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“Patrick Oswald.” Dennis says. “He’s in…”
“Midnight Star.” I say softly.
“Yes.” Aaron agrees. “Patrick and Wes went way back. Like childhood friends back. Granted, they aren’t really close anymore.” He shrugs. “Somethings you can’t come back from.”
I knew Patrick. He raped me in a bathroom stall once. I feel sick to my stomach. Patrick and Wes knew each other. Did he know what Patrick did to me? Did Patrick tell him? I mean, surely he wouldn’t have said the word rape, but did he tell him we had sex? Is Wes only interested in me as revenge? How do I tell Wes his supposed ex-best friend raped me?
“All right.” Wes says, coming back onto the bus with a guitar case over his shoulder. “I’ll call a car, and we can go back to the hotel.” He pulls out his phone.
I nod and walk to the bus door. I need air. I need space. My heart is racing. My stomach is twisting and turning.
“I’m going to wait outside.” I mumble and exit the bus.
I hunch over the minute I’m off the bus, hugging my stomach. I wish I hadn’t eaten anything because I’m sure I’mgoing to vomit it all up. My breath gets caught in my throat as I replay the memory of Patrick forcing himself on me in that bathroom stall.
The way he turned my body around and pushed my panties to the side under my skirt. All the horrible things he said to me during. The way it burned as he entered me. The way he smiled at me when he was finished.
I’m typically good at not thinking about these things. I push them from my mind. It wasn’t like it was the first time I was raped. It wasn’t even the last. But right now, it’s the only thing I can think about.
And Wes. How could Wes be friends with someone like that? Did he know? Did he know how terrible his friend is? No. Surely, he couldn’t. Surely, the man who cared about me so much wouldn’t be willing to be friends with someone like that.
“Abbey?” Wes questions, touching my arm. I pull away from his touch. I feel tears sting my eyes, threatening to spill out. “Hey. Abbey. What’s wrong?” He reaches out, trying to touch me again, but I jerk away.
“Pa…” I can’t even form the word. My breathing is coming out jagged and short. I’m shaking.
“Hey. Just breathe. Focus on my voice. In.” He pauses. “Out.” He pauses again. “In. Out.” He repeats slowly, and I try to follow along to his words. Breathing in when he says in and out when he says out. I finally get my breathing under control after a few minutes. “Better?” I nod, unable to speak. “What happened?”
“I…” My stomach is doing flips. “I’m going to be sick.” I feel the stomach acid creeping up my throat. I cover my mouth.
“Abbey.”
I see a giant rubber trashcan and walk to it. “Oh god.” A few tears drop from my eyes.
“What’s going on?” Wes says, touching my back. “Abbey, you are okay? Look at me.”
I turn and look at him, urging my stomach to stop doing flips. “You didn’t tell me.” I whisper.
“What? What didn’t I tell you?”
“Who your best friend was.”
“Who?” He makes a face. “Patrick?” I nod, still holding my stomach, fighting the urge to throw up. “You know Patrick?” I nod again, blinking out a few tears. “You fucked Patrick.” He chuckles. “Okay.” He says. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me. Was it recent?”
“I didn’t want…” I start crying harder, hyperventilating again.
“Hey. Hey.” Wes touches my arm, and I can’t even move away from his touch. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I’m not mad or anything.”
“I didn’t fuck him.” I say in between jagged breaths.
My lungs feel like they are filled with fire. I feel sweat forming on my forehead as I fight the urge to throw up.
“So, what then?”
“He…” I bend over the trash can. My stomach is doing flips at a rapid rate now. I can’t tell Wes what he did. Would he even believe me? What if he thought I was lying? “Oh god.” My stomach tightens, then the next thing I know, I’m puking into the trash can.
It’s awful. I’m used to being in control when I throw up. This is different. It burns, but I’m not enjoying it like normal. I never wanted Wes to see me throw up. I really wanted to be better for him. I was really trying to hold myself together, and in less than a day, I managed to screw it all up and throw up.
“Abbey.” He rubs my back as I spit into the trashcan after puking my guts out. I feel empty. I feel hollow, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel as good as it usually does. It feels heavy. It feels sad.
