Page 160 of Shamed
The sound of my heartbeat fills my ears, thumping so loudly that the chatter of other customers and the squeak of shopping cart wheels gets drowned out.
“Excuse me.” I flinch at the touch on my shoulder from behind.Neil’stouch. “The line has moved.”
My sight adjusts, and I notice the line has indeed moved, and there is a big space in front of me.
“Thank you.” My voice sounds like broken shards of glass are scraping my throat.
I don’t even turn my face to the side, the paralyzing fear of Neil somehow recognizing me keeping my focus forward.
I move woodenly, numbly pushing ahead and going through the motions of paying for my items in a daze. The thumping has switched to ringing in my ears. I don’t hear anything else as I walk toward where Mase parked his truck.
I’m still confused, doubting what I heard to be true, because it still doesn’t make sense.
How? How? Fuckinghow?
Mase sees me coming and jumps out of the driver’s seat to help load the items into the back, having finished his task earlier than me.
Of course, he immediately notices that something is wrong, two lines appearing between his brows. He’d know even if I weren’t leaning heavily against the truck as if it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Abandoning the groceries, he moves to bend in front of me so we’re eye to eye, cupping my face. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“I-I don’t . . .” I shake my head, trying to think clearly. “We need to check something.”
His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, trying to read what’s hidden inside.
“Neil was in there.”
Mase’s brows shoot up and he immediately looks toward the store. “Did he say something to you?”
I shake my head. “No. He didn’t see me. He was on the phone. But it’s what he was saying on the phone . . .”
I watch Mase’s face morph into disbelief as I tell him everything I heard Neil say.
Even if Neil were somehow talking about completely different people, it casts enough doubt in my mind to check.
And checking is how we found out that Jacob is definitelynotin prison.
*~*~*~*~*
Several hours later, after many phone calls, confirmations, and more fucking tears, we’re back where we started three years ago, sitting in my father’s office, discussing the next steps. Mase sits beside me, a steady wall of support.
We don’t currently know what happened three years ago. There were charges against him, and he was back in prison—a fact that was proven by more than one person.
But now, it’s as if it never happened.
Was it a mistake in the system? A glitch that was fixed?
Another false claim?Thatthought makes me sick.
I guess it’s all part of his story, and maybe I’ll never know.
I’ve once again been struck with the pain of knowing that I didn’t do anything to fix things for him earlier.
I fill my lungs with air and release slowly, quietly.
I can’t change the past, but Icanchange the future.
And no matter what happens to me, Iwillclear his name.
