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“I was prepared to kill him with my bare hands right there.”
She looks at the newspaper. “You showed remarkable restraint, then.”
“I should get a medal.”
She gives me a somber smile. “You have quite a few already, Drew. Do you need more?”
I can’t really react to that. So I don’t.
She breaks the silence.
“You punched him.”
“Yes.”
“Wanted to hurt him.”
“Yes.”
“For revenge.”
“Yes.”
“Who were you avenging?”
“What?” My brow tightens.
“You or Lindsay?”
The feeling that the room is growing extends, the walls stretching like taffy, the floor dropping into a pit, the space dark and blindingly white at the same time.
I know what she’s really asking.
“Both of us.”
“The unfairness of the sexual assault would make any person experience a triggering episode, Drew, upon seeing their attacker.”
My lips are numb.
“But the level of sexual assault that you experienced four years ago from those three men, combined with your combat experiences, make your encounter with Blaine all the more traumatic.”
She said it.
It’s out there.
I haven’t told anyone other than Salma. Emergency room doctors, my parents, my sister, and probably some NSA officers know what those bastards did to me that night.
And that’s it.
Salma blinks rapidly. It’s a sign she’s trying to approach me carefully. Finally, she asks, “Lindsay still doesn’t know the full truth from four years ago?”
“No.”
I can say that loud and clear.
Because the word is screaming like a bass drum in my head. No. No. No. No. No.
NO.
