Page 129 of Shamed
She wanted to explain something to me, didn’t she? But I didn’t give her a chance.
Shit, I didn’t even ask her who the actual attacker was, or how she found out.
I thump my head against the wall behind me, then roll it to the side, looking up at the staircase beside me.
I’m sure that would have fucked her up, finding out she had accused the wrong person.
She’s been punishing herself ever since. I realize that now.
Jesus, no wonder she didn’t want anything to do with me when we met.
Besides her not wanting my help, I would have been a constant reminder for her.
It’s probably been gnawing away at her.
And it definitely couldn’t have been easy finally admitting it to me.
“Shit.”
Now that the initial shock is wearing off, and I’ve had a chance to think a little more clearly, my stomach is more knotted than ever.
I didn’t handle that very well.
Closing my eyes, I take a few more minutes to try to think rationally.
I’m still upset, still angry, and fucking mortified. But I understand there is a lot more to the story than I know right now. She was still raped by someone, and I need to keep that in mind when I speak to her again.
There has to be a good reason she didn’t come forward.
There has to be.
When I feel like I can stand again, I push to my feet, breathe in deeply, then release it slowly.
Maybe I should just go to my apartment tonight, then talk with her tomorrow with a clearer head.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
That probably isn’t a good idea.
She was already really upset, and just thinking about her tear-filled eyes and stricken face makes my stomach turn. Idon’t want her to spend the night alone like that, regardless of how I feel. And I need answers.
Instead of leaving, I slowly walk back up the wooden steps and knock.
No answer.
I try again, calling out her name as well, but still nothing.
A bad feeling pricks at the back of my neck, but I try to push it away. She probably went to bed, or she’s in the bathroom.
Or maybe she simply doesn’t want to see me after the way I reacted.
Regardless, I have to see her. “Jayne, I’m coming in.”
I’m grateful when the handle twists and the door opens.
The smell of fresh paint hits me when I step inside. Funny, I didn’t even notice it earlier.
“Jayne?”
