The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (3 page)

The only thing that distracts me from my black pit of despair is Zeke. For some reason, even though I tell myself after that first day that I don’t care, I seem finely attuned and know exactly when he shows up at my house every day. I know exactly when he leaves, and I can’t stop myself from spending a portion of every day watching him through a window as he works. It’s just as much of a draw, of a hypnotic poison, as cutting myself. Watching the blood well up, watching Zeke as he attacks the garden in what always seems to be a rage. I’m not even sure why he still comes. He has to know that pressing charges on him for graffiti is the absolute last thing any of us are thinking of doing right now.

Regardless, he still comes every weekday and serves his time, arriving and leaving on the dot like clockwork. And for just that bit of time I return to sanity, wonder what the hell is going on with my life, if I should start to be concerned about how deep I am sinking and poorly I am dealing with all of this. But then he leaves and sanity flees and I stop wondering and just accept that I am lost and can never be found again.

It’s during one of these saner moments that I realize I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten, or showered, for that matter, and that I’m feeling weak and airy all over, not with the threat of floating away but with exhaustion and hunger and probably blood loss. I head downstairs, reasoning that the coast is partially clear since Zeke is still outside and Clarissa is supposed to be at a luncheon with some of her friends.

I’m just pulling a pizza out of the oven, though, when I hear the garage door open and close my eyes, trying to figure out who I’d like to see less at the moment; Clarissa or Hunter. The house door opens and I hear the
clack, clack, clack
of heels on the hardwood floor and then Clarissa breezes into the kitchen.

Although,
breeze
doesn’t seem to be the right word to describe my stepmother anymore. Her
clacking
has more of a clump to it as she walks heavily into the kitchen and throws her bag down on the counter, and then goes straight to the wine rack and selects a bottle. It’s rare to see her anymore without a wineglass in hand, and I can tell from the slow, methodical way that she uncorks the bottle and pours herself a glass that she must have been drinking at her luncheon as well.

I think about saying something, but then I decide there’s no point. Undoubtedly, we’re about to argue, and I don’t feel like being the one to start it.

“Hunter and I will probably be gone next week,” Clarissa finally says, taking a long pull from her wine glass. “Some of the ladies from the club are going on a cruise and I was able to get a last minute invitation. Through some miracle.”

I turn slightly and just stare at her, pizza cutter outstretched over the counter. “What?” I squeak. “You’re my guardian. You can’t just leave me on my own for a week.” It would be the first time I’ve ever been left truly alone, no Tony or friends to call if something happened, no dad to come rushing home if I needed him.

I don’t like Clarissa being around, but an empty house? Empty, just like when Tony was here. When he raped me. My gut clenches and my fingers all seem to go numb. I drop the pizza cutter with a clatter as memories assault me.

Clarissa sneers at me, though I barely see her. “Neither of us wants the other one around. Let’s not pretend otherwise. I need to go and try to undo some of the damage you’ve done.”

That
gets my full attention. “Damage
I’ve
done?”

“Don’t you realize the effect your lawsuit is having on my reputation? On that of this family?” Clarissa asks, staring at me.

Something very cold enters my chest, chilling me all over even though I’m standing next to the warm oven. “Is that all you care about?” I ask, my voice quiet and calm, already resigned because I’m sure I know her answer. “Your reputation? It doesn’t matter at all if something horrible happened to me? That I still can’t come to terms with it?”

“Assuming it’s all true,” she snorts, and takes a big swallow of wine.

I hear a roaring in my ears as I stare at her, shocked. “You… how can you say that? You saw me that night! You saw Tony, too, and what he did to me.”

“The Stulls are two of the top-rated lawyers in the
state
,” Clarissa shoots back. “Their son would never do such a thing.”

I stare at her, incredulous. Clarissa and I have never gotten along, not from day one. I know she’s always been jealous of my closeness with my father, but never would I have guessed that her anger and rage ran so deep. Deep enough that it practically seems to be genuine hatred.

I want to yell and scream and rage at her, but it feels too exhausting. Tired. Always so tired lately. What’s the use, anyway? She won’t listen, won’t try to understand, won’t care. She won’t try to help me.

No one will.

Ezekiel

46

I’m heading toward the house for lunch, up the sloping lawn to the stairs of the deck, when I hear Clarissa’s high-pitched, grating voice.

“-isn’t enough that you want to sit there and ruin our reputation, along with that of the Stulls. Accusing Tony of beating you isn’t enough? Now you want to add
this
to the list! Just because you were foolish enough to let him hit you, we’re going to have doors closed to us!”

I suck in a breath at Clarissa’s words and their blatant disregard for Evie. As though it was actually Evie’s fault that Tony hit her. Before I can stop myself, I draw closer to the left side of the house so I can hear better. There’s a window open in the kitchen and I stick my neck out just far enough that I can see the back of Clarissa’s blonde head.

“They already documented it all at the hospital. The charges are being pressed as they are.” Evie’s voice is more forceful than I’ve ever heard it, at least since Tony’s accident. “You can’t just take it back, Clarissa. And it’s true.”

“It was a gimmick for attention!” Clarissa is practically shouting, and I have to wonder if she knows there are open windows, because I’m sure she doesn’t want the neighbors to hear this argument—although, they’re all so far away maybe she doesn’t have to be worried. “You’ve never been satisfied with all your father has given you. Tony was a good boy! He wouldn’t do such a thing, and you only told your father it was unwilling because you knew it would make him obsessed with you from then on! I’m tired of your ‘poor me’ act, Evie.”

