Audrey came to a jolting stop. She turned, met my gaze from across the darkened room. Her robe hung open, the ties lost to her haste. "They weren't supposed to do anything to you if I left."
I switched on a lamp beside the bed because this conversation also required some light. "What does that mean, Audrey?"
"It means—they said—" She pushed her fingers through her hair, shook her head. "My father was going to have you arrested."
I grabbed my shirt off the floor. This definitely required clothes. "Arrested for what?"
"He said he had more than enough evidence for a rape conviction. That even if the sentencing was generous, you'd be forced to register as a sex offender. And he'd make sure you lost your scholarships and admission to Columbia. He'd ruin everything for you."
I rocked back on my heels. So a little more than a light abuse of power.
"But if I left," she continued, pacing again, "if I cut ties with you and went to California and agreed to everything, it'd all go away."
My gaze dropped to the floor as I circled back through the memories of the days before Audrey disappeared from my life. I barely recognized them in this new light. And in that light, I found I had to bite back every knee-jerk thing I wanted to say.
She should've told me. We could've solved this shitstorm together.
Except we'd been kids with no money and no resources of our own. Our entire lives hinged on those scholarships of mine and her parents footing the bill for Barnard. I had no way of fighting off a whole sexual assault charge, definitely not with her father leaning hard on it, and we both knew that.
She still should've told me.
But she must've been terrified. And alone. Just the other day she said she'd failed the first semester. That she hadn't been able to get out of bed. She did the best she could in a horrible situation.
As a side note, I really fucking hated her family. Goddamn. Those fucking people.
Which led me to realize— "They made you marry him," I said. Not a question.
She wrapped her arms around her torso, nodding. "That was the deal. Since I couldn't be trusted to make 'appropriate' choices, my parents would make them for me. And if I refused—" She scoffed, exhaustion and pain filling her eyes. "My father made a point of reminding me how easy it would be to file those charges."
I couldn't believe she'd dragged that burden behind her for so long. That she'd lived with it and accepted it andmarriedfor it.
And she'd done it all to protect me.
"Come here," I said.
"No, this is important," she said, wagging a finger at the path of her pacing. "I'm busy being angry at myself."
"Why are you angry at yourself?"
"Because I should've known I couldn't trust my father," she snapped. "He promised to leave you alone and I let myself believe he would."
"That's bullshit." I sank onto the corner of the bed. "No one expects their family to betray them.Repeatedly."
The robe caught air as she walked from one end of the room to the other, billowing out around her bare thighs. She didn't seem to notice. "Unless we're talking about my family, in which case we definitely expect it." She slapped the top of the dresser,hard, saying, "I can't believe I did everything they wanted, all of it, and they still dragged you into this."
"Baby, please. Just slow down and come over here."
"Why aren't you furious?" she asked. "Why aren't you tearing this place to the ground and plotting your revenge? Or—" She cut a wild glance in my direction. "Oh my god, am I the revenge? Is that what this is really about? Are you going to sneak out in the middle of the night and abandon me here or something? Now that we've—" She pointed to the bed.
I rubbed my forehead. "For fuck's sake, Audrey."
"That's not a no."
"I have no intention of abandoning you," I said. "In fact, I'd love it if you'd come over here and let me take that robe off you."
"But why aren't you furious? I'm furious for you."
"Because I…" The words trailed off as I lost my hold on whatever I'd intended to say. The truth was, I'd let that anger keep me warm foryears. And I'd only known half the story. But as deep as I reached, I couldn't find the anger now. All that remained was a thick, grainy layer of grief.
