Page 107 of Mr. Brightside
How could there possibly be anything left? But there must be. I can feel the anger, resentment, and shame rolling off him in waves, so I adjust myself on the bed so I’m facing him directly, giving him my full attention.
“The night that Ian McDowell…” He trails off, blows out a long breath, then grips the edge of the mattress and sits up straighter. “The night that Ian McDowell drugged me and tried to rape me, I went back.”
Time stands still as I try to make sense of his admission.
“What do you mean—you went back?”
His jaw ticks as he stares straight ahead. I stroke his forearm to get his attention and bring him back to me.
“After my dad laid into me that night, after he shoved me back into the closet and spit on me, I didn’t know what to do. I was still trying to make sense of the situation, reeling from my dad’s dismissal. Rhett was in the hospital because of me. Tori wasn’t answering my calls because she was on a bus trying to get to downtown Akron to be with Rhett. It was all too much. I had no one. I felt like… I felt like I was nothing.”
I squeeze his arm in support, desperate to convey just how much he matters.
He’s never been nothing.He’s everything to me.
“I was sleep-deprived. Exhausted. Distraught. I decided to do the stupidest thing I could think of, just to numb the pain. I called Ian, went back to Archway’s campus, and… and did the thing I originally set out to do that night.”
I’m digging my nails into the palm of my left hand to keep myself steady. That sick, predatory piece of shit hurt my husband more than I could have fathomed.
“Jake, did he…?”
“No. I mean, I guess not. I don’t really know. I went back, Cory. I fucking knew what was going to happen, and I went back. Willingly.”
“You were a kid,” I remind him, stroking my thumb over the ink-covered veins of his forearm.
“Yeah, well, I knew what I was doing.” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “I knew what would happen, and I did it anyway. That’s why seeing him at The Oak was such a mindfuck. I don’t feel like I can even blame him anymore. The first part of the night, sure. But the second part? Where I was a willing participant and just gave myself to him?” He shakes his head violently and shudders.
“You were a minor, Jake. He was an adult. In a position of power.”
He nods wordlessly, like he hears me but doesn’t agree. He’s shutting down, clamming up and throwing away the key to his candor and vulnerability. I don’t want to push the issue. But I don’t want him to shut me out, either. I’m out of my league here, but I want to support him in any way I can.
“Thank you for telling me. What does Rhett say about all this?” I ask, gently nudging him to keep talking if this is something he needs to get off his chest.
He raises his head and looks me right in the eye as he admits: “Rhett doesn’t know I went back. No one does. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”
Mierda.
I can’t hold back. I reach forward and wrap him in my arms, running one hand up and down his back. I palm the nape of his neck with as much tenderness as I can muster.
His confession is my undoing. It’s the final string—the inevitable snap. The key that makes this all make sense. It’s Jake showing me his darkest truth. He’s handing over his power and opening up to me in a way he’s never opened up to anyone.
And now his reaction that night makes even more sense. He wasn’t just triggered by the attempted assault. He was facing down relentless waves of shame and self-loathing, reeling from a secret he’s kept buried for more than ten years.
The power of the moment plucks at my heartstrings as this beautiful, vivacious man lets me hold him. I can’t fix this, and we both know it. He could have kept this from me forever, and I’d be none the wiser. But giving me this truth—sharing the darkest secret he holds, that he’s never let anyone else possess—it’s a selfless act of genuine trust.
“It’s okay,” I soothe, holding him tighter, as if my strength alone is enough to get him through this. “You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He’s heavy in my arms, broken down and defeated. And he’s letting me hold him instead of brushing me off or pushing away.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask after a few minutes of silence. We may not have spoken any words out loud, but I put everything I had into making him feel my love and support.
He shakes his head in the crook of my neck, a subtle indication that sharing this was enough.
“I just needed you to know.”
His vulnerability speaks directly to my insecurity. His authenticity is a comfort and a balm. Every wall I’ve built to fortify my heart crumbles in that moment as the realization hits: I don’t need to protect myself anymore. I don’t need protection from him.
There were really no words that could have dampened my resolve to end our marriage.