The Broken Sister (Sister #6) (26 page)

“Unless there is another. A pattern. Maybe we could do something. Together.”

Cadence nodded. “Yeah, maybe together. But be warned, Kylie, people will think things of you. Nasty things. Can you handle that? Can you stand up against that pressure? Because you’re kind of telling me here you can’t.”

“I think I can do this, now. Not when it first happened. Or even last year. But I think I can now.”

“You won’t tell anyone about what we’re planning, right? Even this boyfriend of yours? This is our fight. Our experience. We survived this. But I need to know I can trust you. Not you and your boyfriend… and his friends… you see my point.”

A small smile crossed Kylie’s lips. “Are you asking me to keep quiet? Not share?”

“I’m sorry, yes. Or at least the part about us fighting him.”

“I can do that, Cadence. In fact, it’s what I do best.”

They had exchanged understanding smiles and set about looking up the handbook for students and reading the bylaws long into the night.

They talked until well past one in the morning when Kylie finally started to walk home, despite Cadence’s protest. She didn’t think Kylie should go out so late of course. But Kylie waved her off. She couldn’t be reasoned with. She couldn’t be made to do what others thought she should. She stuffed her hands in her pockets against the chill of the night. Street lamps pooled on the campus’s sidewalks. It was pretty at night. Silent almost, with stars overhead and the peace of the lights. Farther off traffic could be heard, but it was a quiet that Kylie liked. Just off the edge of campus a party raged. Kids milled about and lights and music woke the night up. Maybe that’s what she liked about parties. They were wild, exciting, and bright, and she’d felt anonymous in them. She could act how she wanted and it wasn’t being “wrong” or too quiet, too skinny, too everything Kylie.

Rape victim. She kept thinking about all that Cadence had said. The experience she had was so eerily similar to the night Kylie spent with Tommy that she had shivered listening to her. It was like they had simply copied the other’s story. They eventually left it as they needed to go slow with their plans and figure it all out quietly between them before they acted. No more pronouncements on the website or social media. The police might be out, but going after disciplinary action at school might at least be an avenue. Maybe they could get somewhere, or get something from it.

And now, walking home, her mind was reeling. Yet there was a sense of empowerment, and purpose she hadn’t had before. Maybe ever. She wasn’t crazy or stupid or to blame for being a slut. She had been drugged; that alone was a crime. That alone invalidated that she’d been a slut getting her due. It didn’t matter who she slept with, what mattered is no one should have drugged her.

Or had sex with her without her consent. That part was harder for Kylie to grab onto with the same passion Cadence could. Maybe because of her own guilt. She had, after all, been there to sleep with Tommy. But all he had to do was ask her. He instead drugged her. Put chemicals into her body. She shuddered. When worded that way… she could finally find the passion Cadence had about the rape part. She could finally articulate that it wasn’t okay to drug her without her knowledge. That was dangerous and just so wrong.

The thought left her feeling desolate as she stood on the empty dark street corner, staring at the kind of party it had happened at. Something made her feel suddenly cold… and so alone. Which was odd, as her life was going better now than perhaps it ever had. She had reached out to her dad and found some release for all the confusion and ache she felt over that. She had been getting better grades and had quit partying and no one had called her names in months because there was not much opportunity for them to. She saw Meredith often on campus and she had been so relieved when Kylie told her about Tristan. Tristan who was so nice to her. Who saw her so differently than she’d ever considered seeing herself.

And Tristan who meant she really wasn’t alone. She grabbed her phone and dialed Tristan’s number, despite how late it was.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was coarse and gruff-sounding when he answered by the second ring.

“I’m okay. I just need…” What did she need? To talk about what happened to her? She wasn’t sure she was ready to do that, but she thought perhaps she was nearing getting ready to tell him. Reaching out to Cadence was huge to her but made her feel extremely vulnerable and scared too. She wasn’t totally confident she could follow through with what she had started, which made her feel insecure and bad. She should be strong enough to handle this when she was the one who re-initiated it.

Tristan had worked late. That’s why she hadn’t been with him tonight. He was probably tired and didn’t need her calling like a clingy, pathetic, total victim and girl.

“Kylie, what’s going on?” His voice was strong and insistent.

“I’m not at home.”

His silence was long and loaded. Finally she heard him shuffling around like he was getting out of bed. “Do you need me to come get you?”

“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I do need you. But not because I need a ride.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yes. Something happened.”

His silence was potent, almost judging. His frustration felt like it was tangible and she heard the slow, deep breath he took before he nearly growled, “What the fuck is going on? Are you all right? Damn it, Kylie what is this?”

“I shouldn’t have called you like this. I’m not in danger. I’m… upset.”

“Then you should have fucking called me. Where are you?”

“The corner of Fifth and Grandview.”

“You’re on the street?”

“Yes.”

“Are you safe until I get there?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll be there in minutes.” He hung up and she sat down on the curb, huddled in her coat, staring at the party across the street and remembering… longing… hating… and glad she wasn’t part of it.

His car came to a screeching halt and he parallel parked right in front of her. He jumped out and was striding around the hood. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and his brown leather jacket that he so rarely wore. It was always startling to see him dressed down. Tristan was almost always impeccably dressed. What had her heart flipping over even more was the black slippers he had obviously jammed on his feet in his hurry to get to her. He was all hot and sexy and intensely mad or confused by her, but his feet in his slippers had a small smile touching her lips.

She really liked him. Every single thing about him.

