Forget it.
“No?” Lisa’s voice is brittle. She doesn’t like being told no.
“She can’t be involved.”
“Why not?” Lisa asks incredulously. “Her perspective is vital. I think she would rush to your defense. She spoke so highly of you before.” Another pause. A judgment. “Unless maybe you’re not telling me the truth . . .”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, refusing to defend myself to her. I couldn’t give a damn what she thinks about me.
But I care about what Katie thinks. She’d hate me for talking to Lisa Swanson. I know it.
So I can’t do it.
“If you talk, she might talk, too. She won’t right now. She refuses to see me. But if I offer the chance for the two of you to speak to each other after all these years . . .” Lisa’s voice drifts, as if she’s dangling a carrot and I’m supposed to jump at that opportunity to speak with Katie.
She can’t know that I’ve already spoken to Katie. Basked in her presence, reveled in the sound of her voice, her laughter, the touch of her hand. The softness of her lips, the scent of her hair, her skin, how she tastes, how she squirms when I touch her in one particular spot. The sound of my name falling from her lips when I make her come . . .
Not my real name, though. An imposter’s name. Ethan is no one. Will is the devil.
Again, which side do I choose? Who am I really?
“I won’t put her through that. I’m not interested.” I’m about to end the call when I hear Lisa’s frantic voice. I bring the phone back to my ear.
“You should reconsider. I can put a temporary halt on this, and let you tell your side of the story. But if you choose not to talk to me, I can’t be held responsible for the attack on your reputation that is bound to happen. The interview will air ten days from now, whether you like it or not.”
Haughty Queen Lisa is back to playing hardball. “Let it happen.”
I end the call.
I set my phone on the bedside table.
I close my eyes.
I cut her off. Not because my lawyer advised me to do so—though that was part of the reason. The guy wouldn’t stop badgering me about it, asking every day if I was still talking to her. I lied and said no, having a hell of a time working up the nerve to tell her I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. That was hard. But it had to be done. I cut Katie Watts off because I’m not good enough for her. I don’t deserve to be her friend. I really don’t deserve to be her hero.
Don’t deserve to be in her life at all.
Despite what I did, how I saved her, she doesn’t need the reminder. And that’s all I am to her. The constant reminder that when she was twelve, a fucked-up asshole abducted her, raped her, and kept her chained like an animal in a hot, dirty shed in the middle of summer. I may have rescued her, but that doesn’t matter in the long run. She’s safe. My father is in jail and though the trial isn’t over, I have a feeling I know what the outcome is going to be.
He’s guilty. We all know it. He practically admitted it after he was first caught in Las Vegas, then recanted his outpouring of words and demanded a lawyer. He has charges to face there, too, though if California gets him on the death penalty, I guess those charges will end up being dropped. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t understand the justice system. I’m only seventeen.
I’m still just a kid. A kid with no hope, no ties, no one to help me.
Cutting Katie out of my life may have been best for her, but what about me? What about my needs? Yet again, no one gives a shit. Yet again, I’m left alone. The friends I have aren’t real. I can’t share with them my past, my history. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. They all know who my dad is anyway. No one comes right out and says anything, but I know what they’re thinking. What they’re wondering.
Is Will like his dad? Did the man really rape and kill little girls? What sort of sick fuck is his father anyway? Would Will do something like that?
Those words, the rumors, they hurt. Everything hurts. All of it.
Everything.
“So.” Dr. Sheila Harris’s pause is heavy, full of all sorts of unspoken questions. She’s watching me, her iPad resting on her lap, her expression expectant. I’d come to this appointment reluctantly, exhausted from having to constantly analyze my behavior, how I feel. It never stops, that how are you feeling question. How are you doing? Blah, blah, blah.
I’m over it.
“So?” I raise a brow.
Sheila’s lips twitch. So happy I can amuse her. “How are you doing?”
There it is, right on time. Do I tell her the truth or lie? I’m supposed to be completely open with Sheila. She’s the only one I can trust to give me an objective opinion. Mom and Brenna are on my side. They’ll defend me no matter what. Forget Ethan, Will, whatever the hell his name is. He wronged me. He tricked me. Therefore, he’s the bad guy. Never to be given another chance again.
It’s so easy to think along those terms, especially when I don’t have to see his face, hear his voice. If he were here, right now, standing in front of me, how would I react? Throw myself at him and pray his arms would wrap me up tight?
Or show him exactly how angry I am by saying horrible, awful things?
This is my daily struggle. I thought it would be so easy, to forget him, to move on, to be so unbelievably angry at what he’s done to me. Most of the time I feel exactly that. His betrayal cuts deep.
But there’s a secret, soft, dark spot hidden inside me that wants to forgive him. Wants to draw him back into my life. This is what happens when your heart is so thoroughly involved.