“Your ‘good boy’ is being charged with assault and first degree murder,” Evie says coldly. “Clearly he’s not so good as everyone thought.”

“We live in Dublin!” Clarissa screams. “We belong to a country club and your father was a doctor with a multi-million dollar practice!
Rape
does not happen to us! So you can take your sorry excuses and use them where somebody might actually give you the pity that you want so badly, do you understand me? Because I refuse to deal with this any longer.”

I freeze, shocked all the way down to my tingling toes.
Rape?
I’d seen what Tony had done to her, the way he had beaten her. I’d known things were bad between them, terrible even, but
fuck
. Rape?

“I don’t need your pity,” Evie’s voice is calm and chilled, and I shiver despite myself. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Clarissa sniffs. “If you breathe one word of this to anyone, I’ll disown you. I’ll turn you in to social services. I know what you’re doing to yourself. I’ve seen you, and I know your secret. You’re a wreck, Evie, and I’ll say you’re too much for me to handle. So get a grip and keep your mouth shut, understand?”

Clarissa wheels around and I hear her heels
clack-clacking
against the hardwood floor as she leaves the kitchen. There’s a long moment of silence, and then Evie tears out of the house, running down the deck, stumbling and almost falling on the second set of stairs. Then she’s home free, sprinting across the lawn. She’s sobbing and as she pushes her long hair out of her face, our eyes meet, just for the briefest second. Then she’s turned back and disappeared behind the tall trees that now shield the gazebo from view.

For a long moment, I look after her, wondering if I’m crazy. But Clarissa’s words keep echoing around in my head—Rape
doesn’t happen to us!
Just like I told Tessa the night of Dr. Parker’s wake; money isn’t and never will be a shield for the ugly, hideous things that happen in life. In fact, arguments could be made that it’s more of an enabler for them, because it gives people more power, the power to hide and conceal, erase and bribe. With a sigh, I begin to trot over to the gazebo.

Evie is sitting on the old bench, head bowed so her curtain of dark hair shadows her face. Her hair is a tangled mess and when she looks up at me, shoulder heaving and tears streaming down her face, I’m startled by how thin and gaunt she’s become in just a few days. The dark circles under her eyes seem to have doubled and the haunted look in her eyes has deepened. Her face is pale and wan and she looks painfully thin, her big, ratty hair overwhelming her.

She lifts a hand to wipe her cheeks as our eyes meet. “You heard all that?” she asks, and her voice is crackly and sounds almost rusty, as though she hasn’t done much talking lately.

Damn. She’s really crying, sobbing, actually. I
hate
crying girls. I never know what to do. I try to play it cool and shrug.

“I heard enough.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and she doesn’t say anything, just sits there and cries. I swallow nervously, hating that I feel so awkward because I know I need to say something, hopefully something that will make her feel better.

“I’m sorry she doesn’t believe you,” I finally offer, because it seems like a fairly safe comment.

Evie jumps to her feet and advances a few steps toward me, anger sparking in her violet eyes. “So that’s it,” she snorts. “Now that you know Tony didn’t just beat me, you’ll speak to me. Because you feel sorry for me. Poor Evie, she was stupid enough to stay with an abusive boyfriend and then he raped her, let’s all feel sorry for her now!”

I flinch at the word ‘rape.’ It seems so harsh and I can hardly believe that she can say it so carelessly.

“Well, here’s a newsflash, Zeke.” She faces me squarely, eyes hard and fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t need your fucking pity, okay? Yours or anyone else’s. So you can just get the hell away from me.”

She immediately presents with her back, but I linger, standing at the edge of the entrance of the gazebo, trying to gather my thoughts. I can’t just leave without saying anything at all, because guilt is attacking me now. She tried to reach out, that first day I came back, and I pushed her away. That feels cold now, even though why she would try and cling to me, I have no idea. My list of problems is no shorter than hers.

After what feels like forever, I feel I’ve gained some control and finally speak. “I’m not trying to give you pity,” I say. “I know what it feels like, getting people’s sad looks and shaking their heads at you. But I just thought, well, maybe you needed to know that what he did to you was wrong. And it’s not your fault. At all, Evie.”

And then I walk away, before I can say anything else that might damage my reputation.

Evangeline

47

For several days I alternate between being glad that Zeke found out and wanting to take advantage of the pity I saw in his eyes to make him talk to me, and then the other extreme of hating and feeling ashamed that he knows. The shame is strongest and I have no doubt that it always will be. Even if by some miracle I manage to heal and move on, I know I’ll always feel ashamed by the fact that it even happened, that I allowed it.

Zeke told me it wasn’t my fault, and in most ways I know that it isn’t. Not that part, at least. But I’ll always regret that I wasn’t strong enough to stop Tony, that I didn’t try harder to get away, especially the second time. I can’t change it now, though. It’s all done and somehow, some way, I have to accept it. I know it won’t be today, however. Or tomorrow. Probably not next week, or even next month.

Even though Zeke sometimes gives worried glances at the house now and then, I find myself sinking deeper and don’t watch him as long as I used to. He doesn’t come in to try and talk, nor do I go out and try to approach him, because despair wins out and I stay cooped up in my dad’s office.

I come downstairs less and less, don’t really even know when the last time I left or ate was. Clarissa doesn’t ever check on me. In fact, the day of her cruise comes and goes and she and Hunter don’t even tell me goodbye. I only hear a car start up one morning, and it never comes back.

After they’re gone and I’m well and truly alone, I allow the feelings of shame and repulsion to fill me. I claw at my skin as I remember how Zeke looked at me after he found out. It’s a secret I would have preferred to take with me to the grave, and never have I felt so dirty.