by JB Salsbury
A twisted body, naked from the waist down.
Towering shadow of giant man cast over her.
The sound like a dying animal bubbles up from my chest and I whirl around, searching for Sadie. Needing answers. But deep down, I know all the answers I need are plastered on the walls. My eyes burn and fury rages through my veins.
The click of a spotlight calls the room’s attention to the far wall. What was once cast in darkness is now a stark contrast in white—with three final paintings.
Those same pink toenails hanging off an exam table, knees covered in a hospital gown.
My skin goes from hot to deathly cold, and my throat swells and fills with bile.
The next picture…
The bold word VERDICT slams against a bleeding heart, causing fissures to splinter through it. What looks to be a million different names in different sizes and angles litter the space around the heart. So many it’s hard to make out any of them.
And the final painting is a jumble of messed up letters, utter confusion, except for those in red. I squint and push through the crowd of people to get close and read the red letters.
No Arrest: Insufficient Trauma
5 out of 1,000 Rapes Committed
Ends in Felony Conviction
“Insufficient trauma…” I spin around—or does the room spin around me? I’m not sure. I’m dizzy and sick and the Blow Pops slip from my hands. “Sadie. She was…” I can’t say the word. But I should be able to, shouldn’t I? If she suffered through it, I should be able to say it. “Raped.”
Sadie
“We’re getting close.” Ricky calmly pulls my fingers away from my mouth. “Stop chewing your nails. It’s gross.”
I try to smile, which is hard to do, considering what must be happening on the other side of the wall. My throat swells when I consider what everyone out there must be thinking. Hopefully everyone who isn’t involved will see the exhibition as artistic expression, but deep down, I know they’re much smarter than that.
Ricky looks through the monitor then turns toward me, his expression pained and worried. “Are you ready?” When I don’t move, he holds a hand out to me. “I won’t leave your side.”
I let Ricky help me to my feet. “I need you to…” I take a deep, shaky breath. “Promise you’ll keep him away from me.”
“Jesus…” He grips my hand. “You’re fucking shaking.” His light eyes sear into my soul when he promises, “There’s no way I’ll let him near you. I swear it.”
I smile, he takes my hand, and we move to the door. My feet freeze.
Ricky looks at me. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
My eyes fill with tears and I aim a shaky smile at him. “Yes, it is.”
He unlocks the door, swings it open, and we emerge into the art studio on the opposite side of where my paintings are displayed. The room is a jumble of murmurs as those in attendance bounce from painting to painting. My heart hammers and fear floods my system.
Ricky’s powerful arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me to his side, steadying me on my feet.
“Sadie?”
I jump at the sound of my name even though it’s softly spoken, and I exhale when I see my professor approach with tears in his eyes.
“Professor Tull,” I say, and I force my spine straight.
Ricky releases me but stays close enough that our arms touch.
“Powerful exhibition. You were so vague about the content in our meetings, I had no idea. Honestly, I’m…” He clears the emotion from his throat, his lower lip quivering. “Speechless.” He meets my eyes. “You’re very brave.”
Brave.
And yet I feel as brittle as a dead leaf.
Angela, a girl from my class, approaches with wide eyes and hugs me. “I didn’t know.”
I hug her back even though we aren’t close. Females understand these things better than anyone else can, and that somehow bonds us. People continue to approach, and soon I’m surrounded by people congratulating me on my strength and talent, giving me hugs of encouragement and praise. True to his word, Ricky stays close, his gaze constantly scanning the room.
“When?”
I turn toward the booming voice over my left shoulder, and shock drops my jaw seconds before I find my voice. “Jack?” Oh no, oh no, oh no. I swallow back the thick emotion that swells in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and a bundle of Blow Pops hangs loosely from his hand. Blow Pops, not flowers. I’d smile if I weren’t mortified for what he’d just seen. He’s dressed in a blue suit, and guilt weighs against my shoulders from the thought that he dressed up for something so ugly.
“Want me to get rid of him?” Ricky whispers.
The pain in Jack’s eyes has me choking, my eyes tearing up. “No.”
Jack steps closer, his gaze fixed on mine. “When?”
I hate that my story is hurting him. He was never supposed to find out. I swallow back a surge of nerves. “Ten months. Nineteen days. Twenty-three hours.”
Jack’s frown morphs into something deadly, a potent mix that crackles in the air—fury and devastation.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wavering.
Jack steps closer, his gaze moving over my face as if searching for injury. “I never should’ve left you alone.” His voice cracks, and despite the angry slash of his brows and the flex of his jaw, a single tear falls from his eye. “If I would’ve stayed, you’d never have moved here and—”
“Don’t.” I grab his free hand and squeeze, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. “I’ve been down this road. There is one person responsible, but he is not you or me.”
His jaw hardens, and he grits through clenched teeth, “Who?”
“You weren’t supposed to see any of this.” For this very reason, I protected him and my family from this dark and disgusting part of my life. Because I knew they would want revenge. I knew they’d stop at nothing until the man who’d hurt me paid in blood and pain. And I knew they’d drag me back into that cage that I’d finally gotten free of.
