Page 61 of Bay of Plenty

I pushed openthe bedroom door.

What the hell was that on the bed?

An old, rotted pain sprang to life and coiled up my throat.This can’t be happening. Not again.

Spread out on the bed were my shorts and my new dress. With the backsides cut out.

“Squealer. Ha ha, Squealer!” Cazza and Lolly chanted. “Made room for the piggy tail.”

Cold air slapped my bum and the backs of my thighs. My hand flew to the back of my dress—and felt only my underwear and naked skin. Oh God, what did they do?

Tugging my skirt to the front, I gasped to see a huge hole. Cazza and Lolly were cackling mercilessly.

They’d cut the hole when my skirt fell over the back of my seat during class.

Clutching the hole closed with one hand, I grabbed my backpack with the other as hoots of laughter chased me out of the classroom. I told Mum my skirt went missing in gym class.

Within a week, kids who didn’t know why they were saying the mocking words had joined in.

I collapsed beside the cut-up clothing, the sight filling mewith shame and the unbearable knowledge that I wasn’t safe anymore.Why now? Who would do this now?

Here I was, twenty years later, reduced to that cowering, trembling fourteen-year-old who thought everyone hated her, who’d been powerless to stop the torture.

I steeled myself.I’m a grown woman and a journalist, and I can figure out who did this.

Who’d crept in here without anyone noticing? Snow. No wonder he’d cried off dinner. The hair lifted on the back of my neck. It would have taken only a minute.

He’d broken in here, knowing exactly how to frighten and humiliate me. Snow had seen how terrified I’d been at school, and he wanted to scare me again. He’d bullied me for revenge and to silence and humiliate me. The thing was… he’d succeeded then, and he’d got me again.

A cry tore through the room, a heartsick, animal-sounding sob. It was me.

*

Knock. Knock.

Startled, I turned toward it.

“Isla?” came a voice. The door slid open—Declan.

“Sorry, I was—” He rushed to where I was kneeling, my face in my hands, and crouched next to me. “What is it, Isla? Are you crying? What’s happened?”

When I didn’t answer, he winced. “Is it the text? I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal who it is.”

I dropped my hands and choked out, “It’s not about the text.”

“Isla, I’ve never seen you so upset.”

His eyes shot to the ruined clothingon the bed. “Who cut these up?” Pushing himself to his feet, he shook out each of the pieces with a confused look. “Are they yours?”

“I don’t know if it’s about the case.” I held my breath to stop crying. I was worried about my parents hearing me.

Dropping the pieces of clothing, he knelt beside me. “It’s you I care about. Fuck the case. Please tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

That was it. His tender words and raspy, emotion-thick voice reduced me to full-on, snotty, hiccupping sobs.

He wrapped his arms around my wet, heaving form. “Is this okay?”

Nodding into his chest, I sank into his strong arms and familiar lemon scent.