Unmasked

Valerie's POV

Ms. Coleman's office was… tidy. So, either hell had frozen over or her fiancé had visited. Lydia was toying with the engagement ring on her finger, smiling absently as I took my seat. Score on the fiancé then. Lydia was always in a good mood or pretended to be, although, this therapist gig had to take a toll on you. I admired her for it. she asked about orientation—wanting the 'full scoop'—her words. If anyone heard us talking, they'd think she was the one heading to UCLA. I diligently told her about my new acquaintances, which Lydia referred quickly as 'new friends' which I frowned upon. A little.

"What did you choose?" she'd been dying to get to this part.

"I chose art."

I watched Ms. Coleman contain herself, as if she wasn't about to burst at the seams, exploding into sunshine and candy, like a pinata. To her, me and art went like peanut butter and jelly.

"Because I thought about what I would have to deal with. With the loss. The truth is, I don't want to shut myself off from the world again and if I became a doctor or a nurse, I wouldn't be able to be good at it or… happy. I can't be a stone-cold bitch to sick people or to their families. You know?"

"Yes, sweetie, I'm a doctor." Right.

"Anyway," my foot was tapping in a fidgeting manner. "I figured there are other ways of helping people. Like giving money to charities or to hospitals." Like my mother used to do. "Art is something I love. An outlet. And it makes me feel close to my Mom." Which might not be such a bad thing when you let people in; they could never fill the hole she left, not completely, but they could fill it a little bit.

"That's a wonderful revelation. Did you enroll in any music classes?" the damn violin. "Judging by the look on your face I'd say 'no'."

"I'm not ready yet."

Ms. Coleman adjusted her glasses presenting me with a tender smile; it reminded me of the first time I'd stepped foot into her office.

"You've come a long way."

"It's only taken about nine years…"

"Everyone has different paces. Plus, some people adapt and incorporate deflecting mechanisms into their personality to use against their therapists." I couldn't disagree with her. "Yet, you promised me you'd try to distance yourself from the persona you created once high school ended and you've been doing well. I'm very happy with your progress. Especially the trusting relationship you're developing with that boy."

"Finn." I amended too quickly.

"My point exactly." I clucked my tongue; she'd been ecstatic over me telling Finn about the scar. Well, rather how I got it. Only a therapist would be happy about their patient sharing an attempted suicide with her boyfriend. It showed I trusted him and all, but come on, it still wigged me out. "I hope you'll get to a place where music becomes a comfortable outlet for you as well." Because according to Lydia, you should conquer the things that scare you. Again, she wasn't wrong.

Finn's POV

I was getting fed up with discussing MIT. Between all the things I needed to complete, spending time with Valerie and arguing with Mom, guess what the hardest one was? Bingo, that last one. She was hellbent on convincing me to attend another college, one that was closer. I was unbelievably pissed at her, especially when she brought up Valerie as an excuse. For someone so liberal, Mom was being a bitch about this. I didn't talk about it with Trip, we were days away from his mother's trial and he was grouchy about seeing her in court. I couldn't blame him; his Mom was nuts.

"Just ignore her. It's what I did." Johnny, my wise brother, said. We were at his house in New Jersey having lunch. "Mom's not a control freak only to you. What happened with Aiden just amped her attitude." I was so darn lucky. "Mom's happy about MIT. When it's time for you to pack up and leave, she'll cry you a river, hug you and beg for your forgiveness…"

"What the hell?"

Johnny gave me an upturned smirk, shrugging.

"Whatever, man. It'll blow over if you keep cool. Don't engage the beast and you'll come out alive."

I left my brother's place to pick up Valerie from therapy. She'd been back for two days now and we still hadn't gotten any time together. We had about a month and a half before I had to leave for MIT, I wanted to make the most of it. The drive into the city was hellish, one of the reasons why I didn't visit my brother that often. Once I got parked, I walked six blocks to her therapist's building. Valerie was waiting for me at the lobby. Her tan was slowly melting away, but the white dress she was wearing accentuated it and it was sexy as hell. She slipped her arms around my mid-section, nestling her face into my chest. I dropped a kiss on her head.

"I missed you too, marshmallow." I teased. Earning a sharp glare of exasperation. "I'm going to keep calling you that. You've tried forbidding and it didn't work. I wonder why?"

Valerie brought her mouth to mine, effectively wiping whatever comebacks I had lined up. I pushed a hand into the small of her back, bringing our bodies closer as the kiss deepened. As we walked, Valerie gave me a run-down of her session; my eyes wandered to her wrist, the one with the bracelet. I never would've expected something like that from her. My mother would've planted a tracker on Valerie if she were her daughter; I trusted Valerie, I knew her. what I told her about her having the world eating out of her palm? I'd meant it. I wasn't worried about her harming herself, I wasn't disgusted like some people would be, I was just amazed at how strong she'd become despite the crippling childhood she'd had. She'd used her flaws to overcome grief, not in a healthy way, but she survived.

