Damien leans forward, tensing his body as he firmly grips my legs.
Micah continues to stroke my hair.
Jensen’s breathing becomes labored.
“And not believing me when I told him,” I quietly add in, letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Don’t say that,” Damien spits out. “Don’t you ever call yourself stupid.”
“I ignored all of the red flags. Every. Single. One,” I speak slowly, looking away. “I never should have gone to that Christmas Eve party with him.”
Damien moves my legs from his lap, and rushes to his feet. “No,” he exhales, pacing the room. “Don’t fucking say it, Quinn. Don’t you fucking tell me—”
“Damien,” Micah stammers, joining him beside the tree, grabbing onto his shoulder.
Damien swats him away. “He’s dead,” he coldly states. “He’s fucking dead.”
“Quinn,” Jensen whispers, locking his eyes with mine. “What happened?”
Tears fill my eyes.
“Quinn,” he urges, taking my face between his hands. “What did he do to you?”
As I quickly sit upright, Micah kneels before me, resting his hands on my legs just above my knees. “It’s alright,” he softly tells me. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we understand. But, if you do, just know that we’re here for you.”
Wetness coats my cheeks as I take his hands in mine. “I said no,” I let out, my voice cracking. “I told him to stop. That I didn’t want to.”
Damien turns his back to me, masking his reaction.
“He hurt you,” Jensen murmurs.
“We were both really drunk,” I dismissively say, pushing myself up from the couch. “It was nothing. And it’s in the past now, anyways. I’m over it.”
Turning on my heel, I exit the room, making my way toward the kitchen. The sound of their footsteps behind me sends a rush of adrenaline through me. I’d do anything to take back that night. I’d do anything to be able to go back in time and change it.
To fight him off harder.
Anything.
“It’s okay, Quinn,” Micah says from over my shoulder. “You’re okay now.”
“You’re safe with us,” Jensen adds in.
“Don’t fucking give her that shit,” Damien bites out. “She needs to get angry.”
“The fuck is wrong with you, man?” Micah demands. “She’s gone through enough.”
Gripping the edge of the countertop, I tightly shut my eyes. Damien’s right.
He couldn’t be any more right.
“She needs to stop lying to herself,” Damien presses. “Quinn, it wasn’t nothing. That fucking low-life piece of shit forced himself onto you. You said no. You told him to stop. That bastard raped you.”
“He raped me,” I echo in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he painfully says. “I’m so fucking sorry. You need to let yourself feel it. I can see the hatred and anger burning in your eyes. You’ve held it in for too long, baby. You need to let it out.”
“But, how?” I nearly beg.
He steps closer; his jaw clenched tight. “Let us help you,” he cautiously says.
Micah steps between us, bringing me into his arms.
“No,” I spit out.