Whatever Jack sees in my eyes softens his expression and his Adam’s apple bobs before he asks, “Can I hug you?” He looks from my face to my feet and back up again.
I nod, and he rushes into me as if he was pushing at an invisible wall I’d dropped without notice. His powerful arms envelop me, and I rest my cheek on his chest, feeling the urgent flutter of his heart. He’s upset. As he should be. My goal with the exhibition was to raise awareness to an upsetting epidemic. To shake up the public’s blind trust in our judicial system.
In fairness, I had two goals.
And when Ricky mumbles my name and jerks his chin across the room, I know I’ve accomplished both.
Fabian struts toward me with his two lackeys in tow. A ripple of satisfaction slides through me. I pull out of Jack’s arms, and he gives Ricky a strange look when Ricky settles up close behind me. Jack, of course, has no idea who Fabian is.
Ricky knows exactly who he is and why he’s here.
Fabian pushes his long hair off his face—hair I used to think was Southern California surfer boy cool. I can still feel it, sweaty and sandy and rubbing against my skin, and my stomach turns.
“Nice art, Sadie,” he says as he steps up to me. He expects me to be afraid. Intimidated by his six-foot frame and unforgiving stare.
He’s right. I am a little afraid. The memory of him holding me down while he groped and probed my body comes back. But overriding my fear is my overwhelming vindication.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jack barks.
Fabian ignores him and his buddies flank his sides, probably noticing that if push came to shove, they outnumber Jack and Ricky. “Bit of an exaggerated telling of our date, don’t you think?”
Jack shoves Fabian back. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Whoa, easy there.” Fabian chuckles. He holds up both arms and his cold, dark eyes glitter with excitement as he
inspects me. “Sadie here might remember things a little differently, but everything that happened that night she wanted—”
Jack seizes Fabian’s arm and twists it to get a closer look at his dumb tattoo. When he looks up, he doesn’t release Fabian’s arm, and like a noxious gas, the room slowly fills with Jack’s unbridled fury. Fabian winces and tries to pull his hand away, but Jack yanks him forward, bringing them nose to nose. “You.”
One of Fabian’s friends grabs at Jack only to get shoved to the floor by Ricky.
Jack wrenches Fabian’s arm, earning a squeal of pain from Fabian. “You’re a fucking dead man.” The air is stifling and crackles with violence.
“She wanted it!” Fabian tries to pull from Jack’s grip only to cry out in agony after Jack twists him to the floor.
Ricky rears back and kicks Fabian in the ribs.
“No! Wait!” I scurry to the huddle and push between them. “Let him go.”
Jack’s bloodshot eyes come to mine, confusion on his face. “I can’t do that.”
“We’re gonna fuck you up,” Ricky says, and he kicks Fabian again. “And you?” He points at Fabian’s friends, who have sunk back into the crowd. “If you’re still here when we’re done with him, you’re next.”
Jack grabs Fabian by his hair and attempts to yank him to his feet.
“Stop!”
Jack’s head whips around, his jaw pulsing with rage. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t.” I get closer and place my palm on his chest. “I’m asking you to let him go.”
“How can you ask me to let him go?” Jack says. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”
“What do you think all this was for?” I say.
Jack shakes his head. “You think a little humiliation is going to keep this dickbag from doing the same thing to someone else?”
“I don’t know. But please, for me, let him go.”
He grips Fabian’s hair tighter and Fabian curses and swings at Jack, but Jack hardly registers the hit.
“The only thing that could make what he did to me worse is having the people I love get arrested because of him.” I note Jack’s lungs pumping and muscles quaking. “Please.”
His eyes search mine, and finally he lifts Fabian to his feet—only to shove him barreling into the crowd and onto his ass. Fabian hops to his feet, yelling a string of profanities as he scrambles toward the door. One of the people in attendance sticks her foot out and trips him just shy of the exit, and he falls forward so hard, his chin smacks the concrete. The group chuckles as he storms out, noticeably without his friends. They must’ve scurried out before him.
I take a deep, fulfilling breath.
I did it.
I came here to say what I needed to say, to expose the truth, and to expose disgusting Fabian to a room full of people he’ll probably never see again.
I wish I could say I had no regrets, but looking at the heartbreak in Jack’s face, I wonder if my attempt to expose the kind of man Fabian is, the kind of injustice that goes on our country every single day, was worth it.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack
I’m fucking sick.
My head pounds, my body feels feverish, and my stomach threatens to unload what little I’ve managed to eat.
Sadie was sexually assaulted.
I had that fucker in my grip.
I let him go.
I fucking let him go!
“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” Sadie says, calling me from my thoughts.
With that, she heads back through the single door at the rear of the studio and I follow her. I don’t need to look to know Ricky is following us.
Once we get to the dressing room, she crashes into a chair and blows out a long breath, a tiny grin on her lips. “I’m so glad that’s over.”
“How can you smile at a time like this?”
“You mean, how is it possible to be excited about life and excited about my accomplishments and my future after I’ve been assaulted?”
I cringe, hearing the word from her lips. That anyone would hurt someone as kind, sweet, and beautiful as Sadie… well, there’s a special place in hell for that motherfucker. If it weren’t for the pleading in Sadie’s eyes, I would’ve sent him there ten minutes ago.
