Page 76

WAVERLY

“W hat happened?” I asked in concern, pulling my face back enough to see reluctance enter Keene’s gaze.

He huffed out an annoyed breath and took my hand to kiss my palm before grumbling, “Fucking Nursing Fundamentals class.”

“Bad test?” I guessed, already grimacing for him because I’d seen some of his study cards, and there was no way I’d be able to remember half the crazy Latin terms he had to.

But he shook his head. “No. They showed these videos all hour. They were all personal testimonies from different rape victims.”

I went still. But he wasn’t looking at me.

Motioning helplessly around the room, he said, “Because, you know, we’re going to have to deal with victims like that someday if we go into the medical field, especially if we want to be gynecologists like I do. But Jesus.”

He shook his head miserably and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I ended up walking out halfway through and throwing up in the grass outside.”

“Oh, Keene.” My heart went out to him even as it began to pound with dread.

But if he couldn’t even stomach listening to strangers’ stories, there was no way I could ever tell him mine .

And I’d just been beginning to think I should maybe tell him someday, too.

To prove to my mother that it wouldn’t scare him away.

“Seriously.” He shook his head aggressively, his jaw going tight with anger.

“I cannot fathom how some monsters out there can distort how good and wonderful and fun sex can be. They turn it into a nightmare. And the people they destroy. God. That shit’s going to stick with those victims for the rest of their fucking lives.

How do—how can people just do that—take away the control someone else has over their own body, invade them in the most intimate, invasive way, and crush that person’s soul like they’re nothing?

I just—I want to kill them. I want to kill every single motherfucker who thinks rape is the way to go. I’ll never understand it.”

His muscles had gone tense, so I rested my cheek on his shoulder and whispered, “Me neither.”

Keene dipped his face, kissing my temple. “There was this one testimony,” he started, hoarsely. “The one that sent me over the edge. The girl was only ten fucking years old when it started. Ten ,” he choked out, his voice shaking.

Burying his face in my hair, he drew in a deep breath and added, “She was attending this center for weekly meetings. It sounded a lot like the grief center where I met my friends. You know, the one that had the big scandal with the—with the director.”

A tremor worked through me, but I nodded. “I remember.”

Keene tucked me even closer. “Yeah,” he rasped. “It sounded like she was involved in something like that. And the director there, just like the one here in town, he’d pull girls into his office for special time. She would always get jealous until one day he called her name.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to him.

Mom had told me that being a part of making that video could help people. That was the only reason why I’d agreed to give my account. But Keene didn’t sound as if it had helped him. He sounded traumatized. Shattered.

“And he fucking raped her,” Keene said, his voice breaking.

Talking through the tears, he went on. “On and off, for at least once a month, for the next five years, he…” He moaned out a sound of torment.

“And she blamed herself,” he sobbed, barely able to talk.

“He fucked with her head; he made her think she was the—Jesus. I can’t. I just?—”

He rocked me slowly, crying openly. “He made her think he wasn’t molesting her.

He made her think she had to do the things she did in order to be special.

He—fuck, I really hate this fucker. He made her think it was her fault when her family found out.

And she—she tried to commit suicide because she was so ashamed. She…”

I cried with him, silent tears of hot shame streaking from my eyes.

He was telling my story, and it was breaking him. I couldn’t handle it. I had to stop him.

“Keene.”

I pressed my palm to his soaked cheek.

But he took my wrist and brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it sweetly.

“Her face was in the shadows, of course, and her voice was distorted. But when she lifted her hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, I saw your feather tattoo. Right here.”

When he drifted his fingers over my wrist and across my tattoo, I sucked in a breath and tried to jerk my hand away. But he tightened his grip on me and looked into my eyes, telling me without saying a word that he knew—he knew .

And I lost it.

Tightening my body, I instinctively tried to curl inside myself, suddenly feeling trapped.

“Don’t pull away,” he begged. “Please, God, Waverly. Don’t pull away from me right now.”

A high-pitched sound of panic left my throat, and I tightened against him, shifting to avoid contact. But I swear, the damn man turned into glue, and he wrapped his body around me even harder.

