Rampant (13 page)

“How are you sleeping, Alexandra?”

I sat in one corner of the shrink’s couch, feet curled under me. Feigning indifference, I shrugged.
 
“Same.” I’d left the hospital eleven days ago. The first few had been pure hell while my mind and body adjusted to going without a daily dose of ecstasy. I’d barely left my bed, despite feeling restless and unable to sleep much. Every part of me hurt, from the pieces of my fractured heart to the deep ache in my muscles.

“Still having nightmares?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sandra crossed her legs. “Do you want to talk about them?”

I shook my head. I still had a difficult time addressing her by her first name, but she’d insisted. This was my second visit and I didn’t want to be there, but my father made it clear I didn’t have a choice. The hospital discharged me under his care, especially after I fed his bullshit to the police. My years of lying had worked in my favor; they’d bought the story.

Alexandra De Luca had suffered an episodic break, just like her mother. With shame, I remembered how I’d confessed to pushing my car into the river before hiding out at a cabin I’d heard my brother talk about. I’d even confessed to carving Zach’s name into my stomach.

There were holes in my story, of course. Like how I’d arrived at the cabin, or how someone just happened to find me in time to call 9-1-1. They accused me of withholding information, of protecting an accomplice in my disappearance. But ultimately, they believed what my father wanted them to, and because of my warped version of the truth that didn’t point the finger at anyone other than myself, Zach was safe from prosecution. So was Rafe.

So long as I cooperated and did everything my father asked, which included weekly appointments with the stranger sitting across from me. Anything to perpetuate the facade of a mental breakdown. At least I’d gotten to choose the shrink studying me, trying to read me with her analytical stare.

“How are you doing on the anti-depressants?”

I shrugged again. “Okay, I guess.” I was starting to feel like me again, so that was probably a good thing, though being me wasn’t much better than the version of myself who’d hit rock bottom while Zach held me captive.

“I’m here to help you,” Sandra said, as if I needed to be reminded. “Part of you must want my help, or you wouldn’t have sought treatment.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s complicated. My father thought I should come.”

She wrote something down on the annoying notepad propped on her knee. A long black and white skirt flowed down her legs, the hem brushing her sandaled heels. From the decor in her office to the hip clothing she wore, she displayed a chic and competent style.

“Are you close to your father?”

A bitter laugh escaped. “Definitely not.”

“But you’d like to be.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Coming to see me on your father’s wish indicates a need to please him. It sounds like you’re seeking his attention and approval.” She leaned forward, chin propped in one hand, and an auburn curl fell across her forehead. “But what do you want, Alexandra?”

“I want to turn back time.”

“What would you change?”

“Everything.”

“How about we start with the one thing you’d want to change most?”

I eyed her, some part of me yearning to spill. It would be a relief to tell my story and have someone listen, believe me, maybe even reassure me it was okay to cry, okay to scream in the middle of the night after another nightmare in which I still lived trapped inside Zach’s madness. Most of all, I wanted her to tell me it was okay to forgive myself for nearly taking the easy way out, the way my mom had.

“I wish…”

Our eyes met, and in hers I found quiet patience. She waited, giving me room to forge ahead when I was ready. Rafe’s rejection edged to the forefront of my mind. The ache in my chest became unbearable, only this time I couldn’t push it aside.

I sucked in a breath then cleared my throat. “I wish I could undo the hurt I caused someone.”

“If that person was here right now, willing to listen, what would you say?”

Cursing the tremble in my lips, I hid behind a fist and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths through my nose until the burn of tears subsided. “I’d beg his forgiveness.”

“Have you asked him for it?”

I nodded.

“What did he say?”

“Which time?”

She raised a brow. “So you’ve asked more than once?”

I thought back to the island, but all I remembered was the raging need he’d ignited inside me. I remembered his hands on me, his mouth, his body sheltering mine. The breathless quality of his words as he’d slid inside my soul, where even now, he still resided. I couldn’t bear to relive those fleeting minutes in the hospital when his kiss had breathed life into me.

“I don’t remember.” I didn’t know this woman, and I wasn’t about to tell her my most intimate moments.

Her pen scraped across the page, stroke after stroke, nicking my sanity. I imagined jumping from the couch and ripping that pen from her hands. Tearing the paper to shreds.

“Alexandra—”

“It’s Alex.” I clenched my hands. “My dad is the only one who calls me that.”

The lines around her mouth softened. “Alex, why don’t you tell me about what happened at the cabin?”

I tugged at my sleeves, making sure they still covered my arms and the hideous destruction marring my skin. “I told you last week I wasn’t talking about that.”

She lifted a hand in my direction. “Yet here you are again.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. You’re not court ordered to be here. I believe I can help you, but I can’t do it alone. You have to put some effort in too.” She tilted her head. “Okay?”

I nodded, but my throat swelled, preventing me from saying anything.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

I pulled a hand through my curls, yanking my fingers through the tangles. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to end my life. I just wanted him to stop.”

She sat up straighter. “Someone was hurting you?”

Chewing on my lip, I nodded. “I can’t say who.”

“Whatever you tell me is confidential, Alex.”

“I can’t say.”

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

“Do you have to write everything down?” Regretting the bite of my tone, I winced.

“This bothers you?” She lifted the notepad.

“Haven’t you switched to an iPad or something by now?” I crossed my arms. “You know, something password protected?”

Her tiny mouth curved up. “I find the simple task of writing soothing. Maybe you should try it. Jotting down your thoughts and feelings can be very therapeutic.”

