Текст книги "Exposed"

Автор книги: Brighton Walsh

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

The hand he had resting on my back still rubbed in soft circles, and I realized that this was the shortest attack I’d ever had. Thanks to his touch and his voice and him.

“Was that your first panic attack?” he asked.

Not trusting my voice yet, I just shook my head. I couldn’t even maintain eye contact with him, too embarrassed at everything that had been unearthed in my mind. Almost as if I was terrified he’d be able to read my thoughts, see the memories that had caused the panic attack, and that urge to push it back, bury it again, was strong.

He wrapped his hand around mine, running his thumb along my wrist. His voice was low, tentative, when he asked, “Was it me? Did I do something?” He swallowed, then asked in a pained voice, “Was I too rough?”

My throat was dry, and no matter how many times I swallowed, I couldn’t impart any moisture into my mouth. Still, I croaked, “It wasn’t you.” It was such a small offering in comparison to everything he’d done for me, but it was all I had.

I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t him, it was me. It was my fucked-up childhood and a maelstrom of memories that held me hostage—memories that would never let me go unless I did the same.

And I wanted so badly to be strong enough to open my mouth and say the words. Finally say the words that had strangled me for so long.

Maybe, soon, I would be.

Chapter Twenty-Three

RILEY

The loft was still dark when I jolted awake, a sound startling me to consciousness. I tensed, ready for a fight, so desperately afraid Max had found us, but when I listened, I realized the noises were coming from Evie. After her panic attack, she’d asked to be alone—or as alone as she could be in the loft. So I’d let her take the bed, curled up on her side, her eyes glassy and far away, while I’d settled on the couch ten feet away, my body tight and coiled with the overwhelming urge to go to her. To help her. Hold her and talk to her and beg her to tell me what was going on. Protect her like I hadn’t been able to protect her five years ago.

I sat up, glancing over the back of the couch and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. She was on the bed, the covers twisted around her legs. Her head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow, muffled protests leaving her lips. The words spilling from her mouth were unintelligible, but they didn’t need to be comprehensible for me to know she was having a nightmare. The sheer terror was coming off her in waves.

I didn’t know if this was par for the course for her after a panic attack, if this was something she dealt with all the time. If the attacks had started after she’d left, when she’d moved and changed her name, when she’d first run from Max. I didn’t know anything other than the fact that the one last night hadn’t been her first.

I pushed off the couch and walked over to her, moving to stand at the side of the bed. Her hair was sprawled out on the pillow, a tangled mess, some strands covering her face, a few caught on her lower lip. She whimpered again, her brow puckered, her face in pure torment. I reached down and brushed my fingers over her shoulder, hoping it would rouse her. When it didn’t, I cupped it and shook it gently. “Evie,” I whispered.

Just like that, she jolted awake, snapping upright and scrambling to the other side of the bed, her back against the brick wall, her eyes wide as she stared at me.

Whatever she’d seen in her dreams, it was obvious it had terrified her. Softening my voice, I said, “Baby, it’s me. It’s just me.”

She was looking at me like she’d never seen me before, almost staring right through me, and I leaned down, staying on the other side of the bed but resting my hands against the mattress and angling my body toward hers, putting myself directly in her line of vision. “Evie. It’s me. It’s Riley.”

Her eyes came into focus then, and if I hadn’t known her so well, I wouldn’t have noticed the fear still lingering there. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have seen the embarrassment swimming in her eyes, manifesting in the blush blooming on her cheeks. She’d always hated that her emotions showed plain as day on her fair skin, hated that she wasn’t able to disguise that from others when she always put up a front when needed. She thought it put her at a disadvantage, made her an easy target. She’d always hated to show any kind of vulnerability at all.

“I’m fine,” she said, even though I hadn’t asked. Her voice was scratchy and rough, and she cleared her throat and tried again, “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Then, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if she hadn’t just woken from a nightmare hours after having an intense and debilitating panic attack, she brushed the hair back from her face, carefully extracted the tangled blankets from around her legs, and got off the bed. With a straight spine, head held high, she headed toward the bathroom with slow, measured steps. The door shut softly behind her, and though this departure was less dramatic than the one from earlier, it was essentially the same. That rectangle of wood might as well have been a brick wall stacked ten feet tall with how effectively she ended any and all conversation about what had just happened.

