I squeeze his hand and kiss it, letting him know I’m here; that it’s okay to share this with me.
“Richard Malone,” Connor says the name, his voice stern. “He was a drug dealer that wore enough cologne to gag you. Fuck,” he groans. “Just the thought of it has me fighting a gag.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “Taking care of a kid recovering from heart surgery was no easy job. Poor Gram’s did her best. One day, Blake was sleeping, and she needed milk and bread. She thought she could rush to the store and get back before Blake woke up. Richard came over looking for my mother, and when he knocked on the door, Blake woke up and let him in. He was too doped up to really sense danger at the time.” He stops and rolls to his back. I quickly turn and lay my head on his chest as he rubs his head with his free hand. “I skipped school that day. I was always doing something stupid, and I got caught by Grams, who happened to be on her way to the grocery store,” he chuckles for a brief second before letting the humor drop. “She sent me home.”
I look up and see Connor’s eyes are clenched closed as he replays what happened that day. “I walked in and heard Blake crying, but it was so soft. He was so tired and drugged he couldn’t even cry out or scream. He was too weak to fight . . .” Connor chokes out the last word, his voice thick with emotion. “I walked in,” his voice cracks again as he continues, “and that motherfucker was . . . goddamn,” he groans as he pulls his arm from under me and sits up resting his arms on his knees and hanging his head.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
“I pulled him off Blake and got a few good punches in before he managed to grab Gram’s cast iron lamp and hit me over the head. He didn’t knock me out, but he did knock me on my ass and that gave him enough time to pull his fucking pants up and run.”
My chest feels hollow. My poor Blake. The horror he endured. My stomach knots at the thought he never confided this in me, as if he thought I would think less of him or something.
“By the time I was able to see again and move, Blake had slipped in his own vomit trying to get to me. I had to carry him in the shower and clean him off. He couldn’t get everything on his body wet at that time. He was sobbing so quietly, and I could tell crying hurt. I mean, what had just happened to him hurt, but the actual act of crying pained him, but he couldn’t stop. My head was bleeding, blood was running in my eyes, but I managed to get him clean and dressed and back in bed.” He holds a fist to his mouth as he stifles his sob.
“He grabbed my hand and begged me not to tell anyone, wouldn’t let me go until I promised not to tell. He said everyone would think he was a freak or look at him funny. I was a stupid fucking kid. I should’ve told. But I was a stupid kid, and I promised him I would never tell.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Connor,” I try to comfort him, but he pulls away and whips his head around.
“It was every bit my fault,” he argues.
“How so?” I ask as if it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“Because that piece of shit tried to do it to me two weeks before,” he admits, dropping his head again. My heart squeezes. “Came over offering to take me out for a burger. Halfway there, he grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. I almost killed myself jumping out of the car. If I had told Grams, someone, anyone, it wouldn’t have happened to Blake. He couldn’t even cry for fucking help, Demi.” He lets out a laugh, but it’s humorless. He’s laughing in anger, how upset he is with himself, how he can’t believe he let it happen. “But I was so wigged out, fucking grossed out . . . I was too embarrassed to tell anyone.”
“I can’t talk about it anymore, Demi.”