I thought of the letters I’d written to Rafe while he was in prison, the ones Dad found after I disappeared. Those words, written with the intent that they never be read, had given him ammunition. He’d discovered how Rafe was my biggest weakness. It was a reminder that nothing was private. Anything and everything could be used against you. My fingers brushed the purse beside me, where the letters were now safely tucked inside.

I pointed at the notepad. “I don’t want you writing down the stuff I say. Can’t we just talk?”

“Sure.” She set the pad and pen aside. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable disclosing. And you don’t have to give names either.”

I let out a breath and stood. Strolling to the window, left partially open to allow a warm breeze in, I tried to ignore the tingles going down my spine, but her scrutiny blasted my back like a physical blow. Only once I stopped at the window, mindlessly gazing at the tree-lined street below, did I speak.

“He did things to me, bad, shameful things, and part of me liked it.” I folded my arms around myself, cold despite the nice weather. “He made me do things that ruined another man’s life.” I shook my head as tears pooled in my eyes. “No, that’s not entirely true. He made me, but I could have stopped it. I was too weak.”

“You don’t strike me as being weak.”

“I was a coward. Label it however you want. When I think about saying the words out loud, my throat tightens”—I swallowed hard—“and I can’t say shit. My silence enabled him for years.”

“Speaking out and standing up for yourself is hard. It’s brave. Is he still hurting you, Alex?”

“No.” The single word came out strangled. I hadn’t seen or heard from Zach since the night he carved his name into my stomach. Dad assured me he was far away receiving treatment for his alcoholism. Just because he wasn’t physically hurting me any longer didn’t mean my wounds had stopped bleeding. They still existed, as tangible as the wind—felt but not seen.

“I think you’re a survivor,” she said. “Your self-worth has taken a hit, but I believe you have what it takes to heal. The first step is asking for help, and you’ve done that. You’re here.”

I turned around, her words causing a spark of empowerment inside me. “You think so?”

“Most definitely.” She shifted, crossing her legs on the other side. “You have a right to feel safe in your own skin. If the abuse starts again—”

“It won’t.” Not because Zach would never come back, not because my father would keep him away.
I
was done. Done being his silent victim. Done being a fucking coward. Now that the fog was clearing from my head, I had a lot to think about.

My father’s actions.

Zach’s actions.

My
actions.

“But if it does, you can tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her eyes veered to the clock on the wall, a circular piece of art crafted with gold numbers. “We’re out of time for now,” she said, rising to stand, “but I’d like to see you again next week. I hope you’ll come, and not because your father wants you to.”

“I’ll think about it.” I shuffled my feet, itching to escape the confines of this room and the eerie way she had of pulling information from me, of making me look at myself differently. I followed her to the door. She pulled it open but hovered.

“This other man you talked about? Consider giving him another chance to forgive you. Maybe then you can forgive yourself.”

“I’m so glad you called.”

I pushed the lettuce around on my plate until I found another cherry tomato. “It’s been ages,” I said. After my appointment with my therapist, I hadn’t been ready to go home to my father, so I’d called Evelyn. The last time I remembered seeing her was…

I couldn’t remember the last time. Not in specific detail, anyway. We were never really close. Not like friends should be, but we’d spent occasional afternoons together having coffee or lunch. She’d talk my ear off about her latest boyfriends, and I’d quietly listen. That was the interesting thing about people who liked to talk a lot—they never expected me to contribute much because they were too busy going on about their own lives.

Their men.

Their new jobs.

Their gossip.

Their life-altering moments.

They, they, they. Most people would probably get tired of it, and Evelyn was especially self-focused. But I wouldn’t call her selfish. Out of the few friends I’d managed to keep over the years, she was the first one willing to listen whenever I did get the inkling to unload something.

I had that inkling now, but the words lodged in my throat and refused to be spoken, so I continued to sit in silence and let her catch me up on her life.

She was going on about her latest boyfriend’s prowess in bed, in particular, the size of his cock and some super-powered move he did with it, when she paused mid-sentence and gave me a funny look. “Are you going to chase that tomato around your plate all day, or are you going to eat it?”

I stabbed it with a fork, and a piece of lettuce fell victim to its spilled guts. Gutted. That’s how I felt. Unloading on Sandra had been a dangerous thing. An addictive thing, because I wanted to do it again, only I didn’t want to stick to vague answers this time. I wanted to tell someone all the shit life had thrown at me.

Besides Rafe, Evelyn was the closest thing I had to a real friend. Weren’t friends supposed to tell each other their secrets? I wouldn’t know. My secret had been too huge, too horrific, to share with anyone for years.

Until Rafe had tortured it out of me.

“Okay, something’s on your mind. It was weird enough that you called out of the blue, but you’re never
this
quiet, and that’s saying a lot.” She sipped her iced tea and settled back in the chair. “I heard about what happened in the papers. I wanted to call you. Truth is, I didn’t know what to say. We’d drifted apart, and I just…”

“It’s okay,” I whispered.

“No,” she said, her mouth set in a firm line as she shook her head. “It’s not okay. My friend had a mental breakdown of epic proportions and I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up the goddamn phone. I’m sorry, Alex. I’m here now.”

“I didn’t have a mental breakdown.”

Her brows crinkled in confusion. “What happened then? Everyone thought you were dead.”

A sheen of sweat broke out on my skin, and I felt a trickle sliding down my temple. I opened my mouth, commanded my tongue to work right and spill the words
my brother kidnapped and raped me
, but I couldn’t. I had many reasons to keep it bottled inside, mainly, the threat my father held over my head. Over Rafe’s head.