Chapter 31
Jase
It took Mom five weeks to get in touch with me after I was kicked out. Five fucking weeks. And even then, she didn’t ask me to come home. She only said that she’d pay my tuition fee and that Dad could never find out about it. She didn’t ask me where I had been living or how I was. Nothing.
—Jase
I’m in shock. I must be. There’s no other way to explain why I’m so calm.
Zoe is sitting on my bed. She’s wearing one of my sweaters because her cardigan was soaked from the rain.
It’s way too big for her. She has her legs pulled up, arms around her knees, just like yesterday before I kicked her out. It all feels like a fucking dream.
Yesterday we lay in this bed, she was on top of me, moaning, and today she tells me that she was raped.
At that party. After we kissed. After I went to the treehouse to wait for her, until the sun came up.
She didn’t show up, and I came to my own conclusions about her silence.
And Caleb’s. But I had no fucking idea what really happened.
I feel like I need to throw up, but I can’t move.
I lean back against my desk, arms crossed over my chest, and try to figure out how this could have happened.
The problem is, there’s nothing to understand.
There’s no good reason for something like this.
There’s only one bastard who made a decision. That’s it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say with difficulty. The words taste bitter and feel totally wrong.
They don’t even begin to express what I’m feeling.
I hate what happened with every cell of my body.
I’m so furious that I want to burn the whole world down.
At the same time, I want to hold Zoe close and never let her go.
But I can’t do that, not now.
A sad smile appears on her face. “You know what I don’t understand?
Why do people use the same words to apologize and to express empathy?
Every time someone says I’m sorry, even though they never did anything wrong, I have the urge to ask them exactly what they’re sorry for.
And why. And then it occurs to me how difficult it is to answer those questions. That’s why I don’t say it anymore.”
I can’t ask her what happened afterward. How she felt. “I don’t know what else to say,” I finally admit helplessly.
“That’s okay. What else can you say?” She bites her lower lip.
She takes a deep breath. “My parents wanted me to go to the police,” she says.
Her voice is firm and determined, just like the expression on her face, but I can see her eyes gleaming with tears.
She blinks, forcing herself not to cry. “But for me, just the thought of having to talk to someone I didn’t know was unbearable.
I couldn’t . . . I still can’t remember what happened.
After a certain point in the evening, my memory just stops.
It’s completely blank. It’s like I just fell asleep and woke up without even dreaming.
Except that everything was different afterward.
The feeling of waking up and—” she breaks off.
“You don’t have to tell me about it,” I say, because she really doesn’t have to, even if part of me wants her to.
Zoe sighs and starts to pull the hairpins out of her bun. “I know. I don’t have to do anything. Just what I feel comfortable with. My therapist has been telling me that for months. But I want to talk to you about it.”
I nod. My heart leaps.
“You know, sometimes I think if Caleb hadn’t brought me to the hospital and I hadn’t been examined, maybe I never would have known what happened. Maybe it would be like waking up from a nightmare. Because I can’t remember that night at all.”
One hairpin after another drops onto the mattress until Zoe’s hair falls over her shoulders. Then she starts weaving single strands into tiny braids, as if she needs something to do with her hands.
It’s hard for me to breathe, and I clear my throat, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to say a word. “Then there were . . . traces?” The question sounds just as wrong as I’m sorry did before. But fuck, everything about this is wrong.
“Nothing helpful. They were able to detect the roofies in my blood and figure out that I . . . I was raped. But there was no trace of who . . . did it.” Her hands are shaking, and all I want to do is take her in my arms and hold her.
But I’m not sure if she wants that, and I can’t ask her right now.
“Later, my parents talked to Charlotte’s parents.
They wanted to know how this could have happened in their house and who was at the party.
I heard them arguing. Caleb and I were sitting together on the stairs, and our parents were downstairs.
It was . . . awful. Charlotte’s parents said I was lying, that I made up the whole thing to create a scandal for her family and get revenge on Charlotte for taking my part in The Sleeping Beauty.
Even though I had proof of what happened from the medical exam. ”
“What?” I almost shout in disbelief.
“Funny, huh?” Zoe looks up, her eyes glittering with tears.
There’s absolutely nothing funny about this.
“Mom and Dad wanted me to go to the police and for everyone to be questioned. They wanted to find out who did this to me. But then . . . everyone would have known. And Charlotte . . . She said the same thing as her parents, that I was lying because I wanted attention. And besides, I . . . I couldn’t do it.
There were so many people there. Your whole graduating class.
Almost all of mine. The college guys.” Now she’s talking faster, like she wants to get it over with.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of spending my last year of high school as the girl who said she was raped.
And Charlotte’s father is the mayor. He knows so many people.
Everyone would have been judging me. I know it was wrong, but I .
. .” tears roll down her cheeks, and now I can’t hold back anymore.
I sit next to her on the bed, but not close enough that we’re touching.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We both know that’s not true.” She sniffs but doesn’t dry her tears.
“I pushed you away and ignored your notes. Your calls. Everything. Even though you had done absolutely nothing wrong. You didn’t deserve that.
But I couldn’t . . . I was so ashamed. I felt dirty, and I was afraid.
I was so fucking afraid of everything, and I didn’t want you to know.
I didn’t want you to see me that way. As a girl who things like that happen to.
Because there must be a reason it happened to me. ”
I want to tell her that there’s no reason. Not her behavior or her outfit or anything. But she’s already ahead of me.
“A few days later, the panic attacks started. Every time someone touched me. Mom, Dad, Caleb—it didn’t matter who.
