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Or at least the ones she was hanging with now. Not that any of them attended Shelter Valley Community Church.
“I told her that if she didn’t come to me, I was going to you,” he reminded Martha. “She now knows I mean what I say.”
Martha was fairly certain she’d established the same understanding with Shelley that morning. At least she hoped so.
“She’s been smoking dope and taking ecstasy,” she related, still in the numb void she’d slid into at some point when her conversation with Shelley had become too painful to bear. “I told her that if I ever found it on her, in my home, anywhere near her, or saw her high, I was calling the cops and turning her in immediately.”
“Which means you’re going to have to do it.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Counseling might be a better first choice than giving her a police record.”
“I want my daughter safe and healthy, David,” she said. “With the belligerent state Shelley’s in, relying only on counseling is too risky. She could lie her way through sessions, take nothing from them and overdose before I catch her a second time.”
Stopping the car on a side street under a tree, Martha turned off the engine. She was starting to shake.
“And she begins counseling next Monday,” she added. She’d called and made the appointment while Shelley had been sitting right next to her. She and her daughter were fighting this together. Whether Shelley intended to participate in the battle or not.
“Remind me not to get in your way when you set out to do something.” The admiration in the pastor’s voice was almost her undoing.
“I also told her that if she sleeps with Drake again, I’m charging him with statutory rape.”
“Good for you,” David said softly. And Martha started to cry.
OUT OF BREATH FROM HER sprint across campus, Ellen was almost at her car when he caught up with her.
“Hey!” He grabbed her arm, pulled her around.
“Stop!” She screamed. And then again. “Stop! Let go of me!” She could hear the shrill sounds but she couldn’t silence them. Couldn’t see. She could only feel.
Cornered. Scared.
“Stop!”
“Ellen, it’s okay! I’m not touching you! Ellen? What’s wrong with you? Did I hurt you?” The sweet concern in Aaron’s voice slowly penetrated the fog of panic as his quiet questions just kept coming. Over and over.
She became aware of other students milling around in the parking lot that Thursday afternoon, turning away and pretending not to look, gradually leaving. She wondered if she knew any of them.
Aaron didn’t leave. Even though she wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t touching her, but she knew he was there. She could feel his presence. She’d always been able to feel it. As though he were as much a part of her as her own hands and feet.
This was the third
time he’d approached her that week. And the pressure was making her crack.
Because, since that horrible night that had changed her life forever, she’d been a crackpot.
Still, so many times since the night she was raped, she’d dreamed of Aaron’s touch. In her sleep, his gentle touch wiped away all traces of the obscene hands that had invaded her body….
“El?” He bent down to look at her lowered face. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She wanted to. So badly.
But she couldn’t. Even if she made up her mind to tell Aaron, she’d never get the words out. She’d tried. With Mom. Pastor Marks. Her counselor. Ellen opened her mouth, but nothing ever came.
The horrible thoughts and visions and feelings and memories were trapped inside her forever.
“El?” He took a step closer. “I’d like to hold your hand. Would that be okay? If I just held your hand?”
