“And then?” I breathe.
“Sexually assaulted her.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and once they do, I can only stare at him in shock. Guilt claws up my throat and squeezes tight, cutting off my air supply. I suck in a sharp, painful breath and force out the next question. “Did she…I mean, is she pressing charges?”
His thumb brushes across my wrist. “I think so.”
I stare at Wes, but my eyes are unfocused, and I don’t really see him. I just keep thinking about that poor girl—that poor girlwho might have endured the same thing I did—and the weight of that truth threatens to crush me. Threatens to drag me back down to that deep, dark place I finally managed to claw my way out of.
“Ivy,” Wes says, squeezing my hand, “I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty. I just thought you’d want to know. That you deserve to know in case—” He stops himself.
“In case what?” I press.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Just in case.”
My eyes widen in panic. My pulse flutters in my throat. “Are you saying you think I shoulddosomething?”
“Ivy, I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t do anything.” I bite the inside of my cheek, anxiety swirling in my chest. “I mean it, Ives. You don’t have to do anything, okay?”
Slowly, I nod. I inhale through my nose and exhale a long breath, trying to center myself. “Do you know her name? The girl?”
“Her name is Andrea. Andrea Wilson.”
Andrea Wilson.
I turn the name over in my head as though it might give me answers or provide some kind of insight into what exactly happened. Whether or not it was my fault…
After a few minutes of silent processing, Wes peers over at me with concern. “How are you feeling?”
I check in with my emotions, still waiting for the freak out to happen. For the memories to yank me into a downward spiral. For the panic to overtake me completely, leaving me grasping for my numbers as I gasp for a breath.
But it doesn’t happen. Yes, I feel upset. Sure, I feel guilty. But I’m not on the brink of a total meltdown the way I would have been months ago. “I’m okay,” I say slowly, feeling out the words. “But maybe I shouldn’t be?”
“I think that you’re allowed to feel however you feel.”
I nod, swallowing against my dry mouth. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Do you want to talk more about it?”
“No. No, I’m okay. I think I just need to process this. Honestly, I haven’t thought about him, likereallythought about him, in a while.”
The crease between Wes’s brows deepens, and he releases a slow sigh. I can see him beating himself up, but I’d rather he told me than not. “I’m sorry, Ives. This is the last thing I wanted to bring up, especially after your first day back.”
I give him a wobbly smile, reaching out to cup his cheek. He’s got a layer of dark stubble coating his jaw, and I wonder if he skipped a shave today because he was stressed out about this conversation. “Wes, it’s not your fault. I’m glad you told me.”
He leans into my touch before turning his head and pressing a kiss against my wrist. “When’s your next therapy appointment?” he asks. “You might want to talk about it with Deborah?”
“It’s next Monday. And yeah. Maybe.”
He hesitates for a brief moment before pulling me against him and kissing the top of my head. His arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry.”
I grip his shirt between my fingers as I let him hold me, let him comfort me, let him love me. Because it makes everything better, doesn’t it? Even the dark things.
Being loved.
That night,I can’t fall asleep. Wes holds me, tucked into his side, but even as his breathing evens out, I stay wide awake. Carefully slipping out of his arms, I grab my phone off the nightstand and pull open social media.
I search forAndrea Wilson.
