“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells, so close to my face that a few drops of saliva fly onto my cheeks and nose. I startle slightly—and I’m way too proud of myself for only being slightly startled—by the close proximity of his shouting. “You don’t know me or the shit that gets me off. You can’t want me, so just fucking let me go.”
He wants me to let him go, only I didn’t know I had him. He hinted at it, and sometimes it sure seems like I do, but others he’s so evasive and steadfast in his refusal to clear up our relationship. Ian has been the only thing that’s kept me going since those men tried to break me. In a way, I think they did break me, but I don’t want to be put back together. The woman I used to be wouldn’t have been able to handle this outburst. She would have run from the scene, safely retreating back to her boring life.
“You don’t belong here, so get the fuck out!” He’s still shouting, but it’s not as unnerving now. My ears have adjusted to his volume pretty quickly. He places his hands on either side of my, cupping the ledge of the bar top, his knuckles turning white from the effort.
The volatility of his words make me feel about two inches tall. I’ve spent the better part of a year wanting this man. He’s the only reason I’m not still freaking out over every sound, every touch, and every single fucking thing in life that normal people manage with ease. He’s everything to me, and if I don’t have him anymore, what do I have?
I have nothing.
“Fuck you,” I scream back at him like my life depends on being heard by a rescue team miles away. I’ve lifted my butt off the stool and am unsteadily standing on the foot rest, leaning into him with my nose touching his. “I’m not leaving!”
I hear people rushing in but can’t see them. I don’t care who they are or what they have to say about what’s going on between us.
“When are you going to get it through your fucking head, huh? I’m not a good guy. I like being Forsaken. I get a fucking hard-on when somebody misses a payment, because it means I get to break their face open. And don’t even fucking ask me how many men I’ve taken out, because I don’t count the bodies.”
I press my nose into his harder now, my body shaking with anger. How fucking dare he. He keeps talking about how I don’t want him or this life, but it’s like he’s rewritten my history in his head.
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’m the dirty junkie, remember? You don’t want to know the shit I’ve done to score. It would turn your stomach if you knew the disgusting things an addict will do for their next fix. I’m a twenty-four-year-old widowed junkie. And in case you fucking forgot, my pussy is tainted because a couple of fucking animals raped me.”
I’m going strong until the very end where my voice breaks. I don’t normally use the r-word because it’s too on point. I don’t feel comfortable with it. Saying you were assaulted is always followed by a victim label. I don’t want to feel like a victim anymore. I spent long enough feeling sorry for myself over Heath and then the drugs and drinking that I can’t stand the idea of feeling victimized by another awful fucking thing happening in my life, even if this one wasn’t my fault.
Ian moves to wrap his arms around me, but it reeks of pity and churns my stomach. I don’t feel very good now, but I’m too angry to admit any weakness. I was weak for months after the . . . after it.
I’m not going to be weak anymore.
I won’t be.
So I shove Ian out of my way as hard as I can and hop down off the bar stool. Ruby and Jim are standing near the hallway that leads down to the private bedrooms and the Chapel. Duke and Jeremy are at the pool table watching us but trying to look like they’re not. I see Chel in the distance with a half-naked woman I don’t know and Ryan and Diesel by the front door. I lower my head as I run around the corner and into the bathroom just off pool room, slamming the door behind me.
Inside and alone, my hands shake and a lump forms in my throat. Everybody was just standing there as I unleashed my most private shame on everyone. I didn’t give details, but it was enough. I said the one thing that I’ve spent the last six months trying not to think.
Rape.