Dad rounded the corner a minute later and gave me a small smile. “I heard you pulled a Grandpa and didn’t tell us you were in the hospital while you were there.”
“Yeah, I really am sorry. There was a lot going on, and by the time I got home, I crashed.”
“So, what happened last night?” Mom asked, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table in front of me before sitting in the chair next to mine.
I took a breath. “You remember when I told you about what happened to me in high school?”
Mom sucked in a breath, while my father frowned and said, “Of course we do. That’s not something a parent would forget.”
“Well, last night I ran into the person who ...” How did I finish that sentence? The thought of saying “the person who raped me” made me feel like I was going to puke. I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “The person who hurt me.”
Their expressions shifted from concern about what had landed me in the hospital to anger in the blink of an eye.
“What? Does he still live around here?” Dad bellowed.
I shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, his parents still do, so it’s possible he was just home visiting. I’m not sure.”
Mom tilted her head to the side. “How do you know where his parents live?”
Fuck.I didn’t mean to let that part slip, but there was no turning back now.
“Because you see them all the time,” I whispered.
“Who?” My father clipped.
I knew his anger was directed at the situation and not at me, but I was still nervous about how they’d take the information I was about to share with them.
“It was Tim,” I confessed, pushing around the eggs on my plate.
“Do you mean Timothy and Michelle’s son is the one who did those horrible things?” Mom questioned.
I nodded, still not able to meet their gaze.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dad shouted as he pushed back from the table.
It was rare for my dad to use language like that, and for a second, I feared he would storm down the street and confront the Smiths.
I glanced up. “I know they’re your best friends. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything when I first told you.”
“Their friendship is the least of our concerns right now.” Dad ran a hand down his face. “What does this all have to do with you ending up in the hospital last night?”
For the next few minutes, I gave them all the details I could remember from the night before, including that a friend had come over to check on me and had called 911. When I looked up, my mom had tears running down her face, much like she had all those months ago when they confronted me about my drinking.
Mom grabbed my hand. “And you promise you weren’t trying to hurt yourself last night?”
I squeezed her fingers gently. “I promise. I really did just want to go to sleep. I wasn’t thinking about the fact I’d been drinking.”
“Well.” Dad took a deep breath and glanced at my mom before switching his gaze to me. “We have to do something. We can’t let Tim get away with what he’s done.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, already feeling a sense of dread creeping up inside of me.
“You should go to the police,” Mom replied.
Between the fear of reliving the trauma I’d endured and people finding out what had happened to me, going to the police was the last thing I wanted to do. Besides, even though I had a copy of the video, it didn’t show Tim’s face and only showed the consensual parts of the night. “I’m not sure I want to do that. I’d rather just forget it happened in the first place.”
My parents exchanged a look, and I knew they disagreed with my decision.
“Are you sure?” Dad asked. “You have our support no matter what, but I hate that he won’t pay for the pain he’s caused you.”
