“Don’t say you haven’t thought of it.”
I hadn’t thought of it, but I was now. To send Colin like he was some goon to shake Andrew up. To fuck him up. After all, Colin had already shown a willingness to protect me in the physical capacity. “You’re crazy.”
She pressed her lips together and refused to look me in the eye.
I shook my head. “No. Freaking. Way.”
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “I wasn’t saying it was a great plan. Listen, do you want me to talk to him?” And the way she said the word “talk” made it clear what she really meant. Persuade him. Maybe even whore herself out for me.
“Shelly,” I said; then I couldn’t get any more words past the lump in my throat. I couldn’t let her do that. But God, that she would even do something like that for me. For Bailey. She was my daughter. I should be able to protect her, but I couldn’t even protect myself.
“Come here, sweetie.” She folded me in her arms. Between the two of us, I was the mother. I was responsible for Bailey and myself. And I felt responsible for Shelly too. She was only a few months younger than I, and prettier and probably smarter than me as well. But somehow she’d always trailed after me through middle and high school. I’d always suspected she’d had a crush on Andrew. But when he’d fucked me over, both literally and otherwise, she’d been there to help me. She’d continued to help me all this time, even now offering her body in exchange for what? For friendship? For this pale imitation of a family?
I didn’t deserve her loyalty.
Straightening my back, I pulled away from her warmth. “Thanks, Shelly. Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything crazy. He said he’d give me some time, so I’ll think of something. Everything will be fine.”
Of course she didn’t believe it. I didn’t either, but she let me go.
I carried Bailey down to our apartment and put her in her high chair. I set down a jar of sweet peas and let Bailey go to town with a plastic spoon. It felt weird to do something as mundane as mealtime when my world was being ripped apart. But that’s the thing about kids—they make you practical.
A stronger mom, a better mom, would probably have chastised her for the mess. But it was easier to let her make a mess and then clean it up after. Green mush sprayed across the linoleum floor wiped clean in a single swipe.
If only all my problems could be cleared with such ease.
After Bailey ate, I peeled off her clothes and diaper and carried a pea-spattered baby to the tub. After washing her, I let her sit for a few minutes in the warm water while she splashed around with some foam alphabet letters. To say she was my everything wasn’t giving her enough credit. I didn’t know how I would have gotten through those dark months back then without her inside me. Even now my composure had all the sturdiness of a house of cards. I’d just as soon lie down and let Andrew have his way with me than fight him again. And Colin. Well, Colin. But always there was Bailey to consider, and so I had to be strong.
Bailey was rough to put down to bed that night, probably feeding off my nervous energy. I sang her all the lullabies in my arsenal three times before her eyes drifted shut.
I took a shower and slipped on a ratty T-shirt. Then paced. I couldn’t go anywhere, for obvious reasons, and besides, there was nowhere to go. I considered watching TV, reading a book, but nothing could hold my focus.
My mind ran like a hamster on a wheel.
What a relief it must be for a rape victim to hate her rapist. But even if I hated Andrew, I also loved him. Not the way he’d wanted me to. I loved him as a friend, a brother. It may have been chaste, but it was real. Maybe the most I’d ever loved anyone, at least before Bailey.
And that old love was still inside me like a cancer.
Maybe if I could believe what I’d told myself all those nights at the club, that I didn’t really have the right to say no, that all guys were assholes, I could find some kind of peace. Then, at least, what Andrew had done would make sense.
I had thought I was over it. It wasn’t even rape, right? Sure I’d said no, but men didn’t listen. Now, though, with Colin waiting in the wings, tempting me and respecting my refusal, I had to wonder if I’d just been fooling myself.
And that begged the question—what would it take to truly get over it? Was it even possible? The thought of being broken forever was a scarier thought than anything Andrew could do to my body.
It wasn’t the first night I’d baked in lieu of sleep. The methodical measuring of ingredients and the steady rhythm of mixing never failed to soothe me. During the day I played with recipes, taking delight in creating something new. But night baking was about comfort. All I had to do was follow the formula, and everything would turn out okay. Better than okay, considering double chocolate brownies came out of the chasm.
Chapter Eleven