Except it wasn’t going to work quite as well for her this time.

Something was up with her. Something was going on besides what little she was telling me, and while I might’ve been willing to let it go at one time, that wasn’t true anymore.

Not now. Not when I’d seen exactly what keeping this inside had done to her.

EVIE

I splashed some cold water on my face before dabbing it off with a hand towel, then I braced my hands on the vanity and tried to just breathe.

For so long, it felt like I hadn’t been able to breathe.

I’d known this was coming. After my panic attack, after the talk earlier with Riley and Aaron, I’d known this was what would be awaiting me in my dreams. And yet, try as I might, I hadn’t been able to stop sleep from pulling me under.

The nightmare—one so familiar and yet one I hadn’t had in a long while—had gripped me by the throat and refused to let me go. And I felt how I always did after one—dirty, sullied, and so sick with the knowledge that what had happened in my nightmare hadn’t lived only there, as part of illusions my mind created.

It lived in me. Was woven through every thread in my body, in my mind. It was a part of me, a part of who I was, and it always would be. No matter how far I traveled, no matter how much time had passed, it was still with me, buried deep inside.

If the events of today had shown me anything, it was that I was never going to get away from this. Not if I went on like I had been. Not if I continued to let it eat away at me.

When I felt like I was collected as much as I was going to be, I reached for the knob and twisted it softly, carefully pulling open the door. And though I knew it was a futile hope, I wished with everything I had that Riley had fallen back asleep. That somehow after everything that had happened—both now and a few hours ago—he’d let this go.

I should’ve known better.

The loft was still dark, the barest whispers of dawn brushing over the horizon providing very little light, but I could still see Riley. He was seated on the couch, the breadth of his shoulders so apparent in his white T-shirt, the brightness of it stark against the surroundings.

I crept my way to the bed, hoping he’d let it go. That he’d take all the signs I’d been giving out and just let it be. Because though I so desperately wanted to be free of this, I didn’t know if I was ready yet.

Once I was at the side of the bed, ready to climb in, Riley turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. The look in his eyes, steely determination focused directly on me, said more than he ever could’ve with words.

“What was that, Evie?” he asked. “Not just this, but earlier, too. The panic attack and now the nightmare. At first, I thought it must’ve been about Max, especially with how close we’re getting, with everything you found today. Or Frankie, maybe? Thinking about when he’d kidnapped you … But then I remembered your face when Frankie had broken into your house. Remembered you knocking the fucker out cold, and I realized that couldn’t have been it. Because even when you recognized him, you didn’t have that look of sheer terror on your face like you had when you’d woken up just now.” His eyes didn’t let me go, held me captive in their gaze, and I was defenseless to stop the pull I felt—the pull I still felt toward him. “That wasn’t about Max, was it?”

Closing my eyes, I exhaled, my shoulders slumping. Still, I wasn’t giving up so easily. Because even realizing that maybe it was time to finally let this go, denying it was second nature to me. “It was nothing. I just get nightmares sometimes.” My voice lacked the conviction it normally held, though, and I knew he could hear it. Even after so long, he’d be able to read me.

“Evie.” His voice was soft, gentle, and it broke my heart. Because he was being so careful with me, so reverent, just like he’d been when I’d had the panic attack. Just like he’d been through it all—always. And I wanted so badly to accept it from him, let myself fall into his arms and let him help me carry this burden, but I didn’t know how. “C’mere.”

Almost without thought, my feet took me over to the couch, and I sat next to him, my head tilted down, my eyes focused on my lap as I picked at my fingernails. Riley reached out, his fingers brushing against my jaw to tilt my face up to look at him, and I couldn’t stop the shiver from racking my body at his gentle touch.

After so long filling the void with nameless men, it was a relief to realize that he still had this effect on me. That I still reacted this way to him.

Because it showed I wasn’t all broken. Not entirely. That despite the years of torment, the years of lies and secrets, the years of burying everything deep inside, I still felt. That after the years of the mask I had to wear, the show I had to put on, the endless pretending and masquerading, I was still here. I was still standing.

And I didn’t have to be silent anymore.

