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I thought we tore down our walls to be together. If he’s still hiding behind his, I can’t be with him. I want Connor, not the ruthless blackmail king.
Maybe it’s time his whole damn castle burned down.
As soon as the thought hits me, I push it aside. That’s not us. My emotions are wreaking havoc on my mental state. These aren’t rational thoughts. If there’s one thing I’ve learned with Connor, we both need clear heads.
He cups my face with one hand and I push out of his grasp. He forces out an aggrava
ted sound. “It was—I’m trying to protect you!”
“I didn’t ask you to!” My yell echoes in the pool house.
I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s impossible. The evidence he’s forcing me to face is slicing me apart at the seams. My mind races in different directions, a base instinct seeking some way to control this so it stops hurting so much, to hide and go back to ten minutes ago before there was a possibility I could be a victim. That’s not me. I don’t want it to be.
Tears of overwhelm prick my eyes, turning my voice watery. “I’ve forgiven you for a lot, but I can’t look past you invading my privacy and lying about it. I don’t believe you. You’re just playing god because you’re obsessed with everyone’s business, just like my mom and yours. You’re too afraid to make your own life better, so you just ruin everyone else’s!”
Connor jerks his head back as if I slapped him. “Why are you so focused on the hacking? So you kept a blog for your pictures—so what? Doesn’t every girl do that these days?”
When he says it like that, it makes the insecurities I’ve struggled with about my body and feeling invisible seem so small and insignificant. Posting to the blog and finding Henry are the only things that helped me through that time in my life. How can he say it was fine to have my blog but tell me I was groomed by an online predator because of it?
And my abuser is Mr. Coleman? Rejection surges in my head. Maybe what I had with Henry wasn’t normal and made me feel weird, but Henry isn’t Mr. Coleman. He can’t be. That would mean—
Before I can face the thought of sitting in class with Henry as the teacher instead of Mr. Coleman, I shut down, going completely numb. I wring my hands, taking unsteady breaths in through my nose to calm myself, like Maisy instructs me when I feel like I’ll fly out of my skin.
“Are you okay?” Connor asks, backing off when he sees the state I’m in.
I shake my head, unable to formulate a verbal response.
“Here.” Jaw tense, Connor pulls out a photo of a teenage girl that’s so similar to the kind of photos Henry would ask for. “He has these on his computer—it’s a big set up like mine, dual monitors. I have an encrypted copy of his hard drive, where I found this. I don’t know whether he keeps them to himself or sells them or what, but he has more than one. We have to stop him.”
Looking at it causes a riot in my body. I shy away.
Every photo I’ve ever sent Henry flashes in my head, along with the discomfort and uncertainty I felt every time I pushed back, only to be convinced to do what he asked. My stomach hurts. I block every thought about Henry from my mind, too vulnerable to think of those memories.
“Please,” I whisper, throat burning. “I don’t want to, Connor. I just want it to stop. It’s too much.”
A rough sound escapes him as he gathers me in his arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want to hurt you with this. Just—fuck, okay, I know I messed up, but I’m trying to fix it. I don’t want him touching you.” Leaning back, he tries to hand me the evidence again. “Just look at the pictures in the file. He’s got these creepy as shit trophies and necklaces with names. Your name!”
Another memory floats to the surface, murky and heart-stopping. There was a gift Henry said he had for me. Something special to show he cared. My stomach plummets.
“I have to go. I-I can’t be here right now.”
Connor growls, fisting his hands in his hair. “Thea!”
Pushing him back, I spring up from the bed. He stands from his kneel, following me as I pace across the room, whirling back, only to spin away again as thoughts run through my head.
“You asked me to tell you,” he says. “I swore I would, and now you don’t want to hear it.”
“This isn’t what I thought you’d say! How did you expect me to react to all this? I’m not—I’m not a—”
I can’t force the word out. It sits on the tip of my tongue, driving daggers into me.
“Jesus,” Connor snaps, throwing his fist into the wall when he can’t control his temper.
I jump at the force of it, heart in my throat. I can’t stand by and watch him injure himself with self-destructive behavior. It breaks me out of my spiral.
“What are you doing?” I rush to his side, taking his wrist to examine his red knuckles and the damage left behind in the wall. “Why?”
Connor clenches his jaw and a muscle twitches. “Seemed like a good idea.”
