Page 151 of Soul So Dark

Listening at the door, I turn the knob and peer through the crack into the hallway. Seeing no one, I shuffle down the hall to the bathroom and flip on the shower. Soon, the room starts filling with steam and I slide my shorts and underwear off onto the tile.

It looks like I’ve stopped bleeding. I run my hand across my lower belly, over the residual tenderness. At least the pain seems to be fading. It’s a wonder he didn’t crack my pelvis. But I can’t help but notice how familiar it feels, like I’ve felt this kind of ache before.

It happened once during freshman year of high school when my period randomly started one morning, accompanied by an uncomfortable ache just like this one. It only lasted for about a day before it stopped and everything went back to normal. But the unsettling sense of déjà vu is what gives me pause.

I thought about telling someone what happened while I was at the clinic on Friday, but decided against it. I might not have remembered what Bowen looked like when Colson held his phone to my face, but I never forgot what he said.

His family will cover for him, the police will cover for him, and he’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.

As if leveling an allegation against a man for rape isn’t dangerous enough, especially if he forced you to come while he did it. I cringe at the thought as the nausea threatens to return.

With some new shred of purpose, I finish getting cleaned up and venture downstairs. The aroma of popcorn drifts up to the hallway, and after not eating for two days, my stomach lets out a growl at how good it smells. I creep down the stairs, listening for voices, but all I hear is music. Once at the bottom, I make my way to the kitchen, my footsteps overshadowed by the music coming from Shelby’s laptop.

She’s the only one here, sitting at the table with the bag of popcorn next to her. Her eyes round when she sees me, braced in the doorway with wet hair, and turns down the music.

“Dallas!” she exclaims before shooting me a dubious look. “Are you better? You know I love you, but I don’t want to catch whatever the hell you have.”

I take a step into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’m not sick.” I clear my throat, having barely uttered a word in days. “Actually, I have to talk to you.”

I slowly pull out a chair and sit down. From the way she’s looking at me, I must look like a headcase.

“Something happened on Thursday,” I begin.

“What?” she asks, furrowing her brow with concern.

I stare at the tabletop for nearly a minute, trying to decide how to say what I’m about to say. But eventually, it just comes out tumbling out.

“I was raped by Evie’s murderer.”

Shelby just stares at me blankly. But after a few seconds, her jaw drops. “What?”

For the next few minutes, I tell her everything; about the fight at the funeral, what Colson told me about Bowen afterward, Shapeshift, Jesse, my shitty boss at Blood Horse, the pickles, the Civic, the old railroad bridge, and what happened just as Bowen lulled me into a false sense of security.

“You have to go to the police,” Shelby hisses, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll go with you!”

“His grandfather’s the police chief in Canaan and his best friend is an officer.”

Shelby immediately deflates. “But, still…there has to be…”

I shake my head, having already had the exact same thoughts with no resolution. And, before I know it, I’m swiping through my phone until I find what I’m looking for.

“Look,” I hold up my phone. “This is him.”

Shelby’s eyes dart back and forth between me and the screen, stunned and speechless.

“Look at him!” I growl.

She presses her mouth together and tries to focus. She probably thinks I’m in shock, but I’ve already done this part.

I want her to know what I’m dealing with, just like the nurse practitioner who did my exam yesterday knew why I was there without having to tell her. I give Shelby the same look she did when she saw the bruises and the aftermath of Bowen’s assault. But, this time, Shelby’s not going to brush me off like I did to her when she asked if I wanted to talk to one of the counselors.

Because I’m way past talking. I’ve already started making other plans.

“His name…is Bowen Garrison.”

???

“Are you working this weekend?” Kara asks as she restocks the glasses beneath the bar.