Page 192 of The Night Shift
But he just asks. And I’m not ready for the way my heart responds. Not with pain I’ve carried for years. But with joy.
My heart lights up. I love talking about her.
“We dated in college,” I tell him. “She was my…she was the most amazing person I’d ever met. She was loud. And opinionated. And beautiful. She always made fun of me for folding my socks. And she had this laugh that was impossible to ignore.”
I pause. My voice is quieter when I finish.
“She made everything feel better. My world was brighter when she was in it.”
I don’t wait for a reaction. And inevitably, my mind goes where it shouldn’t.
“It happened during a party. One I didn’t go to.” The air feels tighter now. “You know the rest. You know what Nate did. What you don’t know is that she never actually testified against him.She said she couldn’t remember, but now, I know that was not true. I think she just didn’t want to relive it.”
I look past him, somewhere near the wall.
“She consented to a rape kit. It cost her five thousand dollars. It’s an odd thing to remember, I know. Her parents were not happy about it. The money, the attention. They acted like she’d brought this on herself. Like surviving was something to be ashamed of.” My throat burns. “Eight months later, that kit was destroyed by law enforcement. It meant nothing. No warning. No explanation. Just gone. I always knew the system was never built for women. But when it was Aanya, it felt personal. It felt like the whole world had failed her.”
I suck in a breath.
“There was still enough evidence to put Nate away. She wasn’t the only woman he had assaulted. But none of that saved Aanya. She told me she was fine, and I believed her. I believed her because I wanted it to be true. I didn’t want to see what was still breaking her. I just wanted it to be over.”
More silence.
“A year later, she slit her wrists. I found her in the bathroom. There was a note and everything. I never read it. I couldn’t. For years after that, I saw her everywhere. In mirrors. On trains. On the street. It didn’t feel like grief, it felt like I was being haunted.” I rub my temple, unsure why I’m sayingthis. I’ve spent years trying to actively NOT talk about this.
“It finally stopped the night I first killed someone,” I say. “The night of our internship mixer. I was at Cami’s bar. I didn’t know her at the time. I’d had a lot to drink. There was this guy who was hitting on me. I told him I wasn’t interested and left. Turned out he didn’t like that answer. You can guess the rest. I don’t remember how long it lasted. I just remember wanting to die. At some point, I managed to ram a broken glass bottle intohis neck. There was so much blood. I think I played with it a little bit too. But it felt nice. Safe. I wanted to stay in it forever.”
I wait for it. The look. The one people give you when they have nothing else to offer: pity. The diluted grief that makes you feel seen only for your damage.
But Theo looks at me like he always has.
His expression doesn’t shift to horror or heartbreak. He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, because he knows I wouldn't have said all this if I wasn’t. He doesn’t ask why I never told him, because he respects the fact that I just did.
So I go on. “It got quiet in my head for the first time in forever. I know it’s not an excuse nor does it make it right, but it was the only thing that made the noise stop. Killing might have started out as a distraction so that I wouldn’t have to think about her, but it’s more than that now. I’ve grown to like it.” I swallow. “So, I guess that’s my story. I don’t need you to say anything. I just wanted to get this out in case you were planning to nag me about it again.”
He doesn’t seem shocked. Of course, he doesn’t. Theo Carter is many things — arrogant, infuriating, impossible — but he’s never been stupid. He already knew there must have been a catalyst. He just hadn’t heard the details until now.
“Is that how you and Cami became friends?” he asks.
I nod. “She walked in on me and offered to help get rid of his body.”
“Does she know about Aanya?”
Hearing her name from someone else’s mouth is like a fist between my ribs. I shake my head. “Not in so much detail.”
“I see.”
“Don’t be an asshole. Obviously, there’s some moronic part of me that trusts you with this information.”
“You can. Trust me, that is.”
“Can I?”
“You can, and I do. You’re still the most formidable woman I know, Holly. And you don’t have to carry this alone, unless that’s what you want.”
There’s not a whisper of pity in his voice. Not even an ounce of it. Just one human being talking to another as their equal. He refuses to turn me into something fragile. Which is good, because I’ve never needed saving. I’ve just needed understanding.
As for the trust part…I’m not sure.