“I just want to hold you. I need to hold you. Waverly…”

“No.” I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. “I can’t,” I gritted out. “I can’t.” I needed to run. I needed to escape. I needed out of this moment.

Because he knew.

He knew my shame.

He knew what I’d done.

And as he kissed my hair, not caring, holding firmly onto me, he refused to let me hide from it. “Please,” he begged.

Except I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

My mouth opened, and I screamed out a silent scream that made no sound but robbed me of all my breath.

My face went hot, and by the time I was done, I sucked in air so greedily I went a little dizzy.

Keeping my eyes shut, I shook my head, thrashing it violently.

“No,” I mumbled, not wanting to do this.

And just like that, he released me. “Sorry,” he gasped, realizing he’d been holding me against my will. “God. I’m sorry. Waverly…”

I shot off the bed in a rush and was at the door in two seconds. But as I reached for the handle, my rational side came back to me. I pulled my hand back and slowly turned toward the bed.

Keene had sat up on the mattress and thrown his feet over the side. Hugging himself, he curled his shoulders in as he wept. His face was tomato red and drenched.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, shaking his head in misery.

Blinking, I took a step toward him. Then stopped.

I’d wrecked him. This beautiful happy boy who always smiled and laughed was sobbing uncontrollably. Because of me.

He glanced up with bloodshot, apologetic eyes. “I just wanted to hold you,” he promised me between hyperventilating gasps. “I just wanted to squeeze you so hard, I hugged the pain and trauma right out of you.”

“Keene,” I whispered and went to him, touching his hair and pulling him to my stomach when he leaned toward me.

“I love you so much,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around my waist. “It hurts to know how much you were hurt. It fucking hurts .”

“It doesn’t hurt me anymore,” I promised and crawled into his lap, willingly wrapping myself around him this time. “Not since you.”

He groaned and curled around me, burying his face in my hair. “Good…good.”

He stroked my back for I don’t know how long. After a while, we lay down on our sides, facing each other, and a thoughtful silence fell between us before he murmured, “Hey. Thank you.”

I shook my head, confused. “For what?”

“I know you had some pretty dark days that didn’t give you a lot of hope.

I know you thought your chance for a normal future was fucked.

You had no desire to carry on. You had to sludge through a crushing depression on top of everything else, and yet you made it through every day, anyway.

You made it to me . You’ll never know how grateful I am for that.

Because I need you. No one else gets me like you do. So thank you for making it to me.”

“Keene,” I said, lifting my hand to touch his face.

He turned his head to kiss my hand. “I’m going to love you so hard from here on out that you’re not even going to remember what it felt like to be broken by him. Okay?”

I nodded but said, “I already feel that way.”

With a smug grin, he answered, “Darlin’, I’m just gettin’ started.”

I smiled, only to wince.

“What?” he asked, reading my expression. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t—” I shook my head, wanting to push the stray thought away, but Keene had been brave enough to tell me his story.

So I drew in a breath and admitted. “I’m scared.

This—” I motioned between the two of us.

“I’m scared to death of losing you. I thought if you ever found out about me that you’d?—”

“Leave?” he asked incredulously, only to give an adamant shake of his head. “Jesus, Waves. Never.”

“But it’s a lot,” I said. “It—it traumatized me and formed me into what I am today.”

“I know that,” he said, nodding. “I know how heavy of a load this is for you. I know you will still have dark days because of it. And the weight of it will buckle your knees. But I will still be here for it.”

“But it won’t be...easy. I wish I could be someone who’s easy and simple for you, and?—”

“I don’t,” he shot back, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I want you . That’s all.

Through all the challenges and highs and lows that come with you.

I want to be there beside you whenever you conquer your next low, so we can celebrate the win together.

I want to hold your hand while you fight through the next one after that.

I want all of it. And I swear I’m up for this.

It might not be a specific situation I’ve ever dealt with before, but I feel as if I’ve trained for this my entire life by having six best friends who’ve endured trauma and loss and needed a little comic relief like me in their lives to remind them that it’s okay to smile again. ”

“I need you for exactly that, too,” I told him with an emphatic nod. “You make everything...brighter. Colorful. Happier.”