Even though I still can’t remember anything else about that night beyond the same dream that replays over and over… it doesn’t change how I feel.
I don’t remember it.
I don’t remember what it felt like when he cut me.
I don’t remember what it felt like when he took my innocence. The thing I had guarded and saved and dreamed about giving to Tank one day.
My mind doesn’t remember it.
But my body does.
My body remembers fear.
My body remembers pain.
My body remembers something being stolen.
Spike’s jaw tightens.
“Abby,” he says, low and firm. “Don’t you dare.”
I blink at him.
“Don’t you dare let that man take something from you twice,” he continues. “He hurt you once. He doesn’t get to sit in your head and convince you that you’re less because of it.”
“It was mine,” I whisper. “It was supposed to be mine to give.”
“And it still is,” he snaps, knowing what I’m talking about.
I stare at him.
“You think what he did changed who you are?” Spike’s voice is rough now, anger barely leashed. “You think some sick piece of garbage gets to define your worth? Your purity? Your value?”
I swallow.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“You didn’t give anything away that night,” he says carefully. “Something was taken. Those arenotthe same thing.”
Tears slip down my temples into my hair.
“What if Tank only sees my attack when we’re together?” I whisper.
Spike actually scoffs.
“That man?” he says incredulously. “Abby, Tank looks at you like you hung the moon and demanded it to shine brighter. If he ever thought you were anything but sacred, I’d put him in the ground myself.”
A small, watery laugh escapes me.
“He doesn’t care about what happened,” Spike continues. “He cares that you were hurt. He cares that he wasn’t there. He cares that he didn’t protect you.”
I close my eyes.
“I don’t feel pure anymore,” I admit. “Even if I don’t remember it… I know it happened. And sometimes my body reacts before my brain does. I flinch. I freeze. I… feel wrong.”
Spike’s thumb brushes under my eye, catching a tear.
“Your body surviving trauma doesn’t make you wrong,” he says quietly. “It makes you alive.”
