Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
He angrily shakes his head, the redness on his face picking up. “You’re a fool, Jack. You are an absolute fucking fool. You could have let the abuse stop, you could have ended it on that altar eighteen years ago, but you didn’t. You’re still letting him paint you as a victim now.” He’s speaking to me, but a lot of what he says resonates with himself. The shifty movements of his eyes announce this, not to mention his urgency to suddenly vacate my office. “I’m not doing it anymore,” he advises while racing for the door. “I’m not being his victim anymore.”
Once he regrips the door handle, he cranks his neck back to face me. “You have the chance to do the same. She’d still forgive, but I don’t know how long that will last. She’s stronger now than she was when she met you. She knows what she deserves. You’ve just got to decide if you deserve her.” He stares me up and down. “As you stand before me now, I don’t think you have it in you.” Ignoring my ticking jaw and balled-up hands, he mutters, “But what do I know? I’m a man who ignored the love of his life for years, so I’m probably not the best man to give relationship advice.”
He laughs more at himself than me before he exits my office without a backward glance.
I sit in silence for several long minutes, equally shocked and confused. I believe every word Caleb spoke. His deliverance was too indicative of a sexual abuse survivor to discredit, but how am I meant to process and use that information? You have no idea how much it fucked with my head that the only woman on the planet I found attractive was my abuser’s granddaughter. Her veins carry his blood. She has his DNA.
I’ve called Dr. Avery a minimum of two times a day for the past four months. I’ve attended counseling sessions and watched multiple seminars online, but nothing has worked. I’m still fucked in the head.
I slouch even deeper in my chair when reality dawns. I’ve talked the talk, but I’ve yet to walk the walk. Dr. Avery knows about my impotency issues, but she has no clue where it stems from. Excluding Marissa and the people who handled my civil suit, I’ve never told anyone what happened to me. They assume it is the stress of a high-profile gig. They never considered the fact that I have more issues than the group combined.
Only two people know the truth. One is rotting away in prison for crimes years of abuse forced on him, and the other is running a halfway house for troubled teens in her hometown who shunted her integrity instead of relishing in it.
“Yes, Mr. Carson?” Emmelyn asks when I press the intercom button on my desk.
I wait a beat to assess my options before breathing out, “Patch me through to Bayside.”
“Bayside…” Emmelyn murmurs, lost.
Her gulp echoes through the intercom and the wall when I reply, “State prison. I need to speak with Silas Clastone.”
CHAPTER 30
OCTAVIA
ONE MONTH LATER…
Lewis, an unfortunate regular at Alexander House, pffts at me before he spins on his heels and climbs the staircase two steps at a time. He’s miffed I told him he can’t stay out past curfew, but since he’d rather call me an old cow in the privacy of his bedroom instead of a concrete cell, he sucks up ‘our stupid rules’ and does as asked.
Nothing he could call me would be worse than the names adults threw my way when my grandfather was carted out of his church in handcuffs. My testimony was meant to be confidential, but the name-calling started within hours of me leaving the police station.
I didn’t know at the time the extent of my grandfather’s crimes, but I did know that striking a boy’s back with a thurible while stroking yourself wasn’t a ‘gospel’ act. The boy wasn’t crying, but the blood weeping down his back forced tears down my cheeks.
Mercifully, my mother believed me when I told her what I had seen. She knew I had no reason to lie, and even when my father threatened divorce, she held her ground and took me to the police station to issue a report. We didn’t know the boy’s name, so to begin with, the report was merely hearsay, but as the weeks moved on and inquiries started, another person came forward.
We never knew his name or how he was associated with my grandfather’s case, but his testimony was enough to have my grandfather put away.
He killed himself after the judge ruled that the evidence was sufficient to go to trial. Part of me wants to believe he killed himself so I wasn’t forced to sit across from him and tell the jury what I had seen, but then I realized a monster is a monster no matter if he shares your blood or not.