“Did they believe you?” Hunter asked.
I nodded. “They did a physical exam. A rape kit. Took blood for a tox screen to prove I’d been drugged recently,” I said. I paused, swallowing thickly. “It all went pretty fast after that. The police raided his house. Found drugs and a collection of videotapes.”
“Videotapes?”
I took a deep breath. “He liked to film himself hurting girls, and he had a whole collection of tapes hidden in the basement,” I said. “I wasn’t the first girl. I was just the first who actually remembered what was done to them.”
Hunter rubbed his jaw. “Shit,” he muttered. “So there was a tape of you too.”
“Yes. They used it in court when it all went to trial, along with the others. It was—” I stopped as emotion welled up inside me, making my throat ache until I could barely breathe.
I didn’t want to let it overwhelm me, but a teardrop fell. Then another. Then I was crying, sobbing so hard I doubled over, head in my hands as the memories came back in full force, sharp and painful like a quiver of arrows to the gut.
I knew my story was hard to talk about, but by refusing to ever discuss the details with anyone, I’d managed to distance myself enough that I had no idea how crippling it would be when I finally told it all out loud.
Hunter surprised me then. He put the camera down and moved over to me. One hand went to my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he muttered.
I kept crying, because it was never going to be okay.
“I mean, it’s not okay. What happened to you,” Hunter went on. “I just meant it’s okay for you to take your time. Just… let it all out.”
The tears kept falling, grief and guilt pouring out of me. Hunter didn’t take his hand off my shoulder the whole time, despite the conflicted look in his eyes.
I finally took several deep breaths and wiped my face. “That’s pretty much all of the backstory,” I murmured. “Peter Elton went to prison, and everything was supposed to go back to normal. As normal as it could be after what happened, I mean. Which I guess is not normal at all.”
“Is he still in prison?” Hunter asked.
“Yes.” I wiped my cheeks again and sniffed. “He’ll be there forever.”
“Okay. Good.” He paused to clear his throat. “Can you tell me the rest now?”
I nodded. “One night, just a few weeks after they arrested Peter and charged him, my dad came home from his favorite bar. He was drunk. Filthy, stinking drunk. He could barely talk. But he did anyway.” I stared into space, recalling the details of that awful night. “He was angry at me. Kept shaking his fist at me and shouting about how it was all my fault.”
“What was your fault?”
“That his business was failing,” I replied. “See, when we were first introduced to Peter for my piano lessons, he and my dad acted like they were total strangers meeting for the very first time. But apparently that was all a show. They did know each other. Went way back, apparently.”
“What does that have to do with your dad’s business failing?”
I lifted a shaky palm. “You’ll see,” I said. I sniffed again before continuing. “So that night, my dad was yelling at me and blaming me for everything. I think he was so drunk he didn’t even know what he was saying. Otherwise there’s no way he would’ve admitted the truth, which was—”
My voice cracked, and I stopped abruptly.
“What was it?” Hunter asked.
“Peter knew my dad was in financial trouble. And apparently, my dad knew he liked young girls. Very young. So they made a deal when I started lessons with him. Ten thousand for my virginity. Another thousand for every time after that.”
Hunter’s eyes widened. “Are you fucking serious? He soldyou?”
I nodded grimly. “Yes. Peter was supposed to pay my dad after the fact. So when he was immediately arrested after that first time, my dad didn’t get anything. And he couldn’t exactly complain, could he? He couldn’t go to the police and say, ‘Hey, this guy owes me ten grand because I sold my fourteen-year-old daughter’s virginity to him’.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched. “No shit.”
“So anyway, back to that night. My dad was yelling at me. Throwing things. Saying it would be my fault if we couldn’t pay the rent anymore. Saying that I should’ve just had the juice and kept my fucking mouth shut. That he was just doing what he could to keep our family and house together, and now I’d gone and ruined it.”
I paused as I remembered the shock and disgust I felt as he shouted at me that evening.
If I had to be anywhere near that bastard ever again, hearing him try to justify his actions in whatever sick, twisted way he came up with, I’d probably explode. Stuck to the walls after that would be nothing but pieces of skin, bone, brain matter, and whatever was left of what was once a big, warm heart, filled with love for my father.