Page 55 of This I Promise You
“Fuck, stop! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” I scream at him until my throat is sore. “Go home, Easton. Forget me, forget this ever happened. Just go home!”
“No! Fuck you! Talk to me, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“I WAS RAPED! I WAS RAPED AND I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS SHIT!” I jump into the truck, start it, and race away from the scene as if I can race away from my horrifying past.
* * *
I pull into a guest spot since this isn’t my fucking truck and run until I get into my apartment. I bang through the door and slam it shut and keep running into my room.
“Paul? Paul what the hell— OMG Paul, what’s the matter? Where’s your shirt?”
I’m pacing. I’m pacing and pacing and crying and screaming and pacing and crying andholy shitI can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.
Huxley slowly moves toward me. “Paul. Take off your shoes. Do it now.”
I don’t have it in me to argue, so I do as she says.
“Now.” She’s standing right in front of me and takes my face in her hands. My eyes are closed because I just can’t look at her right now. “Breathe with me.” I do. “Now, tell me what’s going on. What happened? Where’s Easton?”
I try to breathe. I try to center myself, but everything is boiling to the surface and I’m about to spill over. I can’t fucking do this shit.
“We fucked, Huxley!” I push myself out of her reach and start pacing again, wringing my hands. “We fucking fucked, and I can’t fucking do this because it wasn’t me fucking him, it washim! I wasn’t fucking Easton, he was. It was him! And I let him. I let him into my head and I lethimrape Easton the way—” My voice cracks and hitches from yelling.
“Um,” Huxley starts. She moves a little closer again, only this time I cower. I still can’t look at her. “I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so confused. Someone…raped…E?”
How does she not understand! “No,he raped me! He raped me, Huxley, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I wasn’t like I am now. I was skinny and scrawny andweak! I was so weak and I couldn’t fight back. I just…I just let him do that to me. And ithurt!”
I’m crying, my hands are as frantic as my heart as I talk, and she's just standing there. Her hands are in fists by her side and I can’t look at her.
“It hurt so badly I couldn’t move. I was bleeding and I could smell it and I couldn’t move! He cornered me, and he hit me.” I can’t sit still. I try, but then I stand and start pacing again. My mind is on fire and my chest is as tight as a rag being wrung. I feel like I’m going to implode.
“He wanted more and I said no and he hit me. He raped me. I wasrapedafter…my dad, he…” I drop on the ground hard against the wall by my closet and Huxley kneels in front of me. Her hands are on my shoulders, slow and soothing. I finally look into her eyes. “He called me,” my voice hitches, “Paulie.”
Understanding crosses her face. Tears fuck up her makeup and I feel so bad because she’s so pretty and doesn’t deserve to have her makeup fucked up. And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.
So I cry. I can’t finish my words or my thoughts because I cry and I cry and I cry while Huxley holds me and cries with me. Then I feel someone else on my other side holding me and crying too. And they rock me and let me cry until I can't breathe, until I’m struggling. Someone rubs my back. Someone else whispers in my ear.
They say, “You’re safe.”
They say, “You’re loved.”
They say, “I promise that you’re safe.”
Once I get my breathing under control I look up into Easton’s wet eyes and it finally registers in my brain that these are my people. These two gorgeous human beings sitting in front of me, taking care of me, crying with me are mine and I’m theirs and Easton is myboyfriendand I say, “I’m so sorry, Easton. Please forgive me. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, babe,” Easton says.
“When did you get here? How much did you hear?” I ask.
“All of it…I think.” He nods past my bedroom door. “The door was open and I could hear you screaming, so I let myself in.”
“My dad, he…when I was nine he…touched me. He—”
“Paul, you don’t have to do this. It’s okay,” Huxley says.
“No, please. I need to say it. I need someone to know. We’re already here, might as well.” I shrug as another tear rolls down my cheek. It itches and tickles, but I don’t move to wipe it away. I don’t because Easton does.
“Okay,” she says, “get it out. But please stop if it’s too much.”
