What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(61)

But none of that would help Sarah. None of that would take her pain away.

I wasn’t sure anything ever could.

“It was my professor,” she whispered after the longest time. Her face broke again with the admission, letting more tears run freely. “That’s why I left Bramlock.”

My entire body squeezed on the next exhale, hands shaking as I ran them back through my hair with my eyes still on her. “Wolfgang?” I asked. “Wolfgang Edison… he… he…”

“Raped me?” Sarah asked, like she knew I didn’t even want to say the word. Her voice was stronger as she lifted her eyes to mine. “Yes. He did.”

My nose flared, muscles tensing with the urge to fly to Florida and fuck him up. No wonder she’d freaked out at the end-of-the-year concert when I’d mentioned him. I’d brought up the biggest monster of all right before she was about to perform. He was her professor, her teacher — the one she had to spend the most time with, the one she trusted the most.

I sobered at the realization that I was the same.

And I’d betrayed her trust, too.

She seemed almost numb as she stared at the kitchen counter. “It sounds awful when I say it out loud. You know?” She shook her head. “You always hear about it happening to other people, see it on TV, on the news, in the movies… but when it actually happens to you?” Sarah swallowed. “There is no more shameful pain in this entire world.”

I sucked in a breath that scorched my esophagus.

“Sarah,” I breathed her name, shaking my head as I swallowed past the burning thickness in my throat. I felt sick. I felt responsible. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry this happened to you.” I shook my head. “And you have nothing to feel ashamed of. Okay? Do you understand me? Nothing.”

Her face twisted again, eyes welling as she nodded.

Silence fell over us, Sarah sipping her water as I stared at the granite counter between us. I’d never been in this position, never been the one a woman trusted to tell something like this to. I was at a loss for words, and the longer the silence stretched between us, the shittier I felt. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, tell her it would be okay.

I wanted to go back to Sunday night and take back what I’d done.

“Sometimes, I feel stupid for not seeing it coming,” she confessed with a sniff. “There was this gut feeling, you know? Not at first. Not at any point in my first year working with him, if I’m being honest. But, sometime in my sophomore year, I started to feel his attention more. Sometimes, he would comment on my appearance, or touch me in a way that felt wrong. Like, once, after a rehearsal, he held his hand on the small of my back as he talked to the rest of the performers. It didn’t feel wrong, since it was in front of everyone and all, but… it didn’t feel right, either.”

Sarah paused, her eyes lifeless as they stared at the granite counter.

“But I didn’t question it. I trusted him, perhaps blindly. I just… I never thought…” She bit her lower lip, blinking several times. “Maybe if I wouldn’t have dressed the way I used to, or if I had talked to someone when I first felt uncomfortable. I mean, maybe I led him on, by not outright rejecting him. Maybe—”

“Sarah,” I interrupted, squeezing her hand in mine. I lowered my gaze until she looked at me. “It is not your fault. His actions are his responsibility, not yours. The way you dress, the way you look, the trust you gave him, the time you spent with him — none of that is permission to touch you. Okay?”

She looked down again, and the burn in my chest shifted, transforming in a need for her to understand.

“I don’t want to talk about it more right now, if that’s okay,” she said, blinking away the tears that were beginning to form again. “I just… I wanted to tell you because that’s why I ran. I wanted you to kiss me, Reese. And I wanted to do more than just kiss. But… I’m damaged goods. I’m fucked up.” The words came from her lips in bursts between her cries. “He was the first to touch me… to ever have me. And when you were touching me, I felt amazing. It was perfect. I wanted you. For the first time, I wanted to be kissed, to be touched… but then… I saw him. And felt him. And…” she choked, more tears falling. “Remembered him.”

“Jesus Christ.” I stood, rounding the counter until I was standing next to her. She turned in her stool just as I approached, standing when I reached her, and I pulled her into my arms and held her as tightly as I could. “I am so fucking sorry, Sarah. I am so sorry. But you’re okay. You’re safe. Okay? I promise.”

I wished I could hold her so tight I could take away what had happened, take away the pain, the memory. She cried harder now that she was in my arms, her small hands fisting in my t-shirt. And I gritted against the urge to break everything in my apartment since I couldn’t break Wolfgang’s face. He’d taken something so precious from her, something so delicate.

My blood was boiling.

And under that anger was the true feeling — helplessness.

I was confused, and grappling for something — anything — to say or do to make it all better.

“I want you to know how thankful I am that you felt comfortable enough to tell me this,” I said after a long moment, still holding her in my arms, hoping the physical comfort would help my words sink in more. “And I also want you to know that what he did to you, it does not define who you are. And it does not define who you aren’t.”