Deceiving Lies

18

Rachel

AFTER FOUR HOURS AT THE STATION, and another three and a half hours in a hospital receiving a sexual assault examination and checking the bruising to the front of my body to make sure there were no broken bones, I was released and allowed to go home.

Logan hadn’t spoken a word to me since before we’d arrived at the station, and now we were standing in our living room just staring at each other.

I’d envisioned being with him again so many times while I’d been in that room with Trent. Each one had us rushing to each other, kissing each other like we needed the other to breathe, and different variations of him making love to me, and us finally getting married. Not one of them had been like this, not one of them had made me sick to my stomach with guilt that I didn’t know if I should have or not. And not one of them involved me wishing Trent were still here with me.

Despite the questions from the detectives, I wasn’t in love with Trent. Even though I’d been adamant that we hadn’t had a sexual relationship, I wasn’t sure how to describe our kisses in the final half hour; or the fact that I knew that he wanted me without making it seem like the kidnapping could have been something it wasn’t. So I’d stumbled over my words, and in turn had received the sexual assault exam, which I’d rather not go through again.

I wasn’t in love with Trent, and I didn’t have Stockholm syndrome. I just understood him in a way no one else ever had. I hadn’t known about the torture, though I’m sure Trent had, but I still knew he’d had no part in it, even if no one else believed me. And trying to clear his name just made it look worse for my “relationship” with him.

I could only imagine that was part of the reason Logan was staring at me like he wasn’t sure he could speak without crying or punching something.

“Logan—”

“Why don’t you, um”—he cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling—“why don’t you go shower? I’ll order some food.”

“Logan, please—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

My jaw started trembling and I blinked back more tears before I shook my head. Of course I wanted something, just not food. I wanted to never have been kidnapped. I wanted my fiancé to look at me like he was still in love with me, instead of looking like I’d betrayed him by going along with the hand I’d been dealt.

I turned before the tears began falling and quickly made my way to the shower. The route was familiar, but at the same time, so foreign. It felt like I should be clinging to Trent’s shirt, like I should be watching out for any of the others to suddenly pop out of the shadows and grab me. It felt wrong to be in the bathroom alone with no one keeping guard. But I knew I needed to get used to my normal.

Or, well, what my normal used to be.

I mechanically went through the motions of getting clean and scrubbing every particle of Trent’s dried blood off me while trying not to think about whose blood it was, or how it had gotten on me in the first place. Twice while in the shower, I’d lost the battle with trying to keep my cries silent, and the last time my legs had given out from the exhaustion of the day . . . of the last thirty-six days.

I wasn’t sure I even knew what I was crying for anymore. It’s funny how when in the situation, in the moment, those bits and pieces didn’t seem like that big of a deal, or seemed like something I could easily handle. Then once it was all over, it was like a tidal wave had just crashed down on me and I was standing there confused, not knowing what to do, or how to act, or what to say anymore. All I knew was the exhaustion, and the terror, and the grief. All I could do was sit there for countless minutes until the water was cold and my tears were long gone before I could finally turn the water off and pull myself up.

In the same robotlike state, I dried myself off, brushed my hair and teeth, and went about finding my own pajamas. I stood there just staring at them, letting my fingers run over the material on my body, and wondering if I would ever be able to go back to wearing Logan’s clothes in bed again. Or if men’s shirts had been ruined for me forever.

Forcing my mind away from the direction it had been headed, I purposefully didn’t look in the mirror on my way out of the bathroom, not wanting to see the bruises on my body again. I walked down the hall and had almost reached the living room when I heard his harsh voice.

“No, Mom . . . no— What wedding, Mom?— There’s not going to be a wedding— Because she’s not the same Rachel anymore, that’s why!”

Even though my throat was raw from the crying, and my eyes could produce no more tears, one hand flew to my mouth to quiet any cry that could force its way out. The other hand flew to my chest, which felt like it was splitting in two.

“You think I don’t know that?— No, don’t put me on speaker—What, Dad?—I know! I fucking know that! But you guys didn’t see her reaction to me today. You didn’t see her reaction to the guy that took her from our goddamn house! You didn’t watch her kiss him or stumble over her answers about her relationship with him. You weren’t there for it, okay?— No, don’t come see her right now— Because, she . . .”

I finally figured out how to make my legs move again and turned to go back to the bedroom. What do you say to something like that? What do you do? How do you handle all the confusion and emotional pain, and then find out that some of your worst nightmares are coming true . . . because of you? I crawled onto the bed and didn’t even bother covering myself with the comforter. I just gripped at my chest and prayed the pain of losing everything would go away soon.

It didn’t.

And sleep didn’t come easy.

I lay there awake for hours, watching the glow from the sun behind the curtains eventually fade to darkness. I heard Logan come to check on me once, but it sounded like he hadn’t gotten past the doorway before stopping, and after a few seconds, turning and leaving. When I finally did fall asleep, I did it alone, and woke the same.

The fact that being alone went so much deeper than physical, made the pain intensify.

I missed Trent and was terrified for him. I needed my fiancé. I wanted my life to go back to normal.

