What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(56)



It was my turn to fake sick, to call out of everything in life — including the last two days of lessons with Reese. I hadn’t even been able to be the one to tell him I wasn’t coming, pleading with my uncle to make the calls for me both Monday and Tuesday. I couldn’t face him, not even through the safety of my cell phone screen.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to again.

Everything I’d worked for, everything I had planned out when I came to Pennsylvania was blown away in an instant Sunday night.

And it was my fault.

I groaned as the memory resurfaced again, just as it had over and over and over again since I left his house. Reese was my first real kiss — the first one I’d wanted, silently pleaded for, felt in every inch of my body once his lips were on mine. It was everything I’d ever wanted from a kiss, and it came from a man I knew could do better than me. He could kiss any woman he wanted, be with any woman in Mount Lebanon, and yet it’d been me he’d reached for.

And I ran away.

A gentle knock on my bedroom door made me blink, the memory fading away as Aunt Betty let herself in my room. Her face crumpled when she saw me, still buried under blankets and pillows, but she offered a soft smile as she carried the tray in her hand over.

“I brought more soup,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes trailed my bedside table, where the last bowl of soup she brought me still sat untouched — along with unopened boxes of cold medicine she’d purchased.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She watched me as silence fell over us, and I wished I could talk to her, open up to her, tell her something — anything — to make her feel at ease. I knew I was worrying her and my uncle both, that all they wanted was to help. But I was beyond their reach, beyond anyone’s.

I just wanted to be alone.

Aunt Betty exchanged the bowls, placing the cold bowl of soup on her tray and the other on the table for me. Then, she folded her hands on the handles, staring at them a moment before she looked at me again.

“How do you feel about coming to the store with me?” she asked with a smile. “It won’t be anything crazy, just need to pick up a few groceries. I thought maybe you could help me with this vegan recipe I want to try.”

Every muscle in my body tensed at the thought, and I curled in on myself against the cramp, shaking my head almost imperceptibly. “I’d really like to rest, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “I know you want to rest. I just…” She swallowed, eyes softening as she reached over and smoothed her hand over my arm. I didn’t flinch away like I used to, maybe because I didn’t have the energy. “Did something happen?”

I blinked, swallowing past the knot in my throat.

When I didn’t answer, Aunt Betty squeezed my arm before pulling her hand away. “You know, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk. Just know I’m here if you need anything at all. Okay?”

I nodded. “I know. Thank you, Aunt Betty. And, I’m sorry.”

She smiled, standing with the tray in her hands. “Don’t be sorry for being sick, sweet girl.”

Aunt Betty let herself out, a quiet snick of the door closing letting me know I was alone again.

The fan whirred on, providing the white noise I needed to let my thoughts run wild. They seemed to have more energy than my body ever would again. For a moment, I debated peeling myself out of bed to go to the store with my aunt, knowing it was already Wednesday and I’d have to face the world again sometime.

But the bigger part of me just wanted to live in the solace of my bedroom a while longer.

I sighed, blindly reaching over for where my phone was buried under a pillow. I swiped to my mom’s name, putting her on speakerphone and resting my head again once it was ringing.

“Mwen chouchou, I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

I didn’t speak, but my eyes watered at the sound of her voice, my bottom lip trembling before I bit down hard to stop it.

“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at that, setting the tears I’d managed to hold back free. They tumbled down my hot cheeks, dampening the pillow. “I messed up, Manman. I messed up so badly.”

I cried harder, my mother soothing me from the other end of the phone. I imagined the comforter around me was her arms, that she was holding me and petting my hair — the hair I once had — telling me everything would be okay.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning,” she said once my sobs had quieted. “What happened?”

I sniffed, words stirring in my mind, but I couldn’t bring a single one of them to my lips. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell my mom that I was kissed by my piano teacher, that I’d wanted him to kiss me, and that I’d run away from him because the man who raped me was haunting me like a permanent ghost I’d never be free of. I didn’t know how to explain that I felt shame for something that had happened to me, for the way it had permanently scarred me, for the way I’d tarnished a moment that could have been one of the best of my life.

Ever since I could remember, I’d dreamed of being kissed like that, of having a man frame my face and look into my eyes and see me before his lips touched me. I’d read about romance, watched it on the television screen, but I’d never been sure it actually existed. I always wondered if it was only in fiction, if it only existed within the realms of our mind’s fantasies and creations.

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