I raise my hand at her as she approaches, ready to give me a mom hug, but I’m not ready for that. “I’m not done. Please. Just… let me get this out.”
She nods and sits back down. Everyone else is quietly waiting.
“Geoff gaslit me into believing it was my fault for his cheating. I… won’t get into why he thought that. It doesn’t matter. But he was my first boyfriend, and I was pretty devastated. It happened just before graduation. He was so… cruel about it, too, just digging that knife in deeper.”
Wes huffs, stands, and pours himself a cup of coffee, stirring in as much sugar as I like to use. “Why didn’t you tell me, man? I would’ve been there for you had you talked to me. You didn’t have to go through that alone.”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t tell anyone. It took a while to wrap my head around, but it wasn’t just Geoff. There’s… more.”
I quickly recount what happened with Professor Mitchell and how he touched me. How crushed and betrayed I felt. I explain how it all completely blindsided me, and I didn’t know how to process it, blaming myself for most of it.
Dad’s face grows gradually redder, and he’s clenching his fork as if it had wronged him somehow. “That man needs to be fired immediately!”
“I agree,” Aaron says, nodding. His body is relaxed, his legs stretched out like mine, but his face is hard, his jaw clenching. “I know some people who can get the ball rolling to fire him and sue that fucking bastard.”
“No. It’s too late, and it doesn’t matter. Who are they going to believe? A tenured professor mentor who’s been around for years? Or a lowly student?”
Mom is angry, too, sniffling as she throws down her napkin on the table, which she used as a tissue. “Therehasto be something we can do.”
“Just forget it,” I insist. “I don’t want to go through all that shit again.”
Aaron huffs and shoves away his plate of unfinished pancakes. “He needs to fucking suffer, Den!”
“Aaron… language,” Dad admonishes.
“No, this is the perfect time for expletives. He fuckingtouchedDenny.OurDenny.Myfucking brother! This professor shouldn’t get away with it.”
“Jesus, this shit just got serious,” Wes says. “God, Den. I’m so fucking sorry. I get why you didn’t say anything, but just know, I would’ve been there for you.”
I smile at my friend. At least he’s calmer than my brother. But I expected this reaction from Aaron. “Thanks, man.”
Aaron huffs and puffs as he’s prone to doing when he doesn’t get his way. “What we need to do is find these other students and bring them forward.”
“Do it. Aaron, can you set something up? Try to find out if there are other students?” Dad asks. “I’ll call Delvin Morris, my lawyer, too. See what he can drum up.”
“I said no!” I snap again, not regretting it this time. All eyes are on me again. I look at my family and Wes, all of them tight-lipped and jawclenched. I agree my professor doesn’t deserve to get away with it, but I don’t want to go through it again. I don’t want to see that bastard ever again. Why can’t I just move on with my fucking life?
Aaron turns in his chair to face me and leans forward, elbows on his thighs, his hands reaching for my hand. His sigh is heavy and drawn out. “It’s your life. I’m just so fucking…”
“Angry. I know. I am, too. But I just can’t.”
“You got it. God, I’m so sorry this happened, Den.” His eyes cast downward at our clasped hands. “I want to fucking hurt him…”
“Son, are you sure?” Dad asks me.
“Yes. Can I please just move on from this?”
Mom and Dad look at each other before looking at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and Dad still looks pissed. Not at me, but at the situation. I completely get the feeling of helplessness, but I just need to move on. Reliving that shit is the last thing I want to do.
I pull my hand away, no longer hungry, and stand. I appreciate their support, but telling them just renewed my pain, so it’s clearly still a sore spot. I leave the kitchen, and as the screen door slams behind me, Willow comes bounding over with her tennis ball in her mouth, oblivious to what just went down. I take it and lob it across the yard, and she chases after it.
After tossing the ball a few times, someone gently touches my shoulder, and I flinch. I’m done talking about this, and I almost regret ever bringing it up, but they should know, too.
“Dennis, turn around, please,” Mom says calmly but firmly.
My shoulders droop, and I turn to face her, but I’m staring at my feet in the grass. She places her hand on my cheek, and immediately, my armor begins to crumble away at her touch. “He sexually assaulted you, sweetheart.”
“I know,” I rasp.
