Page 85 of Surviving Slater

"After I remembered everything, I managed to keep going, pretending it never happened. There were so many times I had wished I hadn't remembered. It would have been so much easier."

I still craved that not knowing; it had made my life better. Forgetting about it had wiped it from my life. Like it hadn't happened.

I could recall the first moment I had remembered. It had been like a wave of stifled emotions growing in me as I'd recalled what had happened. Fear, shame, confusion, self-hatred… I remembered every encounter like I was reliving it again.

Abruptly, he removed his hand from mine. It tightened into a fist.

"Slater?" I asked softly.

"I want to kill him," he said, the anger hoarse in his voice, still trying to rein in the anger he was feeling. "Hearing what he did to you, I want to make him pay. I want to hurt him as much as he hurt you."

I understood his protectiveness but there was no action that would make him pay as much as I had. There was no way to even the score. I reached out and took his hand into mine. After a few minutes he released the fist.

"Anytime in the last two years I could have said something, I could have done something about it, but I planted my head firmly into the sand and refused to acknowledge it. What if I wasn't the only one? What if I could have stopped him from doing it to someone else?" My teary eyes held his. He remained silent. "I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want them to know how weak I really am. I wasn't strong enough to try and take action against him, to make him pay. And now it's too late. The only people it would hurt would be my mother and my aunt."

He reached for me, engulfing me in his strong arms. A sob tore from me as I realized I had finally admitted one of my innermost fears. He stroked my back as he held me close.

"You are not weak," he murmured softly.

I gripped his shirt and held him as another sob escaped. Tears ran down my face and wet his shirt as I allowed my feelings to get free. Despite my turmoil of emotions, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.

Chapter Twenty-One

After a few minuteshe released me. I wiped my cheeks.

"This wasn't your fault. Do you understand me?" he said, and I nodded. He leveled his eyes with mine. "It was his fault. There is no excuse. He knew right from wrong and he knew what he was doing was wrong."

A glimmer of anger flared in his eyes as he spoke. I nodded again.

"There's more," I told him. He frowned slightly.

I got up and walked over to my bag I had dropped on the floor by the front door. I retrieved the envelope.

"What is it?" he asked, his concentration fixed on what I held in my hand.

"He left me a letter. My aunt gave it to me this afternoon after the funeral."

"Have you read it?" he asked, his gaze moving from the letter to me. I shook my head.

"I'm scared to read it." I sighed as I handed it to him. Sitting beside him, I put my arms around my waist. "I don't know if I can take what's in there."

He looked at it for a moment. His thumb swept lightly across my name handwritten on the front.

"I doubt anything in here will erase what he did to you," he murmured softly. He was probably right but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away without reading the contents; it would always nag at me.

"Would you read it for me?" I asked him, afraid he would turn me down. "You can decide if it's something I need to read."

His eyes held mine for a moment before they dropped back to the envelope. Like before, I expected him to draw the line and hand it back to me, but he didn't. I watched as he opened it. Our eyes met one more time before he opened the letter.

I watched his expression while he read, hoping it would give me an indication of what it said. At one stage he gripped the paper a little tighter. He folded it when he was finished. He stood up and my eyes fixed on him.

"You should read it," he said, handing me the folded piece of paper.

I took it from him. "Are you sure?"

He nodded as he crossed his arms.

This time I only felt nervous as I looked down at my uncle's sprawled handwriting. I didn't feel fearful, because I knew Slater wouldn't let me read it if it was going to cause me more pain.