"So, I was thinking," I steered out of the parking spot. "There's this music festival at Prospect Park…"

"Celebrate Brooklyn Festival." How did she know everything? I side glanced her.

"Yeah. That one. I thought you might want to go?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen who's playing. I thought we could stay home tonight, though, maybe watch a movie?"

"Any movie in particular?"

"Star Wars."

"What is it with you and Star Wars? I know guys are supposed to find that attractive and yeah, I like the movies, but I'm not a fanboy."

"Because…" she reached out with her fingertips, touching the dashboard. "Han Solo just seems hot."

"You know the guy's old now, right?"

"Don't sound so jealous, Huckleberry."

One glimmer of sanity was what held me back from slamming my head against the wheel.

"Why God?" I hissed softly. "I hate that nickname." She laughed loudly signalizing that she didn't give a shit. "Whatever. My parents are going to be home tonight."

"Yeah, but I met them. Remember? For the sake of it not being weird whenever I went over?"

I shook my head like a boat swaying side-to-side.

"It would be fine…"

"Except?"

"Except my Mom's on a bender trying to change my mind about MIT. My brother's advice is to avoid her. Having dinner with my parents makes avoiding her hard."

"Not that I agree with your brother's advice but… We can have dinner—alone—and sneak into your apartment later." She'd just earned a golden start. "You just agreed to a fancy dinner. I hope you know that."

While I wasn't a fan of Valerie paying for an expensive dinner—or an expensive anything—I knew she'd take offense if I brought up the issue. Plus, since we started dating, she'd done things normal people—people whose families didn't own hotels and resorts—did. I could delve into her world for about two hours. Also, she wanted to watch Star Wars, which yeah, was kind of cool.

***

Valerie's POV

Having a period sucked. It had been three days since I saw Finn; after our night together, the red wave came and made me feel like I was spawning a baby that fed on my uterus. I'd just gotten off the phone with Ava. She told me Thomas' mother was being committed to a psychiatric hospital where she would be treated for clinical depression. Later she would be reevaluated and undergo a new trial if she was found sane. I hadn't known what to say; the woman shot her son and one of her models! The model nearly bled out on the operating table. Still, I hoped someone helped Thomas' mother get better.

I took a sip of my cranberry juice. My father and Maria were out again; this time, they were attending some Broadway play. My stomach rumbled to life; I looked at the right corner of my screen: almost ten o'clock. No wonder I was starving, dinner had been a chicken salad with quinoa on the side. I left for the kitchen with papaya on my mind. Once I got back, with a bowl of exotic fruit in hand, I settled back in my chair. I was watching an episode of those real-life ghost busters. Chowing on my delicious papaya, I restarted the thing. Occasionally, I reached for the cranberry juice Simone prepared just for moi. I started watching another episode when the images seemed to shift out of place; I frowned. I blinked—the images kept turning on themselves… What the hell? Even though it was early and I'd woken up late, my muscles grew heavy. The computer screen came closer then, like it was moving towards me, coming at me like a freight train. No. I slammed a hand on the desk—someone tittered. There was a solid thump. I'd stopped my face from hitting the damn computer screen, though. My eyelids fluttered shut; my hand began to shake—the trembling spread upward, like a trail of marching ants stinging my entire arm, until… Dead weight caused my chair to swivel left—thud! I hit my shoulder on the iron frame of my bed. I slipped down—more like fell, my butt felt bruised. For a second, I thought I might puke because everything started spinning like a carousel ride on steroids. I shut my eyes. The next thing I saw was…

***

I opened my eyes—it was excruciatingly difficult. As if this body didn't belong to me. So heavy. Everything felt heavy. My breathing… It was loud. Like someone was breathing above me. I moved my hands—did I move them?—to push at something. Something was making me hot. I felt cluttered.

***

My neck burned. Sound reached me in a distant echo; I thought I heard my name. My head swam with a heady feeling; it lolled to the side, like I was spineless. It felt like there was nothing holding me. Was this what floating felt like? Stray sounds: whimpers? Thrashing—stings of pain, some felt crushing, the other kind was strange. Good and bad mixed together. I managed to wrench open my eyes. A scream died on my lips. Features I recognized danced directly above my prone form—Jackson! What the hell kind of nightmare was this? There it was again, that strange pain… sudden awareness gripped me. Pain between my legs. It was sharp.

I think clumsy words toppled from my mouth as Jackson moved, face coming closer—silencing me. In my panic, I was overtaken by another sudden wave of drowsiness.

***

I coughed; saliva was lodged in my mouth. It was thick and wouldn't go down no matter how many times I swallowed. Pain shot across my back as I tried to sit; I fell back, shoulders taut with pain. I hadn't opened my eyes and it felt like I had the biggest hangover in history. Holy hell. Ouch. I pressed fisted hands above my eyes, massaging. What the actual hell? After groaning through several blinks, I saw black spots instead of my pristine white ceiling; it looked like mold had grown on it overnight.