“This, my exhibition, is my closure. I needed them to see what he did.”
“He needs to pay.” My deep grumble surprises even me. That slimy cockbag needs to pay, and I want in line for the delivery of justice for Sadie.
“You have to let it go.”
“I don’t have to do shit. And you need to go home, back to Las Vegas where you’ll be safe and—”
She sits up and glares at me. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you or my family here! I knew you guys would try to take over my life again!”
“By trying to keep you safe?”
“You have to let me handle things my way. You can’t go around beating up everyone who hurts me.”
“The fuck I can’t,” I say.
Her eyes come to mine, and there’s an apology in her gaze. Maybe even a little guilt. “Jack…”
There’s a knock on the door and it cracks open. Ricky and I stand in front of Sadie protectively when a woman peers in through the open door. “Excuse me, Ms. Slade?”
We nod, and the door opens wide.
A distinguished older lady in a pantsuit holds out her hand to Sadie. “I’m Suzanne Rothschild, curator for the Aldridge & Shultz Art Gallery in Los Angeles.”
Sadie stands, clutching her chest with one hand and shaking with the other.
“I love what you’ve done here tonight. I’d like to talk to you about bringing your exhibition to LA.”
Sadie’s face pales. Instinct takes over and I find myself next to her, my arm around her lower back, making sure she stays on her feet. “That would be… amazing. Wow, thank you.”
The anger and frustration drains from my system as I watch with pride while Sadie speaks with the curator, eloquently describing how the pain and injustice of her abuse fed her artistic drive. “What happened that night robbed me of my power. I felt vulnerable, like I’d lost control of my own life. Telling my story in this way seemed to be the only thing I could do to regain control. I took my power back.”
Sadie doesn’t need me to swoop in and save her. If I did, I’d be taking away her power, babying her. Fuck. Every man in her life, from her dad to her brother, myself included, we’ve been doing that to her for her entire life.
As Sadie goes on like a seasoned pro, discussing anti-mimesis and how it’s important that art imitate life, I whisper to Ricky, “You knew about this?”
He answers with a cold stare that tells me everything I need to know.
“Why didn’t you fuck him up?” I growl.
He glares at me as though he might throw a punch. “Because if I got arrested, she’d be alone. I promised her I’d never leave her alone.”
I open my mouth to say something, but slam it shut when I realize he was there for her the best way he could be. The way she needed him to be. He didn’t run off half-cocked and full of rage. He listened to what she needed and held back his instincts in order to be what she needed most.
His gaze settles on her as she talks animatedly, as if she hadn’t been traumatized and destroyed. “She hasn’t touched the sand since. Not that I blame her.”
“How’d she meet him?” We continue our conversation but keep our eyes on Sadie.
“After you two broke up, she tried to move on. This fucking prick Fabian used to surf at our favorite surf spot. They met, he was relentless, she really wanted to move on, and…” He clears his throat.
I fill in the blanks. I was so caught up in the rat race I left her alone and completely unprepared for assholes like Fabian. I always treated Sadie with kid gloves because it’s what she deserved. She had to assume that fucking cunt would treat her the same.
Sadie’s right. The only person to blame is that scumbag who hurt her, yet I can’t he
lp but blame myself.
Sadie
I walk Mrs. Rothschild out to a cab and say goodbye shortly before ten o’clock at night. We’d hit it off and chatted about art, completely losing track of time.
When her cab’s taillights disappear around the corner, I turn around to find Jack patiently waiting. My heart sputters and coughs before picking up a hurried pace. I can’t believe he flew all the way here for my exhibition. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looks every bit the high-powered New York ad exec, and my mouth gets dry as I take him in. His open coat, slim hips, hands tucked into his pockets as he leans casually against the brick wall of the art studio. He looks like something out of a men’s fashion magazine.
When I approach, he pushes off from the wall, and I say, “You didn’t have to stick around.”
He shrugs his wide shoulders and tilts his head. No smile, only thoughtful compassion in his eyes. “I wanted to.”
“Ricky can take me home.”
“I gave Ricky the night off.” He licks his lips. Not in an overly sexy way. Still, it draws my attention to his mouth.
“You, uh…” I blink to break my focus on his lips. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I already told you.” He takes a couple steps closer but leaves a comfortable distance between us. “I wanted to. There are some things I need to say, and I didn’t think we needed Ricky in on the conversation.” His eyebrows pinch together and an urgency flashes in his eyes. “Unless you don’t feel safe with me.” He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Fuck… I didn’t consider you might—”
“It’s fine. As long as you’re sure you feel safe being alone with me.” Whoa, am I flirting?
“I like being alone with you.” He tries to hide his smile and stutters a little.
He’s always the picture of togetherness, and I forgot how easy it was to throw him off balance when I wanted to. Nice to see some things haven’t changed. “I always feel safe with you, Jack.”
He blows out a relieved breath. “Phew. Okay. Are you hungry? Want to grab a drink—shit, I forgot, you don’t drink. I could use a drink.” He laughs uncomfortably.