39. Matteo #3
It runs through my veins, my heart pumping with it, and my mind fills with endless scenarios about what could make her look visibly ill while she tries to express whatever has been eating away at her.
But I never could have pictured what Evie whispers next.
“When I was little…”
My heart sinks like an anchor tossed into the depths of the ocean.
Evie’s bottom lip trembles, tears flowing down her cheeks. She wipes them away, turning her head to the side as if she’s trying to conjure up strength before facing me fully as she bares her soul.
“When I was little,” she repeats, trying to go on despite the waver in her voice, as if she hasn’t spoken in weeks. “There was a monster that I was afraid of.”
Memories flood my mind, of all the times I’d find her crying in her closet or the moments she’d come into Caleb’s room, sobbing and whispering about the floating head man.
“The floating head?”
Evie visibly flinches.
“Yes,” she rushes out. “That wasn’t my imagination. It was just my mind’s way of trying to make sense of something so horrible.” She takes another deep breath, the tears flowing with abandon now. “He, um…was a monster. A very real monster.”
It takes a moment for my brain to realize what she’s saying, a moment for her words to land. When they do, they don’t land gently. They implode like a grenade.
No.
Evie’s chin quivers. “He would come into my room—”
“No.” The word slips past my lips as everything in my body locks into place.
She closes her eyes, her hands fisting at her sides. “I used to call it floating. Whenever he came into my room, I’d float away so I never had to feel how badly he hurt me. The next day I wouldn’t even remember what happened. I now know it’s because I dissociated.”
My head is shaking, my throat burning with the urge to scream. Every word coming out of her mouth slices my heart like a whip.
“Um…” She tries to go on but I’m not the only one trembling.
I want to touch her, I want to hold her, cradle the little girl that I didn’t protect, the one that everyone failed. How didn’t we know? Why didn’t anyone notice? Why didn’t I notice?
I realize now why she couldn’t have me near her as she talked.
She can’t be touched.
Because…
She gasps as a sob breaks free. “He would come into my room and force himself on me.”
The words rip from her chest, and the moment they’re out in the world, there’s nothing stopping the bile rushing for my throat. Turning to the side, I vomit all over the sand, and even when my stomach is done emptying itself, I can’t stop dry heaving.
Because I understand now. I understand it all.
Why she didn’t want to tell me, why she was afraid.
I genuinely want to murder the man who hurt her.
I’ve never wanted to hurt someone before but picturing Evie, my little Dove, as someone forced their touch on her? Thinking back to all those nights I found her crying because someone had hurt her…I’d kill for her.
I see the fear in her gaze and hate it all the same because she does have a reason to be afraid. Even I’m afraid of what I’ll do.
Because Evie…my Dove…how could someone do that to her?
Rising on wobbly legs, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my heart shattering into a million pieces at her feet, and I know I’ll never be able to restore it.
“Who?” I ask, my voice betraying me and showing just how much pain I feel.
Evie shakes her head. “No.”
“Who, Evie? Who did it?”
She just keeps shaking her head.
“Was I there?” The question is broken, and by the way her tears fall faster, I have my answer, but I need to hear it. My vision blurs as I gasp out, “Was I down the hall sleeping peacefully while you were suffering?”
She smashes her lips together as I continue to beg. “Tell me, please. Was I down the hall? While you were being…”
Her voice cracks as she whispers the single word that is my undoing. “Yes.”
I begin sobbing, my heart—my soul—breaking before her very eyes.
And instead of me comforting Evie, my knees give out and she rushes for me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. The moment she touches me, whatever control I had left crumbles.
I cradle her to me, not able to stop my sobs even if I tried.
I should be consoling her, should be thanking her for trusting me with something she’s kept so close to her heart, and I will. I will be able to convey all of that to her, but for now, as the truth of this rocks me to my core, all I can manage to do is cry.
Because this has just altered everything I thought I knew.
Burrowing my face into the crook of her neck, I whisper over and over like a broken record, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Shh…” She tries to comfort me, but I can’t be consoled, not about this. Nothing will ever soothe this ache.
I will never forgive myself.
The anger will come. I can feel it bubbling underneath the surface with a vengeance, but I’m drowning in sadness and guilt, drowning because my sanctuary, my haven growing up, was her hell.
And I never knew.
I was down the hall…and I never knew.
I was sleeping peacefully one door down while she was burning in hell.