“What?”
“You’re clawing at your neck.”
The moment she points it out, I feel it. My nails cutting into the side of my neck. The sting that’s sure to leave red marks behind, hits.
It’s a habit I developed as a child. When I got nervous, or the memories floated to the surface. Or whenevershecame around, stalking me like I was prey, I’d start clawing at my skin to relieve some of the tension from my body.
My hand drops to my lap.
“You’re bleeding a little.” She points to my neck.
“So what?” I shrug. “Or more so, why the fuck do you care?” I raise my eyebrow at her.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I don’t know why I keep snapping at you. I’m sorry.” Her eyes drop to her feet.
I dab at my neck, wiping away the small drops of blood on my pants.
“You’re hurting,” I finally say, watching her eyes dart up to me. I let my fingers rub circles on her wrist. “You’re trying to mask it under this idea you’re strong and capable of anything, but you are hurting, Prue. And I’ve been there. I get it. I’m the safest person you can lash out at right now, so I’ll take it, but Jesus.” I sigh. “You know exactly what to say to fuck me up.”
“Oh God.” She gasps, burying her face in her free hand. She sobs and I just let her, stroking her wrists softly. “He ruined me.”
“No. He didn’t ruin you. He killed a version of you, but now you have the freedom to become someone new.” She glances over at me, tears pouring down her face as she processes my words. “You don’t have to be who everyone else wants you to be, Prue. You can get tattoos, get drunk, and have fun. Find a passion or three. Have wild, kinky sex, preferably once or twice with me, or become a nun if you want. You spent too long being good so your brother didn’t get any heat, but now, guess what, you have a chance to be whoever you want to be.”
“He raped me.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “He beat me then he held me down and raped me.”
“Oh.” Is all I can say, as I’m suddenly reminded that the version of me that exists today is the outcome of what happened after years of someone raping me.
I wanted better for her.
FIFTEEN
I sobinto my one free hand as Ben continues to rub circles into the wrist he refuses to let go.
If my confession shocked him, he doesn’t show it. Admitting it out loud has broken something inside me. I can’t handle the pain anymore. I thought unloading it would free me, but it just reminds me how ruined I am.
He pulls me gently from the back of the car when we get to Cameron’s apartment building. Leading us through the maze of stairs and walkways, until he gets me to the front door.
I unlock it and immediately throw myself onto the couch. Covering my face, I just let the tears continue to fall. The weight of everything that has happened over the last few weeks has come crashing down. It’s overwhelming. All the awful things I said to the one person who has been trying to help me makes me hate myself even more.
Ben drops on the floor in front of me. I peer through my fingers to see him taking sips from a bottle of alcohol thatbelongs to Cameron. His eyes meet mine and he lifts a glass of water towards me.
I sit up, gulping down half the glass as tears still drip down my face. The mess I must be now will surely put the nail in the coffin on whatever could have happened between us, if the confession of my rape didn’t already do it.
That’s probably for the best, though. Clearly, I’m not good for him.
“I owe your brother a bottle of whiskey. Only I plan on making it much better than Jack Daniels. Jesus Christ, the guy needs to grow up and get the good stuff.”
“Hey!” I snap. My mind is so used to defending Cameron, it does it on auto pilot at this point.
“I’m just saying.” He sighs, leaning back on his palms. “Take your boots off. Your tattoo needs air.”
“I almost forgot about it,” I say, reaching down to slip off my boots. I kick them off and then pull off my socks.
Ben watches my movements. His eyes skim over my bare legs, as more of my skin is revealed from how I sit. Eyes wide with desire, despite the fact I’m still a crying mess. It makes my stomach flutter when he stares at me like that.
“Have you cum since?” he blurts out and then shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to ask that.” He laughs, taking a long gulp from the bottle. “I apologize.”
“No,” I answer anyways. “I think I’m too scared to try.”
