Heather

Holy shit.

My reflection frightens me.

Immediately, the red hand mark on my cheek grabs my attention. After the initial shock of the sight subsides, my eyes trail down to take note of the rest of the damage.

There are five fingertip bruises on my throat, giving off an ominous red shade. When I attempt to swallow, it feels like a fire raging down my throat from where it was crushed.

The "love bites" left on my breasts, neck, and stomach seep a bit of blood. My shoulders ache from being pushed down on the bed—my muscles reminding me of my attempt to struggle free though I was restrained. I turn to see deep bruises appearing on my upper back right between my shoulder blades.

Between my legs, I feel tender contusions on my inner thigh where he forced himself through my defenses and shoved himself into me.

I feel completely violated and I worry that I will never be rid of this feeling. At the tip of my vulnerability, there is a wave of white-hot anger that overwhelms me and makes me want to kill that man.

This is not your fault, I say to myself, over and over again in my mind. At the same time, my brain is running through different scenarios or actions that I could have done to prevent this.

The worst part is that Ryder and I have a sexual past that felt trusting and loving. Now those memories are gone. Burned away and replaced by the disgusting reality of his actions tonight.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror until I can't stomach it anymore. Then I turn away and head to my room to retrieve my phone. I perch on the edge of my bed, searching Google for any articles to tell me how to make bruises fade quickly. I take notes as I gather information and then get to work.

I fetch a cold spoon from the kitchen—I always keep at least one in the freezer in case I wake up with bags under my eyes. I return to the bathroom mirror and position the spoon over the finger bruises on my neck, hissing with the abrupt cold sensation. After about two minutes, I remove the spoon, but there is no visible difference. I throw the spoon into the sink in frustration.

I turn around to walk out and catch sight of the bruises on my back. I pull at my skin trying to get a better angle to look at it. The bruises are huge and are quickly becoming a deeper shade. It's too big of a surface area for a spoon even if that trick had worked.

I'm so focused on my image that I'm startled when I hear the back door open. I didn't even hear a car pull up.

"Heather? Are you here? What's going on?" I hear Kayne's voice in alarm call out as he enters the house. I'm unable to say anything, still held captive by my image in the mirror.

"Oh my God," Kayne says breathily in the doorway.

I look up at him, knowing he's clearly able to see the evidence of fingers wrapped around my neck. He lifts a hand up to my neck to examine the bruises. "Who did this to you?" He asks softly.

"Ryder," I mumble.

A flash of anger lights up Kayne's eyes. If I was Ryder, I would be very afraid right now. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I open my mouth to tell him but promptly close it. Instead, nothing comes out. I feel the dam break again and I lean forward into his chest and fall into a fit of sobs. In between my gasps, I'm able to utter out, "H-he raped me." Kayne's embrace tightens around me when he hears the truth escape. I can feel his fingers shift into fists and he exhales sharply.

"This is not your fault," Kayne says to me. I can feel his face contorting in anger as it's pressed against the top of my head. "I wish I had picked you up to go somewhere today. Or taken you anywhere that he wouldn't have found you."

I crumple into his arms, and he wraps them around me immediately, holding me tight to him. His hug is the perfect amount of pressure that I need. A perfect balance so that I don't feel crushed again, but I'm comforted in his arms.

Comforted enough to let all the tears go, I cry in the ugliest way possible, with sobs that rock my body. I hear myself wailing as I replay the events in my mind. Then, my tears quiet down until reality sinks in and I wail again, the cycle starting all over.

Kayne grabs my robe from the hook on the back of the door and places it around my shoulders. His arms return to holding me and he rubs soft circles into my back, careful to avoid the spot where Ryder's hand connected with my back.

A while later after I've stopped crying, Kayne breaks the silence. "Did he use a condom?"

"No. I mean I don't remember. I don't think he did." I feel panicked as my brain wraps around the concept.

"Where did he finish?" Kayne asks.

My eyes go wide and I burst into tears again. "In-inside me," I choke out, a new river of tears streaming down my face.

"Are you on birth control?" He asks.

He's asking way too many questions. I'm freaking out thinking about it. "I am, but what if it doesn't work this one time? What if I get pregnant? I've heard about that happening." My breathing is becoming shallow.

Kayne notices the sign of my panic attacks and grabs my face, directing my eyes to look into his. "Look, Heather, breathe with me. Focus on your breathing and match it with mine." Kayne takes long inhales and exhales to encourage me to do the same. Five minutes into the breathing exercise, the labored breathing is completely gone.

