The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

“No!” I answer quickly. “I don’t want to be apart from him. I don’t want him to move. I don’t want . . . I don’t want any of this,” I say. “But I don’t have a choice. The second my article is published, and the police receive all the information I have on Beaux and Club Gent, it will be a rat’s race to see who gets to who first,” I tell her. “I couldn’t put Julian in the middle of something so dangerous that he didn’t ask for.”

“You didn’t ask for it either, Emma.”

“No,” I admit. “But . . .” I shake my head. “This is my fight, not his, not yours. After learning about Mr. Turnip, I . . . I couldn’t risk anyone else I love getting hurt.”

Kat nods. “Wait. Love?” she asks.

For the first time in what feels like forever, my lips lift into a smile.

“Yeah, love,” I say. “I love Julian. I love him like I’ve never loved anyone else. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but . . . ever since we first met, I’ve felt a connection to him, a pain, an energy that I can’t ignore,” I tell her. “Getting to know him, my feelings have only grown and I . . . I couldn’t risk losing him to Beaux. But I . . . I also couldn’t risk losing him to me.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I take a deep breath and drink the rest of my tea. For this next part, I’ll need all the strength I can get.

“Kat,” I start. “Do you remember when I said I was going to speak to a lawyer and that before I did, I needed to tell you the whole story?”

“Yes.” Kat nods.

“Well, um . . . I didn’t tell you the whole story,” I admit.

“What? What else could there be?”

“The reason Beaux attacked me the second time; the reason he retaliated and killed Mr. Turnip; the reason I couldn’t tell Julian the truth about Beaux, about any of this,” I say. I take a deep breath, sit up straight, and . . . “Kat, I was pregnant,” I admit. “And I . . .” I feel my throat tighten as I speak. Blood rushes to my head, making my arms and legs feel numb. I feel like I’m choking, like I’m suffocating. “I had an abortion,” I blurt.

I struggle to breathe as Kat takes in my revelation. I won’t blame her if she’s angry, if she blames me for Mr. Turnip’s death. I do, which only makes him being gone even harder. She’ll probably never want to speak to me again. She’ll ask me to move out or move out herself. It would be fitting. With everything that Beaux has taken from me, Kat, the most precious friendship I have, will be the last.

“Emma,” Kat says. She reaches her hand out across the table for me to take.

“What? What are you doing?” I ask. My face crinkles in confusion.

“Take my hand,” she says. I do with hesitation.

“Emma, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she tells me. “Nothing you’ve done warrants the abuse Beaux has put you through, the abuse he’s still putting you through by making you think, in any way, that you deserve to be hit, raped, threatened, and blamed for the despicable murder of Mr. Turnip,” she says. “And if Julian is the one for you, if he loves you the way you deserve to be loved, then he won’t let your past derail the future the two of you could have together,” she assures me. “And if he does, then he isn’t the one. As difficult as that may be to process, it’s true.”

“You’re, um, you’re not mad at me?” I ask. “You don’t blame me for—?”

“Emma,” Kat says, squeezing my hand tighter. “You are not to blame for how you react to the pain that asshole has put you through. He killed Mr. Turnip,” she says through gritted teeth. “He made the decision to do that, just like he made the decision to rape you and countless other women. This is not your fault, Emma,” Kat says. “It’s his.”

Her acceptance allows me to breathe again. She’s right. Beaux made the choice to kill Mr. Turnip. I shouldn’t blame myself for his death. As heartbreaking as it is and as responsible as I do feel, I shouldn’t. But… I made a choice too. I lean back in my chair and listen as Beaux’s words replay in my head.

We’re all monsters. We all play a role in someone else’s tragic story, and we all make choices we regret in response to fear, anger, abuse, loss.

“But they are our choices,” I say aloud.

“Hmm?” Kat asks as she sips her tea.

“They are our choices,” I tell her.

She still doesn’t get it.

“Beaux made the choice to rape me. He made the choice to kill Mr. Turnip. He made the choice to threaten me and you and Julian into silence. Regardless of the reasons he uses to justify his choices, those are the choices he has to live with,” I say. “But I made the choice to get an abortion, to rid myself of the child I saw only as his, but that was really mine too. I chose to lie about it and hurt Julian, destroying his relationship with his brother, just to keep my own selfish secret.” I lean forward in my chair. “Beaux is a murderer, and he hurts people to keep his secrets. How am I any different?”

“Emma, stop,” Kat tells me. “You can’t do this. You can’t compare yourself to Beaux.”

“The similarities are there, Kat. And I . . . I think I’ve known it since I came back from having the procedure,” I admit.

Kat shakes her head as if I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t think I am.

“Beaux is worthy of blame for many things,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, he is, but . . . all this time, I never stopped to acknowledge the choice I made. I buried it inside me along with the realization of what he’d done to me the night our engagement ended. I never spoke