I want to write it to exorcise some old demons, give up some ghosts, and use what happened to me - to us, the handful of survivors - to help other victims who might need it.
You’re in my book - of course you are, finding you was a turning point for me that night - but your story is not mine to tell. I’m not trying to do that. But if you’re amenable, I would be so grateful if I could ask you to read the book before it’s published. I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to - Lord knows, walking back into that den of nightmares isn’t my idea of a good time - but I want to make sure I cover everything accurately and, above all, respectfully. I don’t want anyone who was there that night to read it and be upset or feel disrespected by seeing anything they don’t believe to be true or fair.
Once again, you are in no way obligated to read it or get involved, but it would mean so much to me if you did.
I’d love to catch up with you outside of all this. I’d love to know what you’re doing, and how you’ve found your own light in the darkness. My husband and my children have brought me clarity and joy, and my work with other survivors has brought shape and purpose to my life. I hope you’ve found that, too.
Much love,
Latanya Willard (nee Cormier)
It’shours later and I still can’t breathe.
Liaden slept over for the third night in a row, so I didn’t sleep at all last night, though it was a close thing. Regardless of how great she felt in my arms, I had to keep getting up and walking around, and I pounded a few energy drinks for good measure. Ieven had to slap myself hard once or twice, but I did it. Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t remember the last time I got even the fragments of sleep I used to get before we became a thing, before I had obligations to her that I didn’t think through enough before I leapt into them.
And then this email arrived, waiting for me after she left for work.
Thank fuck it’s Monday, I couldn’t tattoo so much as a dot right now without screwing it up. My hands won’t stop shaking. My temples are throbbing. The hum of the fridge is too fucking loud, and I can taste Callie’s blood again. I was gonna finally, finally grab some shut-eye, but that’s completely hopeless now.
I haven’t even called Eli. Even if I did, I’m pretty sure he and Em are doing some wedding prep shit today, buying flowers or the cake or whatever.
Fuck.
I grab my keys and, somehow, manage to get to the off licence at the end of the road to pick up a bottle of whatever I could get that was strongest. It’s brown, it’s a large bottle, that’ll do.
The moment I’m through the door I grab a glass from the draining board, fill it to the brim, and set to drinking it. All.
It burns, it tastes disgusting, but I’d drink battery acid right now if it could bring me the tiniest amount of relief.
What the fuck is Latanya thinking?! NO, I don’t fucking want to read her goddamn book. What the fuck?! We all had this pact, this unspoken pact, that what the eight of us saw that night was too terrible to talk about. Three of us even offed ourselves because it wasthat fucking bad. And she wants to bring that to the light?! FUCK! She was one of Callie’s best friends, how can she evenconsiderthis?!
The glass isn’t empty yet, but I top it up anyway.
Liaden
I decideto just quickly drop by for a kiss and a cuddle with Dean after work. I’ve had a great day, not least because when Mitchell tried to correct me during a department meeting today, someone else pointed out to him that he was wrong, and he looked like he swallowed a turd. So, that was fun. Plus, the lowest mark I had to give any of my students for their most recent essay was a 2:1, so that just fills me with pride. They’re such a good bunch.
Maybe I can take him out for dinner. I’m sure there’s somewhere quiet we can go that won’t agitate him. Maybe even a nice table outside, now that the weather is getting better. I also want to treat him because he’s been looking tired lately. Last night he seemed completely worn out, and whatever sleep he got plainly wasn’t very refreshing. It’s probably because he screws me every chance he gets. I’ve never had a lover with such staying power and stamina. As an added bonus, he has the shortest refractory period of anyone I’ve ever been to bed with. Sometimes, despite it beingso unbelievably good, easily the best sex of my life, I’ve had to ask him to stop because I need to get at leastsomesleep. So a night where neither of us have to cook while also putting a seal on a good day sounds like a great plan to me.
I text Dean in advance, but he hasn’t replied by the time I knock on his door. He takes a little longer to answer than usual, and when he does, he looks manic. His eyes are wild, his hair is going in all directions, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his head.Oh, no. Have I happened upon a meltdown?
Well, I need to learn how best to support him when he gets like this, and there’s no time like the present.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle and calm. “Are you OK?”
He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, before coming back to himself and pulling me inside.
“Did something trigger a bad memory? What can I do?” I stay patient. He’ll tell me when he can, and the best thing I can do is let him take his time.
He’s breathing heavily, clutching onto my hand pretty hard. It hurts, but I can deal. Fortunately, it’s not long before he lets go.Nothing, he says at last.I’m just tired, that’s all.
I don’t doubt it, but I also don’t buy it. There’s something else going on here. “OK. But if there is anything else, you know you can talk to me, right?”
I don’t want to talk. He pins me to the wall with a rough kiss, shoving his thigh between my legs and clutching me tightly. Too tightly. His tongue darts into my mouth, and he tastes unpleasantly of cheap whiskey, sour and spicy and old. He’s been drinking. He’s been drinking alot.
“Hold on a min - ” He kisses me again, stifling my words. I push against him harder. “Dean, I saidwait!” He lets me go and takes a step back, panting with frustration.
What?We’re alone.There’s no-one to listen in.
