Page 51 of Guilty Minds
“Yes. I remember that night. What happened?” I continue in that unfaltering, soothing voice I’m so proud of right now.
“You called cops on me.” He spats out scathingly.
“What?” I rear back. He thought I called the cops? The thought is absurd.
His eyes contract into tiny slits. “You’re the only one who saw me that night. And you called the cops on me.”
“That’s why you act this way? Because you think I called the cops on you?” I manage to say in dismay.
“Yes.” He hisses. “Couldn’t you have fucking waited one day to rat me out?”
I shove him back, but he doesn’t move. “How about you not do shit to get arrested in the first place?"
“That’s none of your business why I did what I did.” Pure repugnance laces his voice.
I begin laughing. A good, full-belly laugh. He drops my hands and steps back. "Do you think it's fucking funny?" He yells. "My sister got raped because I couldn't get to her on time because I was pulled over by the cops! And this is funny to you?”
I immediately stop laughing. “What? Alicia’s been raped?”
“Yeah, how do you feel about yourself now, huh? Knowing if you didn’t call the cops on me, I could have gotten to her on time. I could have prevented what had happened to her. She called me right after I left that night. She called me and asked me to come to pick her up because she felt like she got a roofie in her drink." He grabs my shoulders and shakes me lightly. "And I was driving to her. I was driving to get my baby sister so she'd be safe. But instead, cops pulled me over and arrested me, so she got fucking raped because I couldn’t get to her on time!” He’s full-on yelling and raging. I hear a ringing in my ears, but it’s not from how loud he is but from the things he’s saying. His face is red, his eyes blotchy as if he’s reliving that night… or whatever followed.
I shudder violently. I can’t believe it. Now it all makes sense. Why Alicia seems so sheltered, why she changed out of nowhere from this beautiful social butterfly to a hidden hermit, and why Justin and Jake act way too overprotective over her all the time. My heart’s breaking for her, this poor, poor girl. Suddenly, as if he’s been burnt, Justin drops his hands and steps back. “I can’t even look at you.” He stalks toward the door. “I fuckin’ hate myself for putting my lips on you. I hate myself for wanting you. I fuckin’ hate you for what you've done, yet you somehow still keep making me fuckin’ feel something for you!” His voice booms through the space, nearly shaking the furniture.
"Justin," I say quietly, but he isn't listening, so I gently touch his shoulder. He shrugs me off with visible disgust, so I quickly step back but keep talking. “I never called the cops on you. I’ve never called the cops on anybody in my life.” I say before he storms out, and everything left is lost for good. I don't want him to go without hearing my truth because this hate for me and for himself is misplaced. I understand what's happening. I do.
He stops and smacks his open palm on the doorframe but doesn’t turn back. “You were the only one who saw me that night.”
“Was I?” I ask quietly, and he stills. Because he remembers that night, too. Of course, he does. He will never be able to forget it. Neither will I. "That's right. I saw you punching the shit out of that poor guy.”
“Yeah, and you were so conveniently present, rescuing your fellow trailer trash friend. He didn’t deserve your or anyone’s help.” His lips press into a firm line, his shoulders square.
“You don’t get to decide what he deserved. In fact, he deserved so much more.” I shake my head. “I was there. But I wasn’t the only one.” I add after a pregnant pause. A heavy weight settles on his shoulders as they slump.
He finally turns to me and shakes his head. "Ashley was my girlfriend back then. She wouldn't do that, and you know it. You're just being pitiful and jealous." His voice is so gravely confident in Ashley that it makes me want to vomit. The corners of his lips turn down while he’s looking me up and down as if assessing the level of disgust he feels for me.
“But I didn’t do it. And he didn’t do it. You know he’d be on the wrong side of the bars no matter what. Whether he was guilty or innocent, there wouldn’t have been a trial. Trailer trash and all that.” I shrug. “So, who does it leave?” He doesn’t say anything, so I walk to him. I take his chin between my two fingers and force him to look me into eyes. “Who does it leave, Justin?” I accent every word to ensure they get through to him. “Who?”
His Adam's apple bobs in a violent swallow, his mouth likely dry after such a revelation. Mine gets that way, too. I drop my hand and step back, pointing at the door without a word. He walks out.
I don’t hear his car start for a long time, but when it does, I breathe a sigh of relief. Part of me was hoping he would walk back in, everything forgiven so life could go on, morphing into a happily ever after. I’m clearly a glutton for punishment, clearly loving to torture myself. But part of me is relaxed. I know what happened. That I’m not at fault. I had seriously started to doubt myself. It’s like gaslighting—they tell you that you’ve done something you never did, and eventually, you start believing it, unable to interpret true from false.
And another huge part of me just wants to weep for the poor girl whose innocent life was changed forever that night. That night changed the lives of so many others. I make a mental note that the next time I see Alicia, I’ll make it up to her. Well, I can’t really make up for everything she’s been through—and to be honest, I can't even begin to imagine what she went through that night and the demons she's been fighting ever since—but I can help make her day a little better.
ChapterFourteen
KAYLA
I try to recallthatnight as I lay in bed after Justin left, unable to sleep. It was almost six years ago.
I was walking down the road to my trailer. My car had just broken down again—it was a piece of junk (well, another one) that I had for one year before my loyal Jeep. It was the year I bought my RV and moved to the wilderness.
I was passing an abandoned gas station when I heardthud-thud-thud. I wanted to walk by as fast as possible, so I wouldn’t get wrapped up in anything I’d regret. Anyone with one functioning brain cell knew not to get involved in the shit that goes down at abandoned places, and trailer park folks were especially well acquainted with this knowledge. All I needed was to keep my head down and keep on walking toward my goal: the safety of my little home cloaked between the mountains.
But then I heard a familiar voice. Justin. There were a few grunts, followed by the sound of punches being thrown. I was scared, thinking he must be getting hurt, so I ran toward the sound. What I saw was the opposite. Justin didn’t need help: he was beating on a guy, barely conscious on the ground. He kept hitting him, even when the guy wasn’t moving. Panic ran through me, for him and for Justin. I ran to him, tugging his arm, pleading for him to stop. I remember the mask of pure fury and a carnal thirst for blood he had on as he turned to face me. That was the very first time I feared Justin. He stopped beating the guy, stood up, and took a step back.
“He needs an ambulance.” I croaked.
“No.” The injured person groaned, I hadn’t taken a good look at him, but I recognized Mark, a guy from my old trailer park, by his voice. His face was completely unrecognizable from the swelling and completely covered in blood. Yeah, he didn’t want an ambulance, all right. At that rate, he'd need a pathologist soon. "No ambulance." He croaked again, and, no matter how much it pained me to admit, he was right: with all the illegal stuff going on, he didn’t need authorities questioning him.