"Ah…" I felt horrible.

What I managed was to roll onto my stomach; I heaved into the duvet. My nose wrinkled—what was that smell? And why the hell was I sleeping on top of my sheets? I fell to the side once I tried to sit up. As my eyesight focused on the bedspread, I balked. There was a large red spot, along with tinier ones, on my lavender duvet. My eyes jumped to my thighs—I winced. There was a strange achy feeling inside… I'd never felt like this because of my period. I rubbed the side of my head trying to make sense of… I spread my legs—crap! That hurt like a bitch. Frowning, I guided a hand across bruised skin; my outer thighs were peppered with them. Gingerly, I touched a finger to my labia… God, that felt tender. Slowly, thoughts crowded my mind, but I rearranged them, matching the stray memories like mixed puzzle pieces: my bed was a mess; I was missing panties; I was sore all over and my head felt like it had been emptied of brains and stuffed with cotton.

I dropped my head in my hands—gripping it. I fished for flashbacks—for anything about last night. Panic quickly wrapped chilling tendrils around my throat as I remembered little, but that face kept popping up. His face. An urge to scream rose inside me; at the same time, I opened my mouth to yell, I choked out a raged breath. Several. I couldn't stay calm. On autopilot, I stumbled to the edge of bed, then to my feet. I tripped, heading toward the door; I gripped the key, locking myself and this ungodly scenario away. I slid to the floor, back pressed against the door. My eyes locked on the desk, where a bowl was, then, my gaze drifted to the floor. There was a cup there, my carpet was stained. Cranberry juice. I didn't want to face up to what I knew happened last night. In the sanctum of my bedroom. In my bed.

Once I gathered enough strength, I wobbled for the bathroom. Hands latched onto the marble sink. I was shaking with fear. I knew I needed to look myself over, to see what other… damage had been done. I sucked in a breath, hiccupping. Inside my head, I started counting to ten, exhaling and inhaling each time I counted a number. At ten, I lifted my bowed head. My black hair was a rat's nest; my lips were puffy, but okay; my neck… I turned side-to-side. I grimaced at the large hickey near the curve between my shoulder and neck. I slipped out of the dirty silk gown; there were small bruises on my arms. As if I'd been pinned or grabbed. Both, my brain kindly provided to fuel anger. The fabric slipped from my fingers, falling on the tiles and making the noise a feather would, but to me the sound was deafening. I couldn't see whether or not my back was damaged.

I shut my eyes, disbelieving of what was happening. I glared below; my inner thighs were smeared red. I lurched forward—smacking both palms on the sink's border. I emptied my stomach. No, there was nothing but acrid tasting bile. I didn't move for some time, leaning lower, bracing an arm on the sink's edge as I dry heaved. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. Jackson had drugged me. Jackson had… raped me. Somehow, I found my way into the shower. I turned the faucet for hot water, welcoming the scorching sensation; I only switched on the cold water once I thought my skin might peel off. Shouldn't I want it to peel off? Jackson touched me—against my will! He had fucking roofied me! I'd known he was capable of being a brute asshole, but—but this? This was vile! I started washing my body with furor, scrubbing hard until skin became pink-red. I wanted to kill him. Killing him wouldn't be enough. Oh my God—oh my God. I hyperventilated. I was hyperventilating over that piece of shit. No, no. This couldn't be happening. I pinned back my hair, leaning my forehead on the cool tile.

Finn.

A hiccup escaped at the thought. I covered my mouth. My brain didn't just settle on one bad thought, it jumped from: he'd been inside—could I get pregnant while on my period? Chances were low. How could he do this to me? Why so surprised, a dark corner whispered. Okay. Okay. I needed to get my act together—at least for now. I needed to think. I needed to compartmentalize. Explaining the duvet was easy; accidents happened while on your period. I would tell Simone I fell asleep on top of my duvet, reading. The purplish spots on my thighs could be covered; I just needed to wear a long summer dress. The ones on my arms… those I needed to use make-up on, same with the hickey. I wanted to run outside and tell my father what Jackson did, but… He would deny it. Unless I was submitted to a rape exam? But that would mean this would leak to the media. What would happen between Dad and Maria if they knew—if everyone knew—who Jackson truly was? The fucking cockroach! To think, that he'd tried convincing me he wanted to make nice and become a family! I sat down on the shower floor, bringing my knees up; I rested my chin on top of them. New tears peaked from underneath my eyelids; my thoughts rotated back to Finn. A burn took up residency in my chest. How was I supposed to face him? How could I look into his eyes and omit this? But… what else could I do? Finn had nearly killed a guy because he'd tried raping April! Which I got, of course—but how could I tell him this? Finn would… He would—Finn would confront Jackson and lose it. What if he took it too far? Jackson was the provocative sort, not a quire boy. Finn was going to MIT. I… He couldn't jeopardize that. He couldn't do something risky. But I would be damned if Jackson got away with laying his filthy paws on me.