Page 85 of Mr. Brightside

He waited.He fucking waited.

Then, hours later—after we’d both gone to the hospital to get checked out, after he was taken back for surgery and I was taken home to be spit on by my dad—after it should have been all said and done…

I went back.

I can’t even think about it without feeling nauseous. It’s a secret that’s festered inside me for more than a decade. My deepest regret. My greatest shame. By the time I made my choice, my mind was clear. I had all the information I needed to stay away and keep myself safe.

But I didn’t.

To this day, no one knows that in the early hours of morning, when the sun was rising and I was at my all-time low, I swiped a bottle of gin from my dad’s bar cart, picked a random set of keys for one of his dozen cars, and willingly drove myself back to campus to be defiled by the man who had tried to assault me hours earlier.

There’s so much hatred rotting inside me. I don’t even bother turning my head as I cough and dry heave over the memory. Nothing ever comes out. I wish I could vomit and make the feeling pass. But even after ten years, the burning hasn’t subsided. I keep this one shoved down deep—I rarely think of it anymore, instead replaying other parts of that night in my mind to distract myself from the worst decision I’ve ever made. But when I do let myself go there, it feels like the worst heartburn in the world raging through my body.

I close my eyes and see his face. Hear my name. Taste the gin. Feel the pain.

There’s no escaping the demon that haunts me. Because the real demon is me.

It’s not until I hear my name again—for real this time, not just in my head—that my eyes fly open.

I shoot up like a shot, running a hand frantically through my hair and trying to stop the world from spinning as the blood rushes from my head. The pool lounger shifts under me, and for a second, I worry I’ll topple over.

“How’d you find me?” I croak as I steady myself and plant my feet on the ground.

Cory takes two steps forward and holds up his phone. “I asked for help,” he whispers.

He looks—fuck. He looks horrible. Forlorn. Like he’s in excruciating pain.

“I’ve been out to the Ledges, then on a wild goose chase through the maze of storage units off Carnegie. This”—he gestures around the Wheelers’ backyard—“was Tori and Rhett’s idea. And, honestly, it was my last hope.”

He crosses the yard slowly, focused on me the entire time. His expression is filled with so much concern I have to turn my head and look away.

When he’s finally standing in front of me, he stops, then slowly sinks to his knees.

I can feel his eyes boring into my temple and jawline as he searches my face. But I refuse to look at him. He places both hands on my quads, creating friction against the fabric of my jeans as he runs them back and forth.

“Jake.” He then crosses his arms on my lap and lowers his head to rest on my thighs. “Dempsey told me someone showed up at the bar tonight. That you got upset and took off.”

He can’t see me with the way he’s resting in my lap, but I nod.

“When I couldn’t get a hold of you, I made him tell me everything he could remember. Dem thought it had to do with two guys who came in for a drink. He said one used to work at Archway Prep. I didn’t push him for more information, but was it—”

“Yes,” I rush to reply before he can say the words. I can’t bear to hear who he thinks Ian McDowell is to me. A villain? Yes. But also the source of shame that’s metastasized in my body over the last ten years. The root cause of why I’m so damn good at compartmentalizing, shutting down, tuning out, and pushing people away.

Cory sighs again, nuzzling his head into my lap, willing me to let him in.

My gut clenches in regret: For what I did. For what I can’t bring myself to do now.

I want to crumble.

I want to beg him to hold me.

I want to tell my husband the truth.

I want to show him my darkest demon and have him tell me that it’s okay. That it doesn’t change things. That what I did ten years ago doesn’t define me.

But I can’t.

I just can’t.