Page 33 of Keeping Her Under (Deranged Highway, #1)

Thirty-Three

The door of the van slams open.

I jump instinctively, the knife moving away from my throat.

Asher lunges inside and grabs my wrist. I swing for him with my other hand. Pain explodes through my knuckles as they bash into the side of his head. Then it ruptures in my nose as he headbutts me in the face.

I slump back in the seat, my vision swimming. He yanks the knife away from me and tosses it towards the back of the van.

“Fuck, you!” he screams, his voice twisted and raw.

Then he pulls me into his arms and cries.

And I do too.

Shaking and sick.

I’m both grateful for him. And I hate him too.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t understand –”

“I understand you’re a fucking asshole!”

“I know! Because I raped her!”

He pulls away from me, but he keeps hold of my shoulders. He squeezes them tight enough to leave bruises. “What?”

“I raped Summer.” My words break over the agony.

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t do that. You must not’ve heard her say no –”

“She didn’t say no –”

“Then it’s not rape!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s not. That’s liberal bullshit.”

“What’s rape, Ash?” I scream, shoving him away from me.

“When it’s violent –”

“Mom’s boyfriends weren’t always violent.” I shudder. “Some of them even sucked me off first.” Their disgusting slime rushes through my veins. My soul.

Asher grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. But his touch isn’t grounding anymore. He isn’t the man I always looked up to and trusted to put me right. Because he must’ve known. All this time, he must’ve known I was a rapist, and he let me believe I wasn’t.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” I rasp, barely able to breathe. “You hate rapists, just like me. But you turned me into one.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You suggested I roofie my dates!”

“Yeah. Your dates,” he stresses. “They all wanted to have sex with you, and you had sex exactly how you always have sex. So just because you didn’t get a consent form doesn’t mean it was rape, cuz. They consented to being unconscious for it when they wanted to have sex with you.”

I breathe heavily, struggling with my thoughts.

“What would have happened if they’d touched you?” he asks softly.

I flinch, and although I don’t answer, my silent words pulse between us. It would’ve been worse for me. I would’ve been triggered. Got violent. I could have really hurt them… Like I did with the girl at Lance’s place.

So is he right?

Or is Alina the one I should be listening to?

I also saw the trauma in her eyes. The lingering PTSD… And then there’s the other thing she told me.

“I got myself drunk,” I say. “So does that mean I consented?”

I want him to tell me yes. That I wasn’t raped then. That I managed to be powerful in a situation where they sought to make me powerless.

“You were a child,” he says softly.

I flinch again, my chest breaking, caving in. It’s getting hard to breathe. Hard to see.

He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. “You’re not a rapist, Rath.”

I used to always believe his words. I used them to pull myself out of my misery time and time again, trusting he’d never lie to me.

But he loves me more than anything.

And look at how many lies I’ve told out of my love for Summer.

“Summer called me a devil,” I say, my stomach churning. I know that she didn’t mean it as a term of endearment now. The horror in her eyes wasn’t because of her coma-induced nightmares but rather because she’d been aware of me raping her.

Helpless.

Unable to stop me.

Unable to even scream.

“I didn’t date her. She didn’t consent to me, and you knew that.” I shove him away from me, my heart pounding. I told him she was in a coma. He flat-out asked me if I was going to rape her, and he didn’t correct my fucking delusion. “You let me hurt her,” I cry.

“Did you make her bleed?” he snaps.

“What? No! I’d never –”

“Did you leave bruises on her?”

“No –”

“Did you kill her boyfriend to protect her? Were you the only person who visited her? That gave a fucking damn about her?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then you didn’t hurt her.”

“But she called me a devil!”

“Did you ask her why?”

I open my mouth, then close it again. “I didn’t get the chance.”

“Then don’t do anything stupid until you do.”

“But what if she was aware when I was fucking her?” Whenever one of Mother’s boyfriends tried to talk to me after, that made it worse.

“Then you make it up to her.”

My jaw drops. “What the fuck? How? How can a fucking rapist make it up to his victim?” I shake my head, so fucking mad at him. “I killed your dad for you!”

“And did that fix me?” he snaps back. “Did that change a fucking thing for me?”

“He couldn’t rape you again –”

“Then don’t fucking rape her again! And don’t be even more of an asshole to her by taking your own life, you selfish prick!”

“What?” I rear back. Then lunge forward. “How is killing myself for her being selfish? I’d love for all my rapists to be dead!”

“Okay. I’ve killed them.” He shoves me out of his face. I fall against the window.

“No, you fucking haven’t!” Sitting up, I swing for his chest.

He blocks it, then hits me in the stomach. “Yes, I did.” He shoves me again as I wheeze. “You feel any better?”

“No! Because all you’re doing is hitting me!” I press a hand to my belly, the pain radiating from there making me wince.

“Just fucking imagine I killed them. Do you think all your nightmares will disappear? Do you think you can suddenly stand being touched or the sound of hips slapping in the dark?”

My throat tightens from merely hearing about it. “Maybe…” I say stubbornly.

“Bull-fucking-shit. Take it from someone who knows.” He slumps into his seat and runs a hand over his face. I struggle to think of a counter.

“Not everyone heals the same,” I finally say.

His voice is weary. “I know.”

“I might heal better if they were all dead.”

“You might.” He looks at me. “But she might not, and we’re talking about her, aren’t we?”

I close my mouth and nod.

“She might want to kill you herself. Did you ever think of that? No? Of course not. Because you’re being a selfish prick, only trying to absolve yourself of your own guilt.”

Like writing her a letter…

I close my eyes on a silent scream. My soul feels so goddamn raw. Tearing apart my chest. My head.

Too many truths have come out tonight.

The raping of me.

My raping of her.

I told myself I’d never be like my mom when it came to those I love. But I was so caught up in my own trauma, I couldn’t see the very trauma I was causing.

I should’ve never let it fester inside of me. By refusing to work through it, I ended up letting it control me. And now it’s hurt her. I need to cut it out. Just like I promised her I would.

“Fine,” I say wearily but strongly. “I’ll wait for her to decide. But if she wants to kill me, you better sharpen the knife for her.”

“Rath –”

“Stop moving the fucking goalpost!” I snap.

“You’re the goal, asshole.”

“Well, this is what I want. You keep saying you owe me – this is how you pay it.”

“Fuck you.” He breathes out harshly. Slams his fist into the back of the front seat. “Fine,” he finally says. “But I’m killing myself right after.”

“Ash –”

“You think it’s good enough for you, so you don’t get to say a word.”

“I need you to take care of her in my absence.”

“Nope. I only owe you once. So if you want her to be cared for, then you better do your damndest to stick around.”

“What if she wants me dead?”

“Then you fucking grovel for all you’re worth.” He shrugs. “Or don’t and leave her uncared for. I don’t care.”

I grit my teeth, hating him so fucking much right now.

But I know how stubborn he is. If I’m dead, he will leave her like he’s promised.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

He relaxes, hearing the defeat in my tone.

Wrapping one arm around my shoulders, Asher pulls me against him. “Aw, I knew you would come around on the incest stuff eventually.”

“Ew. Fuck –” I swallow the ‘you’ as I shove him away.

But the bastard still fucking laughs.