Shame (Ruin #3)(43)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“Look.” He scrolled down. “I’m showing you this because you seem to care, but Lisa isn’t like you. She isn’t like any of us. She’s fragile. She’s been through more in her short life than I can possibly imagine, and you need to know that she isn’t the same person. She was brainwashed… the sick bastard played on her insecurity, played on her desire to get noticed.” Gabe swallowed convulsively and clicked on a video then stood back. “And this is how he thanked her for her loyalty.”

The video started. I heard a guy’s voice talking, and then I saw a girl stumble forward. I knew what was happening, what would happen. I looked away. “Shut it off.”

Gabe clicked the pause button and cursed under his breath. Wes was silent from his spot on the couch.

“Twenty-seven,” Wes finally spoke up. “We had to take down twenty-seven videos… She was in all of them, Tristan.”

“Getting freaking raped?” I shouted, knocking the chair over with my hand. “Where the hell were you, Gabe?” I lunged for him but stopped because he didn’t even lift up his hands. Instead he closed in on himself and hung his head.

“Here,” Gabe said slowly. “I was here. I had no idea it had gotten so bad. I finally got her out, helped her get into school, but by then it was already too late.”

“He did what he could.” Wes came to his defense. “The only video we can’t take down is that one. For some reason, the new owner of the site is basically unreachable. We’ve sent cease and desist letters but it’s based outside the US, so we’re powerless. The only positive is it’s the only one that still plays.”

“But it’s up,” I said quietly. “And it’s only a matter of time—”

“Nobody would recognize her… not unless someone tipped off the media.”

I looked at the frozen screen, my heart twisting in my chest. The guy next to her was Taylor. The only reason I knew? He’d left a picture in the journal. I wanted to join Lisa in the bathroom in that moment. I wanted to break down, to punch something, preferably the guy who had ruined her.

The guy who had raped her and taken joy in it.

The guy who had manipulated her and relished her pain.

But most of all? I wished he was alive so I could send him back to hell.

“The guy’s name,” I whispered, needing confirmation of my suspicions.

“Taylor Blaine.”

“No.” I wanted to avert my eyes but met Gabe’s cold stare without flinching. “That’s not his name.”

He and Wes shared a look.

“It’s Taylor Blaine Westinghouse, Jr.” My voice shook. “My half-brother.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The look of joy on his face right before he jumped made me sick. I called 911 with trembling fingers. When they arrived on the scene, I was already down at the river bank. The EMTs thought I was going into shock over the trauma, when really I felt nothing but relief. —Mel

Lisa

THE BATHROOM DOOR opened and shut. I expected Gabe to slide down on the floor with me, offer his hand, and then hold me while I cried my eyes out.

Instead, it was Tristan.

I wanted nothing more than to grab one of the towels, put it over my face, and sob. I refused to look at him; instead I looked straight ahead at the brassy gold knobs on the cabinet below the sink. I watched the knobs flicker in the crap fluorescent lights. I watched them like they were my only way to stay sane.

Tristan moved in front of me and turned on the water. His body was tight, every muscle strained. His worn jeans hugged his legs; his T-shirt did the same to his stomach. His back flexed as he shut off the water and then turned to face me.

I averted my eyes again; my own breathing was the only sound filling the room. My chest felt so heavy I thought it was going to explode.

He knelt in front of me and touched the hot cloth to my face, slowly wiping away what I’m sure what a mess of mascara and tears. His eyes revealed nothing. He continued examining my face, tilting my chin as he washed. When he was finally through, he placed the cloth on the floor.

I waited for the gauntlet to fall — for him to tell me he couldn’t see me anymore, couldn’t be associated with me, for him to say things like I was a disgusting horrible person.

Instead, he held out his hand and whispered, “Let’s go drive fast.”

Gasping, I jerked my head up so I could see the condemnation in his eyes. He was messing with me, right? But his hand was there right in front of me; all I had to do was take it. Take the hand and hope the body attached to the hand wouldn’t betray me — wouldn’t hurt me — because I was completely broken in that moment, the most vulnerable I’d ever been. And taking his hand wasn’t just a physical act, it was an emotional one. I think he knew that, because he moved it closer until finally he cupped the back of my head and used his other hand to brace my hips.

“All you have to do is say yes.”

“Yes…” My voice was hoarse from crying. “…is a very scary word.”

Tristan caressed my cheek. “But it doesn’t have to be, Lisa.”

With a deep breath, I reached for him and allowed him to help me to my feet. I started walking toward the door, but he held up his hand and shook his head. Deflated, I crossed my arms to close myself off.

“Shower.” Tristan nodded. “It will make you feel better. Take a shower, put on jeans and a sweatshirt, and in the meantime… I’ll wait.”

“Right.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “For how long?”

Tristan’s eyes never wavered from mine. “As long as you need.”

The door shut silently behind him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sob with relief or shame. Possibly both.

Slowly, I turned the tap. Water burst from the showerhead, and steam began to fill the room, choking everything in its wake, making me feel the need to disappear in its fog and never come back. I slipped out of my clothes and let them fall wherever they landed, taking care not to look at myself in the mirror. Knowing that if I did, I’d break. My nakedness reminded me of my vulnerability. I gulped for air. Humidity hit my face as I stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to cascade over me. It combined with my tears. I wasn’t sure where my crying began and where the water ended. He was right. It made me feel better, not good enough to laugh, but at least good enough to feel the need to get dressed instead of drowning myself. Ten minutes later, I wrapped a towel around my body and pulled open the bathroom door.