It was terrible. I started therapy because I felt like there was no other choice, even though I’d refused at first. I hated losing control of myself, not having control over my body.
Shit, I’m a dancer, and that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be able to do!
” A strangled sound escapes from her throat, and my fingers run over the back of her hand all by themselves.
She doesn’t flinch. But she doesn’t look at me either.
“Anyway, last year was pretty awful. But I’ve got it under control now.
Don’t ask me how. I was fine for a while.
At least I could dance again. Even with a partner.
Until—” she breaks off, but she doesn’t have to complete the sentence.
I know exactly what she’s trying to say. Until she had to dance with me.
“Why—” I start to say, but she silences me with a wave of her hand.
“I have no idea. But it wasn’t your fault,” she says, and I really want to believe her. But a part of me refuses.
We’re silent.
Zoe was raped. She doesn’t know by whom, and that means the bastard is still walking around free instead of rotting in prison.
At some point, she sighs softly and picks up the hairpins she’s dropped.
I tense as she stands up. “I didn’t tell you this so you would forgive me.
It doesn’t fix what happened or the hurt I caused you.
What you’ve been through . . . I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you and that I made it even worse. ”
I want to shake my head and deny it, but she’s right.
She gave me an explanation, and I understand it.
I understand everything, and I wish that was enough.
But it doesn’t change what happened and how terrible I felt last year.
How alone. How lost. How much I hated the whole world.
How much I still hate a big part of it. It always works out in movies, doesn’t it?
The two main characters talk it out, forgive each other, and get their happy ending. What bullshit.
Reality doesn’t work like that.
In my reality, I’m overwhelmed and have absolutely no idea what to do next.
* * *
“Jase! Are you deaf? Jesus.” Skye’s pissed off voice finally gets through to me, past the layers of fog wrapped around my brain.
It could also have something to do with the headphones I’m wearing, turned up so loud that my ears are ringing.
I’m hoping that they’ll drown out my thoughts, but unfortunately, it isn’t working. My thoughts are way too loud.
My muscles are burning with strain when I put aside the weights I’ve been lifting. Everything hurts, and I’m breathing heavily, but it’s not enough. The pain is nothing in comparison to what’s going on inside of me.
I look up. Skye is standing in front of me, her eyes flashing with anger, her hands on her hips.
“What?” I say rudely, even before I take off the headphones.
“You’ve got to stop.” She points at the weights and then at my trembling legs.
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Yes, you do. We lift weights to prevent injuries, not to cause them. You’re overdoing it.”
I shake my head, even though she’s right.
I’ve gone way over the top, and I’m trying to justify it with the fact that we have two hours of weight training built into our schedules on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
It’s supposed to make us less likely to be injured; protect our hips, knees, and ankles; and make lifts easier.
Heavy weights, few repetitions. Every one of us has a workout plan.
But today is Monday. I skipped a theory class this afternoon, and I’ve been here far too long.
“Leave me alone.”
She laughs in disbelief. “Forget it. What’s wrong with you? You’ve never skipped class before, not once. And today—”
“Forget it, all right?” I say harshly, but Skye doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“Stop messing with me. What did Pearson want anyway?”
I frown, irritated. It takes me a moment to remember what she’s talking about. I was late to the pas de deux class because I had just been to the principal’s office. Fuck. It was only a few hours ago, and I’ve already forgotten. Or rather, I repressed it.
Because at least one of my problems was just solved. Lia paid my tuition fee for the semester without waiting for my decision. I should probably be grateful to her. But actually, I’m just angry.
Angry at her, Mom and Dad, Caleb and Zoe. At myself. And the whole rest of the goddamn world.
“Are they throwing you out?” she asks when I don’t answer. Her voice sounds worried.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “What happened then?”
I shake my head again. I can’t tell her what she wants to know.
“Is something going on with you and Zoe?”
I laugh without amusement. I open my mouth and close it again, because I don’t have the damn words.
I can’t tell her what Zoe told me. It would be wrong and unfair.
After all, it’s not my story, even though somehow, I’m a part of it.
The whole thing is just so fucked up! What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I don’t answer and reach for the weights again. But Skye is faster than me. She grabs my wrists and firmly pushes me back. The fact that she manages to do it so easily should probably make me think twice, but I don’t want to think at all anymore.
“Okay, fine. You don’t have to talk to me. But you’d better stop now, or I’ll go tell Francesca, or even go straight to Pearson, and let them know you’re being irresponsible.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’d really rat me out?”
“To keep you from destroying yourself? Absolutely.” She smiles wanly.
“You’re not my sister. You don’t have to take care of me,” I say. I’m acting like an asshole, and I hate it, but I can’t stop. I shut down and lash out because I can’t deal with the chaos in my head and in my fucking heart. Someone has to tell me what to do, because I really don’t know.
You know what you have to do.
I flinch. Sam’s voice is in my head. It’s been weeks since the last time he chimed in.
You know where you want to go and who you need to see.
“Yeah, but somebody’s got to do it,” Skye retorts, unmoved, and it takes me a second to realize that she’s reacting to my words, not those of the voice in my head. “You seem like you’re headed directly for self-destruction, so sorry if I’m worried.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“Someone has to.”
I reach for my towel and wipe the sweat off my face. “Do what you want. I can’t stop you.”
“No, you can’t.” She punches my shoulder and gives me an encouraging smile. “If you ever do want to talk . . . I’m here, okay?”
I nod, even though we both realize that’s not going to happen. There are only two people I want to talk to, and neither one of them is an option.
Not Zoe, not Caleb.
Why not?
Because I don’t have a fucking clue what to say.