*   *   *

Riley sat there, his arm behind me resting atop the couch cushions. Close, but not touching. I could tell he wanted to reach out to me again, touch me in some way, but he held back, both in his actions and his words. After asking me to come over, he’d sat silently for long minutes while I’d taken deep breaths, trying to work up the courage to give voice to the things I’d never spoken before. The words I’d never allowed to leave my lips. Words I’d never truly allowed myself to believe, not really.

And that was the scariest part of it all.

That somehow, if I said it aloud, it made all those years of torment, all those nights of terror, all those days of silence and pain and shame real. And that meant I had nothing to hide behind. If I spoke my truth, I was exposed. Completely and utterly bare.

Vulnerable in a way I’d never, ever allowed myself to be.

All this time, I’d held on to the belief that if no one else knew, a small part of me could pretend it hadn’t happened. That, maybe, it had all been a product of my subconscious.

Except it wasn’t. Deep down, I knew it was real, and it happened. Despite what my mother had told me. Despite the way she’d reacted when I’d tried to tell her something was wrong … something was off. Despite her telling me I was confused. That I must’ve misunderstood the touches, the looks. That none of those things went on. That all those times he’d come into my room when she was at work, all those times he’d held me down, his hand pressed tight against my mouth as tears leaked out of my eyes, dripping down the sides of my face and pooling in my ears hadn’t been real. All those times had just been a product of my imagination.

It had taken me more than a year to work up the courage to tell her. To go to her after it’d been happening for a long time—too long—and being certain that she’d help. That finally—finally—it’d be better. I hadn’t even been able to get everything out before she’d shut me down.

She hadn’t believed me.

My stomach churned, the possibility that Riley could say the same thing, that he might think I was a liar, settled heavy on my shoulders.

God, what if he didn’t believe me?

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Riley’s voice cut through the silence as sure as a knife, though it was soft and tentative. “I want to know. I want to help. I don’t want to pry, but you know you can tell me anything. That’s never changed.”

I turned my head to look at him, and the pain reflecting back at me in his eyes gave me the courage to finally escape.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “It started when I was fifteen, a few months before I met you.”

Riley narrowed his eyes, his shoulders stiffening the slightest bit, but it was the only outward sign he showed. I turned away, focusing on my lap. I couldn’t look at him, look into his eyes, too afraid of what I’d see there. Doubt? I couldn’t take it. I’d handled my mother’s, but coming from him? That would truly break me.

“It started innocently enough. First it was just some looks. Inappropriate, for sure, but I wrote them off. And then there was the first time he touched me. He’d said it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant anything by it, and I’d believed him. I mean … why wouldn’t I? It was my dad, and nothing like that had ever, ever happened before. Not until he lost his job. Started drinking. And then my mom switched shifts, and it was just the two of us at home at night. And then pretty soon those ‘accidental’ touches weren’t enough.

“He…” I swallowed that lump of fear in my throat, praying I could say it without actually saying it. But then I realized that I was only giving power to the words by keeping them inside. By refusing to speak them aloud, it was like I was caged all over again, and I was so tired of being behind bars.

“I said no. I pushed him away. I fought. I didn’t want it. I never wanted it,” I said, because that was so important to me. So important that Riley knew that. I hadn’t been able to get away, hadn’t been able to stop it, but I’d never wanted it. “But it hadn’t mattered.”

I didn’t realize I’d started crying or that he’d touched me at all until I was suddenly in his lap, his thumbs stroking the wetness from my cheeks. And while I’d been scared of what I’d see in his eyes, terrified he’d think I was lying, when I finally allowed myself to look, when I stared into those bottomless pools, I didn’t see the doubt I feared. I saw anger and hurt, confusion and sadness. I saw every emotion currently swarming around inside me reflected back in his eyes.

Seeing all that gave me the reassurance I needed to finally give life to the four little words—five tiny syllables—that had been my shackles for so long.

And, finally, I breathed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

RILEY

I sat on the couch, spine straight as Evie’s head lay in my lap, her face turned toward me. I welcomed the cadence of her deep, even breathing, a soothing sound in my cluttered mind. Cluttered with that single sentence she’d uttered as it ran through my head over and over and over again.

My father raped me. My father raped me. My father raped me.

