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

about it. I tried my best not to think about it. But inside, I was broken and in pain, and filled with anger and unending grief,” I say.

“In the moments I couldn’t ignore my pain, I blamed Beaux. I told myself, just as you have, that I couldn’t blame myself for the choices I made in response to the trauma I suffered at his hands. I . . . I had to believe he was to blame, because if I didn’t, I’d be forced to accept the inconceivable,” I tell her.

“I killed our baby, my baby,” I choke. “I . . . I did that. My chest aches with the weight of my reality. “I did it, Kat,” I cry.

“Emma,” Kat says. She tries to console me, but I’m inconsolable. All the pent-up emotion, all the secrets I’ve kept bottled for the past year come flooding out. I told Beaux he couldn’t use his past trauma as an excuse for his present-day behavior. I told him to take responsibility. But, if I blame him for the choice I made, refusing to take responsibility, then how am I any more worthy of forgiveness than he is?

When I finally catch my breath, I say, “I called him.”

“You did what?”

“That’s why I was crying,” I tell her. “I called him to confront him, to try to understand . . . to try to understand why he hurts people.”

“I wanted it to be over and I thought, if I could forgive him or at least show him some empathy, then, maybe this hole inside me would start to fill, maybe I wouldn’t have to continue this crusade of gathering evidence and I could just be done,” I say. “I think I was trying to find a way to justify his actions so that, maybe, I could justify my own,” I admit. “But . . .there is no justifying what he’s done, and I can’t find it in myself to forgive him, especially when he refuses to take responsibility for what he’s done. And I don’t want to be like him, Kat. I want . . .I need to take responsibility for what I’ve done. And I need to find a way to forgive myself,” I say. “It’s the only way I can escape this pain, this pain which is far greater than anything Beaux has put me through.”

I take a deep breath and so does Kat. I can tell she doesn’t agree with me. She doesn’t blame me for my choices. And, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t blame her either. It wouldn’t be my place to blame or hold her responsible. We are all free to make our own choices, just as we are all free to stand by our choices, regret them, or learn from them. I regret my choice to have an abortion. My regret is my right just as much as my free will is. And now, I must answer to myself. And Beaux, he must answer to those he has wronged.

“I can’t wait for justice, Kat,” I tell her then. “I can’t wait for Beaux to have an emotional epiphany and suddenly become human.” I shake my head. “I have to take back control for myself, not wait for someone else to give it to me. I . . .I’ve been working on an article. With each sentence I type, I try to find an excuse not to finish it,” I say then. “Calling Beaux tonight was just another excuse, but—I’m done making them. I have to do this, Kat, for myself, for the women before me, and the women who will come after me.” She nods and squeezes my hand.

In speaking with Marie, Samantha, Amy, and Lauren, one thing became painstakingly clear. Beaux broke them just like he broke me. Marie lost confidence in her ability to run her company. Samantha never became the attorney she always dreamed of being. Amy lost her ability to trust. And Lauren, well, she lost her best friend. Ashely Roy paid the ultimate price after she was assaulted by Beaux. And I’d be lying if I said I never thought about doing just the same.

I run my fingers over my wrists. Thin scars are bumpy underneath my touch. Yet another choice I must take responsibility for.

Beaux may have broken me, but just as I have the power to expose him, to destroy him, I have the power to rebuild myself and rebuild my life. No more tragic stories. We don’t have to stay broken. We don’t have to live in the shadow of our predator forever. We just have to choose something different, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will expose the truth, my truth, Beaux’s truth, even the truth that is the most unspeakable,” I say.

Kat scrunches her nose.

“What’s that?” she asks.

I bite the inside of my jaw, knowing that once these words come out, they can never be unspoken.

“My father is a member of Club Gent,” I reveal. “He’s a rapist, a liar, a cheater. He’s just as bad, if not worse than Beaux,” I say. “I can’t expose the brotherhood without exposing him.”

I will keep my promise to my mother. I won’t ruin my sister’s wedding. But once the happy couple is on their way, all bets are off.

Chapter 24

Stately Oaks welcome me home as I turn off Roberts Road onto the long drive toward Marshall House. Gravel crunches beneath the wheels of my rental car as the white, antebellum home becomes more visible. In the city, I’ve never needed a car. And, I’ll be honest, my not having one has always been a decent go-to excuse for not making the six-hour trek north to Presley more often. Nevertheless, here I am. Late, but here.

Pink azaleas and red roses are in full bloom as I approach the house. The sun sets, creating a glow of yellow and orange against their rich, green leaves. I used to play amongst them when I was younger. I’d pretend I was a fairy princess, and each blossom was my subject. It’s