Her feelings about him were to a degree she couldn’t explain or find the words to articulate. He made her feel so many things. Happy, valued, cared about, loved, confused, interested, and interesting. He made her feel like she could do and be more than she was, while making her claim exactly who and what she was. He left her being a better person and yet accepting of who she was. If that wasn’t a healthy, positive relationship to have with a man, then what would be? Why did she always hold so far back? He had more than triple times proven himself to her. He had earned her trust and yet she still withheld it from him.

It was a crappy thing she’d done, calling like she had, in middle of the night with some cryptic statement about needing him while she stood on a city street corner in middle of the night. It was a typical drunk-girl-being-clingy thing to do. But she wasn’t drunk. She hadn’t been drinking, she’d been commiserating. And it made her feel a lot of things. Things bubbled up in her that she hadn’t let in for two years and in fact maybe ever. She had called who she now needed to help her deal with this if she was ever going to move past it.

He ran his hands through his hair, which spiked up and back down all tousled up. His eyes were red-rimmed. “What happened?” He kept striding towards her as he spoke. He no more than spoke then his arms were wrapped around her and sweeping her up into his embrace tight against his chest. He didn’t care what she wore, what her make-up looked like or how her hair was fixed. He didn’t fucking care about all the stupid surface things that she let make her feel insecure. He cared about
her
. All that made her Kylie McKinely.

She let him nearly pick her off her feet as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her hands flat on his back. She tucked her head against his shoulder. He pushed her back and stared into her eyes.

“Did something happen to you? Why are you out in the middle of the night? What’s going on?”

“Nothing happened to me tonight.”

His lips touched the side of her face, just at her temple. When he lifted his face his eyebrows lowered and his forehead furrowed. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened his eyes she could just make out the gleam in them. “But something did happen to you?”

“Yes.”

“Someone hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Who? Who hurt you?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who. Okay? I don’t want to talk about who. This isn’t about who right now, it’s about what. And that has been as much of an issue for me as who. What matters, right now, is I’m ready to tell you about it.”

“What were you doing out here?” His hands rubbed along her upper arms. “Were you at that party?”

“No. I wasn’t at any party. But I was, the night I was hurt. All I did was go to a party. Just like all those girls over there in that house. They’re just there to party, drink, flirt, eat, dance, dress sexy, and have sex. They are there to act young and wild. They aren’t committing any kind of crime that deserves punishment. I was sitting here watching them all stream in and out of the front door. So many leaning on each other in drunken stupors or talking and hugging in drunk-happy talk and bonding. They are funny. Sweet. I was watching them, realizing they don’t deserve to be called names or even worse. They just don’t deserve that, do they?”

“No. They don’t deserve any kind of punishment for that.”

She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know that. I thought, I truly believed I deserved it.”

“Deserved what, Kylie?” His tone was low and deep. It traveled down her nerve endings like he was reaching out to caress her. It was full of tenderness, care, and fear. She could hear the apprehension in the cadence of how his voice rolled over her name.

She opened her eyes and looked into his blue eyes. “To be raped.”

His hands were on her waist and they flexed in response to her words. They tightened and released her as he took in a deep sharp breath. Almost a gasp. “I can’t tell you about it because I don’t remember it. I was drugged. I wasn’t drunk or stoned, at least not stoned by my own doing. I was slipped something and woke up in this room, naked and alone. There was blood and semen mixed on my thighs, between my legs and on the mattress under me. It was one of the scariest, most disorienting moments of my life. I was just there. Like poof it happened, but I have no idea how it happened.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“I know who I was with and whose room I woke up in. So yes, I know who did it. Plus, I saw him recently…”

“And he admitted it?”

“No. Never. He just watched me with this sickening, cocky,
knowing
smile on his face. His gaze traveled over me and this small grin lifted his mouth like he was re-living something, like seeing what I looked like under my clothes.”

“Who?” His tone was desperate, raw sounding. “Who did this to you?”

“You believe me?”

His eyes shut and he suddenly pulled her against his chest. He bent his head so his mouth was right at her ear. “I believe you.”

She wilted against him. “You’re the first person I’ve ever actually willingly told about it. Will you take me to your place? I was walking home from a friend’s and I saw this party and it got me thinking and all I wanted just then was… you. I wanted you, Tristan.”

His hands spread flat on her back and he kept moving them all around, almost like a nervous or reassuring habit. His arms completely surrounded her and she let him guide her to the car. He didn’t speak and neither did she. She stared out the window, surprised she’d told him and more surprised by the lack of stomachache accompanying what she did. She had finally told someone. It was epic for her. It was reaching out and willingly trusting someone with something that hurt her so much. Yet she didn’t know how to describe why.

They got to his building and into the elevator. She poked the toe of her boot at his slippers. “Pretty hot there, Mr. Aderly.”

His smile was half its usual wattage and show of teeth. He was upset, disturbed by what she’d told him and couldn’t tap into the humor that usually edged their interactions. “Not at two in the morning when my girlfriend calls from a street corner.”

“You were worried about me?”

He shook his head and finally reached out to put his hand around her waist and draw her nearer. He rested his forehead to hers and stared into her eyes for a long drawn out moment. “Always, Kylie. I’m always worried about you.”

She let him take her hand and lead her into his apartment. They quietly undressed without turning on any lights and slipped into bed together. There was no kissing, no groping nor feeling each other up. Instead, they clung to each other in the silence of his room. “I don’t want to talk about it a lot. It’s huge for me that I initiated this. Let me take my time with what I say or I don’t say. This isn’t like the thing with my dad. I’m not running off to tell my mom and I’ll feel a little better.”