I looked down at her, her eyes fluttering under her lids, her lips parted, and she looked just like the same Evie I’d always known. Resilient and independent and strong. I just had no idea how much each of those descriptors truly fit her. Thinking about what she’d been through, what the past seven years had held for her, had me clenching my teeth, an ache spreading in my chest, filling every inch of my body until it was all I could think about. Until the rage I felt was all I could see.

I wanted someone to pay for this. I wanted redemption. For her, for the childhood she’d lost, for the sleepless nights and terrified days and nightmares that still haunted her. I wanted redemption for her because she’d been denied it. I wanted her asshole scum of a father to pay for what he did to her. And I wanted to be the one who brought the justice right to his fucking door.

I would’ve, too, would’ve left this apartment and done it a hundred times if it weren’t for Evie. I couldn’t leave, not now. Not when she was finally resting in my lap, not after what she’d shared with me.

I didn’t want to leave her alone.

In my mind, though, while she lay sleeping, I let myself fantasize. Let it play out a hundred times in my head … getting on my bike and driving hours until I pulled up at the door to her childhood home, the one I’d only seen once or twice in the two years we’d been together. The one I’d seen and had no idea what had been happening behind it. In my mind, I knocked on that door, stood in front of that fucker, and beat him until he couldn’t see. Until he couldn’t move. Pounded on him until he was the one huddled in the corner, bleeding and crying and begging for me to stop.

And I knew if I didn’t have her head in my lap, if I wasn’t running my fingers through her hair, a tangible reminder that she was here with me, in a place he could never get her, that I would. I’d go there, just like in the scenarios running through my mind, and I’d kill him.

I’d kill him.

I wasn’t sure that urge would ever lessen. That it’d ever go away.

It’d been hours since I’d pulled her into my lap, wiping away her near-constant tears as she’d recounted the hell she’d lived through. As she’d said the words that had filled me with a rage I’d never known. A rage that couldn’t be matched, not even what I’d felt when I’d found out she was dead.

The anger swarming inside me now far surpassed it, because it wasn’t just rage at what she’d gone through or who had done it to her. It also was rage directed at myself.

Through those two years we’d been together, the countless nights she’d stayed at my place just so she wouldn’t have to go home, I’d never once suspected. And all the while, it’d been happening right under my nose. She’d lived it, day in and day out, and I hadn’t done a damn thing. She’d endured hell, and I’d done nothing.

EVIE

I woke in the exact position I’d fallen asleep in, on the couch with my head in Riley’s lap. He was still playing with my hair, his fingers providing the soothing caresses that had eventually lulled me to sleep in the first place. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but from the soft light coming into the loft, I’d guess I’d managed to crash through most of the day.

And I couldn’t remember a time when I’d had such a deep and peaceful sleep.

Was it because I’d been so exhausted, running on empty for days? Or had it been because I’d finally freed myself? I’d exposed all the secrets I’d kept buried deep, and I could finally exhale.

Remembering the words I’d said to him, remembering how I’d opened up and told him everything—that I’d even been able to—was still a shock. And through it all, he’d listened. As I’d recounted my worst nightmare, the nightmare that still haunted me, he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t interrupted or bombarded me with questions. He hadn’t called me a liar, hadn’t looked at me like I was someone else, someone he didn’t even know. He’d just sat there, stroking my back and listening, and it was the best gift he ever could’ve given me and he probably didn’t even realize it.

I rubbed my eyes, then turned my head to look up at him. He was staring at me, his eyes full of worry and apprehension, and I wanted to erase it. Wanted to reassure him that even after everything, I was okay. I was still me. He was just seeing all of me now, even the parts I’d been trying for so long to hide.

“Hi,” I said, my voice scratchy and rough from sleeping for so long and all the tears I’d shed before I’d fallen under.

“Hey. How’d you sleep?” He let his hand slip from my head as I sat up and twisted on the couch so I could face him.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I looked at his face, trying to get a read on him, on what he saw now when he looked at me. Did he see some broken girl? Someone who was tainted and dirty? Someone who was weak and scared?

Or did he see me? Did he see the same Evie he always had?

“Okay,” I answered. “How long was I out for?”

“A while … most of the day. It’s almost five.”

