Page 29 of Shamed
“Here, take this. You’re cold.”
That’s right. He took it off at some point and offered it to me.
“Here, take this. You’re cold.”
My eyes squeeze shut, trying to shake the memory, but something keeps stirring, poking and prodding that same spot in my mind.
“Here, take this. You’re cold.” He holds it out to me . . .
But it’s not a red hoodie.
It’s a black sweater.
No.It had to be red.
I remember seeing the red hood when we were walking, and I had thought about not liking that color.
No. I’m misremembering what I saw. I have to be. It’s been so long that I’m confusing the image in my mind.
But why did Jacob even offer it to me, especially after hurting me? In my messed-up mind, I hadn’t questioned it.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, little princess?”
My eyes pop open at Dylan’s voice, or more importantly, his words, and I stare at him, my breath freezing in my lungs. “What did you say?”
Dylan holds my gaze, head tilted with a curious smile as he sits in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. But he doesn’t answer.
Little princess. I’m sure that’s what he said. No one calls me that. At least, no one before or sincethat night.
Words and memories swim through my mind in a spinning motion, not allowing me to grab hold and make sense of the thoughts. Turning and twisting. There’s something right there, just out of reach.
What am I missing?
“Here, take this.”
Black sweater. Black sweater. Black sweater.
Itwasn’tred.
“Or what, little princess?”
Jacob’s devastated eyes stare back at me as he’s being led away.
Why?
And then suddenly, everything comes to a screeching halt as realization slams into me, each piece of evidence catapulting me to the same conclusion.
The slimy feelings. The knowing glint in his eyes any time I’ve seen him. The similar words and phrases.
All color leeches from my face as a loud thumping echoes in my ears.
Dylan called me a fucking tease when I wouldn’t go any further with him. He was bitter about me rejecting him . . .
I watch as his smile slowly drops, his eyes hardening, as if those same thoughts slipped out of my mind and reached into his.
How did I not see this before?
But the police couldn’t have gotten it wrong, could they?
