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Which is why we hightailed it to my room, packed my bags, and got out of there, ignoring their pleas to explain.
There wasn’t any explaining needed. It was obvious what they were doing.
Now we’re back home, where we can take the time to forget the whole day.
I shiver, running my eyes over our brightly lit kitchen. It’s late, and I didn’t think Rosie and Becca would be up, but the lights in the front room are on too.
We walk in, finding them both on the sofa, Becca with her arm around a crying Rosie. We met Rosie and Becca when we were finding proof of what Logan was doing. At the time, we thought it was just him, but that day, we found Rosie badly beaten and scared after having spent the weekend in Jamie’s room being abused.
I drop my bag, rushing over to the two girls who have become best friends to me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Willow sits on the opposite side of Becca, leaning around her so she can see Rosie’s tear-streaked face.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asks softly.
Becca gives us a small smile, but I can see the anger brewing behind her chocolate-brown eyes. “Rosie called her parents tonight.” Her eyes drift back to her friend, pity filling them.
Before we left, both girls still hadn’t told their parents about what had happened to them. We’ve managed to get both into a group counselling session—our friend Jordan, who runs a blog, organised it all, and even some one-on-one sessions for Rosie, who went through the most. Neither wanted their families to find out, and they never told us why.
Rosie’s found the sessions hard and can only go if Becca is with her.
“What happened?” I ask, taking her cold, slim hand in mine. Rosie’s lost weight since her attack, a lot of it. The photos they shared with me and Willow, showed the girl to be healthy and happy. The girl in front of me is broken and a mess. And rightly so.
Rosie lifts her head, wiping her cheeks. “We thought it was time to tell them what happened.”
“Bringing up those memories must have been hard for you,” I comment.
She shakes her head, her eyes brimming with more tears as she lets loose a forlorn laugh. “It was, but that’s not why I’m upset. Our parents—myparents are…”
“What she’s trying to tell you is that our parents are religious. Rosie’s are catholic and have strong beliefs when it comes to what they think is right or wrong. My parent’s only attend church every Sunday, but Rosie’s… they preach it. They think what happened to her is God’s will and He’s punishing her for her sins.” Becca’s last words come out with a bite, her face stormy and red with anger. I don’t blame her, my own anger is rising and I don’t get mad, like, ever.
How could her parents believe that? You only have to look at Rosie to know she’s everything that is good in the world. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Why on earth would they say such a thing?” Willow grits her teeth, glancing away so she doesn’t show her anger.
“You know what they are saying isn’t true, don’t you?” I ask Rosie, squeezing her hand.
Rosie nods. “I do, but hearing it still hurts. It’s why we decided to move so far away to attend university. Becca’s parents aren’t like mine; they’re kind and understanding. They know I’m gay and don’t see me any differently. They didn’t try to make me change or lock me in a basement until God himself saw me cleansed.”
“Your parents are arseholes,” Willow tells her, not ashamed to call them out. It’s why I love her so much. She’s always had my back. Seeing the fight in her eyes reminds me of the old Willow, before she was attacked, and it brings tears to my eyes. She was always feisty and carefree. She said what she thought and didn’t care who heard. Now, she’s wary of who she speaks to and is constantly glancing over her shoulder, even if she doesn’t realise she’s doing it.
Rosie lets out a watery laugh. “They are. They blamed what happened to me on me being gay. I don’t know why I thought telling them would make them feel any different towards me. I guess I was hoping they’d hear how badly I was hurt and would come running.”
Understanding dawns on me. “You thought they would break their beliefs after knowing you were hurt and become the loving parents you wished them to be?”
She eyes me gratefully. “You understand?”
I nod solemnly. “I do. My mother isn’t a nice person. When I was younger, I would do everything I could to gain her love and respect. But it never happened. When… well, you know who, tried to do what he did, she didn’t even care. She just saw a payday. I wanted to get back at her for putting me in the position she did, and told her I was going to tell Low,” I whisper, remembering her fingers digging into my bicep. They bruised my skin, marking me for weeks. “She manipulated me. She told me Dad would hate me if he lost all his money and his job. She said we’d lose our house and everything.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Willow whispers.
I glance at her, shrugging. “It doesn’t excuse lying to you. I knew it was wrong.”
She leans over, giving me a one-armed hug.
“We have screwed-up parents,” Rosie comments, making me laugh.
“We do.”
