Time (Laws of Physics #3)(18)

Gabby didn’t wait for me to respond, instead asking, “First, did he do anything to hurt you?”

Now I shook my head vehemently. “No. Not at all.”

Gabby’s gaze flickered over me, and I got the sense a suspicion was forming in her mind. My heart quickened as a result and I finished the rest of the wine in three large gulps.

“Mona.”

“Gabby,” I rasped, my throat tight, experiencing one of those odd moments where you know what’s going to happen, what another person is going to say, but you’re powerless to stop it.

“Is this about that thing that happened when you were fifteen?”

Our gazes locked, her green eyes intense. Mine were probably cagey.

“Is there any more wine?” I asked. Now my heart was hammering.

“You should slow down.” Gabby motioned to the bowl beside me, her tone firm. “Eat your ice cream and answer the question.”

“What am I missing?” Lisa sat forward on the couch, reaching for a spoon and dusting her chocolate ice cream with peanuts. “What happened when Mona was fifteen?”

Gabby made a choking sound. “You never told Lisa?”

I had to clear my throat. “I told you, nothing—”

“Holy shit, you still believe nothing happened? I swear to God, Mona. Get a fucking grip. You were assaulted!”

“What?” Lisa whisper-shrieked, dropping the peanut spoon with a clatter.

I stood up, setting my bowl on the table, turning toward the kitchen first, then the front door, and then the bathroom. “I have to—”

“No, you don’t.” Gabby also stood, placing herself in my path and grabbing my shoulders. “Tell your sister. Tell her. Or don’t but tell someone! Why do you insist on carrying this trauma around? As my therapist always says, you have to confront trauma or else you’ll never be able to move past it.”

“Okay.” I nodded, not really hearing her, my mind in disorder, my hands trembling, but my voice was perfectly calm as I said, “But first I need to pee.”

Gabby released me, shaking her head and lifting her arm toward the bathroom. “Go, then.”

I sprinted toward the bathroom, catching the first part of Lisa’s whispered, “You need to tell me what the hell happened before I . . .”

Once I was safely closed within the small rectangular space, I leaned my back against the door, gulping in wine-flavored air, and fought a fresh wave of tears. My hands were still trembling. I was sweating. My heart was still racing.

And this time, inexplicably, for whatever reason, when I repeated to myself that nothing actually happened, the words felt like a lie.





“Mona?”

I stirred, my back straightening at the sound of Lisa’s voice. I had no idea what time it was, just that I’d been sitting on the closed toilet lid for such an extended period, I’d passed the excuse “needs to pee” a long while ago and firmly entered “may require serious medical attention.”

“Open up,” she said.

Staring at the closed door, I debated my options. I’d heard Lisa and Gabby’s murmuring voices, and then I’d heard the front door open and close. And now, some minutes later, Lisa was standing outside, and I was extremely reluctant to let her in.

“Mona.” Her voice was gentle, and I thought I heard her place something on the door between us, maybe her hand. “Gabby told me what happened at school, when—when you were fifteen. Open the door.”

Those tears I’d fought so hard to dispel threatened another appearance. I swallowed convulsively, blinking, fighting the stinging behind my eyes, and stood. I didn’t want to cry. With Abram I would. But with Lisa? She’d said they made me weak. Therefore, no. I didn’t want to cry with her. I needed to get a handle on these zany feelings before I could face her.

Then she said, “You know that you’re not to blame, right?”

I covered my mouth with my hand, breathing in through my nose, waiting for the wave of emotion entropy to pass.

“You’re allowed to be mad,” she continued, her voice quiet yet firm. “You’re allowed to call it an assault, you’re allowed to say you were terrified, and you’re allowed to admit that it—what he did—had an impact on you. Admitting the truth doesn’t give him power over you.” She sounded like she was quoting someone, which made me wonder if Gabby had coached her.

Lisa made a soft sound. “Mona, open the door.”

Letting my hand drop, I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Mona. Why not?”

Try being honest. Abram’s voice, the ghost of Aspen past, filled my ears, spurring me to confess. “Because I don’t want to cry.”

She paused, as though considering this, and then said, “I won’t make you talk. But how about, if you open the door, I will teach you a trick that will help you not cry.”

That had my attention.

Eying the doorknob, I quickly unlocked it, hesitated, and then twisted it to open the door a centimeter. I then stepped back and crossed my arms. My sister peeked inside, her gaze wary, and she gave me a little smile.

“Hey.”

I was busy pressing my lips together—because I was now a crier—and said nothing.