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But after a few minutes, the memories had her fully in their grip again, and Gibson’s breathing hadn’t evened out. They were both lying there awake in the dark, wandering through their own shadows. He didn’t ask her questions or try to talk. And soon she realized what he was doing. He was waiting for her to fall asleep. He was watching over her until he knew she was okay.
The realization sent an aching warmth through her, made her want to cry. When had she ever been watched over like that? Not since her grandmother had slept in a chair next to Sam’s bed when she’d had the flu. Sam stared at a peeling piece of wallpaper, trying to gather her courage. He’d shared part of himself. She should trust him enough to do the same. She wet her dry lips. “I used to get the nightmares all the time. I’d wake up sweating, things knocked over, sheets torn from the bed.”
Gibson’s fingers stroked her arm lightly, letting her know he was listening, but he didn’t say anything.
“They started when I was fifteen. I spent a year in a group home after bouncing from placement to placement because I couldn’t stop causing trouble and generally being difficult. I was angry at everyone, at life, at my fate. No family wanted to deal with that. So after I got caught shoplifting and kicked out of yet another placement, they put me in this group home with a bunch of other girls who’d gotten labeled with behavior problems.” She swallowed hard, remembering how scary it’d been to walk into that place, to see all those new faces. It’d been so much more intimidating than walking into a new family’s house. “I thought I was tough by then, thought I was a badass, but I was freaking clueless. Some of those girls were hard. Scary. They were older, had been in the system longer, had issues far bigger than mine. And they didn’t like newcomers they couldn’t control.”
Gibson was silent behind her, but he gathered her a little closer to him, hooking his leg over hers as if to absorb her or maybe to let her absorb his strength.
“I went in determined not to let them bully me. I’d protected myself for years in foster homes. Most of the foster parents I had were decent people, but there’d been a few incidents where some sibling or random family member tried to take advantage of me. I knew how to put on a front, how to report someone if they tried to hurt me or touch me, how to hold my own in a fight. So when a few of those girls at the group home started to demand I give them things—the money I’d earned at an after-school job, the little things I managed to buy for myself—there was no way in hell I was giving in. I had so little. They weren’t going to take it.
“But one day some of the girls stole my favorite paperbacks, ones I’d saved from my grandmother’s things. Ones that had her highlighted passages and handwriting in the margins. Ones she’d read aloud to me. They ripped the pages out and stuffed them in the toilets. Pissed all over them.”
Gibson made some sound behind her. “God, Sam.”
“I lost it. Those books were one of the few things I had left to remember that there’d been a before. That I’d had a family. That this hell I was living wasn’t the way it’d always been.” That someone out there had loved me once upon a time. She closed her eyes, took a breath. “I didn’t want to report them because it would’ve been a slap on the wrist. I wanted revenge, so I went after what meant the most to Brandi, the ringleader. I went after her boyfriend.
“I’d learned by then that I could get boys to like me, get them to do things for me. I was still a virgin then, but I was becoming an expert at the flirt and tease. It was the only power I could wield. And the guy fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I set it up so that Brandi walked in on us making out.”
Sam smiled bitterly in the darkness, remembering the triumph that moment had given her. Her tormentor left speechless. Too bad it hadn’t been worth what came after.
“What’d she do?” Gibson asked softly.
“She went off on him. They broke up. I thought I’d won. But a week later when I was walking home from work, Brandi and two other girls jumped me.” A chill went through her, the memory still potent after the dream. “They dragged me to this field behind an abandoned store and held me down. Brandi beat the shit out of me, kicking me in the ribs, the head, squeezing my neck like she was going to choke me—all while her friends pinned me on the ground. She was screaming at me. Calling me a whore, telling me I should kill myself because I was so disgusting and no one would ever want me. She w
anted me to say it, to admit how worthless I was. I wouldn’t do it. I figured I’d rather die right there than let her win.”
“Oh, Sam.”
She closed her eyes. “When I wouldn’t give in, she ripped at my clothes, yanked my shorts down, tore my panties. I thought she just wanted to humiliate me, leave me there naked. But then she grabbed a broken bottle off the ground and told me that I’d never be able to fuck someone else’s boyfriend again.”
Gibson stopped breathing behind her, his muscles tensing.
“That was going too far for the other girls. Beating me bloody—fine. Raping me with a broken bottle—they were out. They had standards, ya know?”
Gib seemed too stunned to respond.
“So the others bolted and left me there on the ground with Brandi. I have no idea where the strength came from. I was close to passing out. But I could see her eyes—psychopath eyes—and knew she was really going to do it. Survival instinct kicked in. I grabbed for her and attacked like I was possessed. I fought her, got hold of the bottle, and gashed her face, went for her neck. Someone heard the screams and found us before I could do worse. I would’ve killed her. I wanted to.”
Gibson pressed his face to her hair.
“The way people found us, it made it look like we’d gotten into a mutual fight. I got hauled into the police station—clothes shredded and my body covered in Brandi’s and my blood, in fucking shock. I had a juvenile record, so they treated me like I was the criminal until one of the other girls came forward and admitted what had happened.”
“Christ . . .”
“I couldn’t even talk to them. I couldn’t speak. In the end, I had two cracked ribs and a body of bruises. Not too bad, considering. But I was left with that fear of how much worse it’d almost gotten, how close I’d come to being mutilated or raped or killed, how there really was no one in the world to protect me. That stayed with me for a long damn time. Gave me panic attacks, nightmares. Sometimes it’s still with me, I guess.”
“Baby,” Gibson said, the word barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, that there was no one on your side.”
She burrowed into his hold, trying to take some of his warmth after the bone-deep chill the memories had caused. “After that, I got placed again. A good family. I had two decent years with them before I managed to fuck that one up by getting involved with their son.”
“The guy who kept you a secret?”
“Yeah. Jesse. I was so damn desperate for someone to love me at that point, to look out for me. I thought he was it, but he just wanted a convenient girl to fuck, one he didn’t have to go through the trouble of dating. It was a dumb mistake. I could’ve maybe had a real place with that family. But even so, his parents and a lot of therapy kept me from completely falling apart those years following.”
Gibson kissed her head. “God, Sam. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
She sighed, feeling stripped down and flayed open in the dark, too tired to pretend. “That’s the thing. I’m not. I still talk a good game, and I thought I knew how to protect myself now. But getting jumped outside the bar, it was like I was that kid all over again. I couldn’t do anything.”