In a practical tone, Kayne says, "we're not going to be able to undo what he did to you. But we can move forward, together. There are a couple of things you have to do now." Kayne's voice has transitioned from a tender boyfriend to his professional capacity. I know I'm talking to Officer Kennedy now.

"What's that?" I look into his eyes for guidance, letting his strong presence comfort me.

"You need to go to the hospital to get a rape kit and then you need to report this to the police."

"I don't know about that," I say, but Kayne is in full cop mode, so he doesn't register what I say.

"You need to tell your father that this happened. Your father was expecting Ryder." Kayne practically spits out Ryder's name.

"No," I reply immediately.

"Do not protect this person, Heather," Kayne says, his voice firm. "You don't owe him anything."

"My father will actually kill him," I say softly.

"Your father can help you send him to jail, though."

"No."

Kayne lifts my face to make eye contact as he asks, "Why not? Don't you want him to pay for what he's done?"

"I've seen what happens to the girls who stand up for this. What evidence do I truly have to send him to trial?" I ask all hope gone from my body.

"The bruises all over your body, for one. I can take you to get a rape kit done as well. I'll get the best officer on your case at the precinct. I would never let the officers take advantage of you or make you feel like this is your fault."

I'm comforted by his words, but I don't feel like going through the emotional strain that a rape trial would force upon me. I explain, "He'll retaliate. He's already done this once, yet spared my life. He won't spare it again." I reply, simply. I can't believe at the age of 18 that I've been in a situation that made me utter those words.

Kayne's eyes plead with me. "Look, please consider it," he says.

I nod, truly feeling like I won't spare another moment thinking about it.

Kayne can see right through me. He looks disappointed in me that I won't take this to the police. He begs, "At least let me take you to the hospital to get a rape kit done. They need to check to see if you're okay in case there's any tearing or bleeding." I gulp at the thought. Now I feel like I need to take a shower all over again thinking about it.

"It's no use. I've already taken a shower and gotten the majority of evidence off me."

"They check for vaginal tears and swab the areas where penetration occurred," He pauses before adding, "Besides, you can't scrub off those bruises." My heart drops at the ugly truth. He's right. But that gives me an idea. I sit down at my desk and pull out my makeup bag.

"Okay. I'll go with you." I say, pulling out my concealer and brush. "Just let me put my makeup on first. I need to fix myself before I go."

"Heather, you shouldn't cover up the evidence of the bruises," Kayne advises.

I roll my eyes and ignore him, feeling that what I want right now is more important than what I should do. "I'll just take a makeup wipe and get it off when we get there and the nurse sees me," I pause, then say, "I can't look at this any longer."

"It's a waste of time to put it on just to take it off again. You need to go to the hospital and get help now." Kayne's authoritative tone strikes a nerve.

"Kayne, stop!" I snap, spinning around to look at him. "Just let me put my makeup on in peace. I need this right now."

Kayne's eyes widen. He realizes that he's screwed up now by pushing me too hard. He tries to reach out to touch my shoulder in comfort, but my body flinches at his touch.

I realize what has happened as soon as my body jumps away from his touch. I look up at him and see the pain in his eyes. Not pain of rejection, but pain of not being able to help me. He can't even touch me to comfort me.

In response, a few tears slip out of my eyes. I feel so guilty that I involved Kayne in this. It feels like I cheated on him. He's got to be hurt that I've had sex with someone else while dating him, even if it was rape. I knew better than to let Ryder into the house and provoke him. I might as well have opened the door naked and invited him to come in and do what he wanted with me.

As I try to fix the mascara on my eyes while tears still run down my cheek, I see Kayne in my peripherals. The expression on his face is so conflicted. I wonder if he's debating whether to run now. My body won't let him touch me. I bet he thinks we'll never be able to touch again.

Kayne stays outside my bedroom as I slip into fresh clothing. I've selected my most comfortable white sweater and a pair of grey sweatpants. Who am I trying to impress anyway?

When I emerge from the room, Kayne asks, "You ready?"

I look back into my room. The thought of sleeping in there tonight gives me the creeps.

"Can I stay at your place tonight?" I ask, looking straight into Kayne's eyes and letting him see the fear that lies within me.

"Of course," Kayne replies and kisses the top of my head.

He might come back tonight and try to see my dad or to try to talk to me. And I just can't sleep in that bed tonight, I think to myself.

I go to my closet to pack an overnight bag. Kayne takes the bag when I'm finished stuffing it with clothes and my makeup to recover the bruises tomorrow. I grab my purse and my keys and then Kayne escorts me out to his car to drive me to the hospital.