“How do you feel about coming to the store with me?” she asked with a smile. “It won’t be anything crazy, just need to pick up a few groceries. I thought maybe you could help me with this vegan recipe I want to try.”
Every muscle in my body tensed at the thought, and I curled in on myself against the cramp, shaking my head almost imperceptibly. “I’d really like to rest, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I know you want to rest. I just…” She swallowed, eyes softening as she reached over and smoothed her hand over my arm. I didn’t flinch away like I used to, maybe because I didn’t have the energy. “Did something happen?”
I blinked, swallowing past the knot in my throat.
When I didn’t answer, Aunt Betty squeezed my arm before pulling her hand away. “You know, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk. Just know I’m here if you need anything at all. Okay?”
I nodded. “I know. Thank you, Aunt Betty. And, I’m sorry.”
She smiled, standing with the tray in her hands. “Don’t be sorry for being sick, sweet girl.”
Aunt Betty let herself out, a quiet snick of the door closing letting me know I was alone again.
The fan whirred on, providing the white noise I needed to let my thoughts run wild. They seemed to have more energy than my body ever would again. For a moment, I debated peeling myself out of bed to go to the store with my aunt, knowing it was already Wednesday and I’d have to face the world again sometime.
But the bigger part of me just wanted to live in the solace of my bedroom a while longer.
I sighed, blindly reaching over for where my phone was buried under a pillow. I swiped to my mom’s name, putting her on speakerphone and resting my head again once it was ringing.
“Mwen chouchou, I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
I didn’t speak, but my eyes watered at the sound of her voice, my bottom lip trembling before I bit down hard to stop it.
“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
I squeezed my eyes shut at that, setting the tears I’d managed to hold back free. They tumbled down my hot cheeks, dampening the pillow. “I messed up, Manman. I messed up so badly.”
I cried harder, my mother soothing me from the other end of the phone. I imagined the comforter around me was her arms, that she was holding me and petting my hair — the hair I once had — telling me everything would be okay.
“Why don’t we start from the beginning,” she said once my sobs had quieted. “What happened?”
I sniffed, words stirring in my mind, but I couldn’t bring a single one of them to my lips. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell my mom that I was kissed by my piano teacher, that I’d wanted him to kiss me, and that I’d run away from him because the man who raped me was haunting me like a permanent ghost I’d never be free of. I didn’t know how to explain that I felt shame for something that had happened to me, for the way it had permanently scarred me, for the way I’d tarnished a moment that could have been one of the best of my life.
Ever since I could remember, I’d dreamed of being kissed like that, of having a man frame my face and look into my eyes and see me before his lips touched me. I’d read about romance, watched it on the television screen, but I’d never been sure it actually existed. I always wondered if it was only in fiction, if it only existed within the realms of our mind’s fantasies and creations.
But it was real.
The butterflies I felt around Reese, the way my heart sped up when he was near, the way I finally wanted to be touched by someone — no, not by just anyone, but by him — it was all proof that it was out there. Love. Respect. Desire.
Hope.
Reese had given me my dream kiss, a kiss I’d dreamed about, one I wasn’t sure could ever be reality.
And I’d run away from him.
All because I couldn’t shake my wolf.
Mom sighed on the other end after a moment. “Ah,” she said. “You can’t tell me, can you?”
I sniffed again, wiping at my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie. “It’s complicated.”
“Most things in life are,” she said.
She paused after that, and I wondered why I’d even called. How could I expect her to comfort me, to help me, if I couldn’t even open up to her?
“Can you tell me anything?” she asked. “Doesn’t have to be specifics. But, maybe we can just talk about how you’re feeling.”
I blew out a breath, nodding even though she couldn’t see me. I wanted to try, but I didn’t know where to start.
“I feel embarrassed,” I said first. “And ashamed. I feel… damaged. And hardened. And just… sad. So, so sad, Manman.”
“That breaks your mother’s heart,” she whispered, her voice breaking like she, too, was crying.
I squeezed my eyes closed, shaking my head against another flood of tears. I hated that I was hurting her, hurting my aunt and uncle, hurting everyone around me because I couldn’t face the thing that had hurt me.
“Can I ask you something?” Mom said after a moment. When I didn’t answer, she continued. “What you’re feeling now, the embarrassment and hurt… does it have anything to do with what happened at Bramlock?”
My throat tightened. “Yes,” I whispered.
Mom was quiet a moment, and I considered switching to video chat so I could see her, see what she was thinking through her big, soft brown eyes.
“And this thing that happened… is it what has been affecting your playing?”
My face twisted with the threat of another sob. “It’s been affecting everything.”
I bent in on myself again, curling my arms around my middle in a big hug. It was true, that what Wolfgang had done to me had seeped into every facet of my life. I even wondered if he was the reason I felt what I felt for Reese. Maybe it wasn’t him at all, maybe it was a twisted version of Stockholm syndrome, gearing me toward an older man again, toward my piano teacher. Maybe I wanted love from him because I’d had nothing but hate from Wolfgang.
But none of that felt right.
Not when I thought it, not when I poured it out on the mapping table of my brain, staring at the contents and trying to make them all fit together. I knew without question there was something more there with Reese, something past the fact that he was forbidden, that he was off limits to me as my teacher, as a man older than me.
I wanted him, and yet I’d run from him.
Nothing made sense.
“Listen to me, Sarah,” my mother said, pulling me back to her just as I’d begun to spiral again. “Some things — no matter how close we are — some things will be hard to talk to your mom about. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean anything other than there are just some things we go through as young adults that parents won’t understand.” She paused for a long moment. “I think you should call Reneé.”
“I can’t,” I squeaked.
“I know, I know you feel like you can’t. You think she’s mad at you for leaving the way you did. And maybe she is, but I can guarantee you, she misses you. She wants to hear from you. And I really think you need to hear from her, too.”