the parking lot.
In the dark.
The beam of my keychain flashlight bouncing across the shiny asphalt as I hurry towards my apartment building.