I stared at him, my mouth parted, quickly doing the calculations in my head of how long I’d been out. Ten hours. I’d slept, on this uncomfortable couch, a lap serving as my pillow, for ten hours. For longer than I usually slept in three nights combined.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked, already pushing up from the couch and heading to the kitchen. “You must be hungry.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer before he started rummaging around in the cabinets. I stood and walked over to him, reaching up to grab his arm as he pulled out a box of cereal. He froze, looking down at me, and I realized then how tense he was. His shoulders were stiff, the muscles in his arm coiled and tight under my hand, his jaw set.

And while I’d always thought about what it’d mean to me to tell him, I hadn’t stopped to think about what it must’ve been like for him to hear it. To hear about it happening to a girl he’d once loved. To know it had been happening while he’d been there and that I hadn’t told him. That he hadn’t known. Hadn’t been able to stop it.

Stepping in front of him, I situated myself between him and the cabinets and leaned back against the counter. Placing my hands on his chest, I ran my fingers in small circles against the soft cotton clinging to his body, wanting to soothe him as much as he’d managed to soothe me earlier.

“I can’t imagine how hard that was for you to hear, Riley, but I want you to know that I’m okay.”

He gave a jerky nod, but he still studied me, his gaze appraising, and every bit of his body language said he wasn’t buying it. The heavy cast of his eyes spoke volumes and said he was worried about me, scared of how to act now, and I hated it. I hated that anything had situated itself between us like this, especially after we’d managed to somehow overcome the five years we’d been apart.

“I’m still me. You don’t have to be different around me now.”

“I know. I’m just…” He shook his head, his eyes closing, and it was clear he wasn’t going to say any more.

Wanting that connection back, the connection I’d always been able to feel when I was with him, I stood on my tiptoes and slid my hand up his chest until I rested it against his neck and tugged his face down to mine. He came, reluctantly, and I pressed my mouth to his, keeping my eyes open as I did so, watching him. His eyes were open, too, studying me, but his lips weren’t responding like they had … before. He wasn’t responding like he had.

It killed me that there was a possibility he saw me differently. That when he looked at me now, after I’d told him my secrets, he saw someone other than his Evie.

I pulled back, letting my grip loosen on his neck, my eyes darting between his. “You can kiss me, you know.”

He swallowed hard. “I know.”

“Do you? Because that wasn’t a kiss.”

He blew out a long breath, then groaned, reaching up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I … I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to act.”

“I don’t want you to act at all. I want you to be Riley and I’ll be Evie and that’s it.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said in a strained voice.

“Why isn’t it?”

“I don’t want … I mean, what happens if I give you another panic attack?” His eyes darted between mine. “It fucking killed me last night to see you like that.”

“Have I ever had a panic attack around you?”

“Just the one.”

“So doesn’t that say that it’s not you? That it wasn’t a result of what you were doing?”

He breathed out a harsh laugh. “Really? That’s hard for me to believe, because I was the one trying to fuck you.”

“Riley, how many times have we slept together?” I didn’t let him answer, because it didn’t matter. “I’m still the same girl I was then. The same one I was yesterday and the day before. The same one you took up against the wall a few days ago.” He cringed at that, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his clenched eyes. I reached up and grabbed his wrist, tugging his arm down. “You can kiss me and touch me. I’m not going to break.”

I leaned up again, standing on tiptoes as I rested my lips on his. “I want you to kiss me and touch me. I want to know that you don’t see me differently. That I’m still Evie to you. That I’m still worthy. I want to know you still think I’m beautiful.”

“Jesus, baby, of course I do. I always will. I’d never see you as anything different. I just don’t know what will be too much. I don’t want … I can’t cause you pain like that … Not again.”

“How about I tell you what I want you to do?”

He stared at me for a moment, then swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded.

“Kiss me,” I breathed, tugging his face down to mine. It was slower than it usually was with him, more tentative, but it was something. It was more than he’d given me just a minute ago, so I’d take it. I opened my mouth to him, slipping my tongue out and licking against his bottom lip. Reaching down, I grabbed his hand and moved it toward me, guiding it around until it was pressed against the small of my back. And then I added pressure, pushing our lower halves together. “I’m not going to break,” I reminded him. “Please don’t act like I will.”