“He pulled off my bra and grabbed me. I tried to bite his hand that covered my mouth, and he backhanded me. He hit me so hard I thought I was going to lose consciousness. I don’t know, maybe I did. The next thing I knew, my father grabbed the guy and threw him up against the wall like he’d do
ne to me.”
Decker pulled me closer to him.
“My father yelled for me to go back up to his office and wait for him there.”
“Did he tell you to call the police?”
“He told me not to.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told me to go upstairs and wait. He screamed at me not to do anything until he got up there.”
“And you followed his instructions?”
I nodded again.
“You said his name was Marshall.”
“When my father pulled him off of me, he screamed, ‘You’re a sick fuck, Marshall.’” There was more I’d heard, but I’d never been able to make sense of it. I shuddered and shook my head.
“How long was it before your father came back to his office?” Decker asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“When he got there, he didn’t call the police?”
“No. He made me promise not to tell a soul, ever. If I did as he asked, he said he’d pay for me to go to college.”
“What happened after that?”
“He gave me a jacket to put on since my blouse was ruined, and then walked me down to my car. Before I was able to get inside, he reminded me of our ‘deal.’ That’s the way he put it, that we had a deal.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
“When was the next time you talked to your father?”
“This morning.”
Decker stroked my hair and soothed me. “That’s enough for tonight,” he whispered.
Soon, I felt my eyes drifting closed, and I didn’t bother to fight it.
When I woke again, the sun was coming in through the window curtains and I was on the bed, fully clothed like I’d been the night before. There was a blanket covering me, but Decker wasn’t beside me. There was no clock in the room, so I could only go by how high the sun was in the sky to try to guess the time. I sat up and was straightening my clothes when I heard the door open.
“I thought you might like some coffee,” Decker said, walking over to hand me the cup.
“Thank you,” I murmured. I took a sip and studied the steaming liquid rather than look over at him when he sat down beside me.
“I know it was wrong,” I said.
Decker took the coffee from my hand and set it on the bedside table.
“If you mean any part of what you did or didn’t do that night, or in the days, weeks, months, and even years afterward, you didn’t do a single thing wrong, Mila. Nothing.”
“I thought he killed him, Decker, and I didn’t tell anyone.”