I knew I wouldn’t get the first back, and hated that I wasn’t sure about the others.

Kash

I GROANED, and my eyes blinked open when the persistent knocking finally woke me. Putting my feet on the floor, I pushed off the couch and stretched my sore body from sleeping on the deceptively comfortable-looking couch. Checking the peephole, I let out a harsh breath and hung my head as I unlocked and opened the door.

“You have a key, Mason.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to use it if you were actually spending time with your fiancée, now that your fiancée is back from a fucking traumatic experience that your fiancée just went through. You know, because she’s your fiancée and all.”

“Say fiancée one more time.” I squinted my eyes at him. “Mom and Dad call you?”

He huffed roughly through his nose and pushed me back so he could fit in through the door. “Duh. You look like shit, so I’m guessing I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Wow, thank you. Would you like to insult me some more before I kick you out of my—”

“The couch?” he interrupted. “You slept on the couch? Please tell me that was by her request.”

Knowing he wouldn’t leave until he felt like it, I walked back over to my makeshift bed and sat down. “No, it wasn’t. I haven’t talked to her since we got back here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she went to sleep after her shower. What did you want me to do? Wake her up so we could talk about her time away? About Trent?” I snarled and rubbed at my jaw.

“Yeah, sure, why the hell not? Why not ask her how she’s doing, ask if she’s fucking okay!”

Looking behind me, I listened for sounds from her and, when I didn’t get any, turned back to Mason. “She’s still sleeping, keep it down. And I’m sure she’s not okay, she was kidnapped and held for over a month. Who would be okay after that?”

“So then talk to her about it!”

“I can’t, Mase, okay? I can’t.”

He paced back and forth in the living room and finally stopped directly in front of me. “Why? Why can’t you? She needs you. I saw how she acted yesterday too, I watched the entire interview last night. I also know the sexual assault exam came back negative! Maybe he really was trying to help her, and she clung to that. Did you ever think about that?”

“Why would he after taking her?”

“Ask her yourself, since Chief told me you didn’t stay for the entire interview. But think about it, Kash . . . We were in gangs and helped some girls escape too. Did that never once cross your mind yesterday?”

I wanted to argue that we hadn’t kissed them. But we’d always had to do whatever was necessary to make our story believable for the gang we were in. My eyes shot up to Mason’s, and he gave a sad laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“God, you’re so dense sometimes. I believe Rachel’s story, I don’t think he was an undercover, but I wouldn’t doubt for a second that he didn’t want to be in Juarez’s gang. I’ll admit, seeing her with him was weird, but you need to think about the whole situation. I don’t know what it is about her, but you seem to forget everything when it comes to her.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Mason?”

He started ticking off points on his fingers. “We think she’s been raped and you automatically want to kill anyone that’s come near her before we even know for sure that it happened. The guy that raped her, and that she was terrified of, forces her to leave you . . . and you just automatically believe that she was really lying to you the entire time and wanted to be with him. A guy that has protected her in captivity kisses her right before they thought they were entering a suicide mission, and without a second thought you think she didn’t want to be rescued anymore?”

I really need to stop telling Mom and Dad what I’m thinking. They always fucking tell Mason.

“She’s been missing for thirty-six days and underwent some pretty shitty things from what I heard in the interview, and she goes to bed early and you take that as a cue to sleep on the couch?”

I groaned into my hands and sagged into the back of the couch. “Mase—”

“You know I love you like a brother. You know I trust you with my life. You’re one of the smartest guys I know, and not just when it comes to our job. But when it comes to your future wife you are dumb as shit.”

“Tell me, why is it that you’re the dumbest guy I know, and you’re always the one trying to show me how stupid I’m being?”

A cocky smirk crossed Mason’s face and he shrugged before turning toward the front door. “It’s because I’m fucking awesome, bro. Go make sure she’s okay.”

“I can’t get the sight of them kissing out of my head,” I admitted.

“There’s a lot of shit we will never get out of our heads, Kash. Don’t let this one ruin the best thing you’ve ever had.” He opened the front door and looked back at me one more time. “You should really watch the entire interview. What we saw yesterday wasn’t a normal occurrence for them.”

I watched as he walked out the front door, and I leaned forward, putting my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands. I knew he was right. It didn’t make any of this easier though.

Mason had taken this case about as hard as I had, and he’d seen every part of it just the same as me . . . but it wasn’t the same for him. He wasn’t in love with Rachel, he hadn’t been planning his wedding and about to marry her, he hadn’t had to watch his fiancée kiss her kidnapper.

So different.

Still, I knew I had reacted the wrong way yesterday. I should have tried to understand, I should have just been there for her. I should have sat down and listened to her side when detectives weren’t interviewing her. And I should have fucking held her last night. She was finally back and I didn’t even try to be near her. I’m such a dick.

Standing quickly, I walked down the hall, toward the closed bedroom door. I raised my arm to knock before I realized how fucking ridiculous that was and just opened the door. The bed was empty, so I walked into the bathroom and called out her name. When I didn’t get a response and didn’t find her in the bathroom or the closet, fear surged through my veins and I ran back into the bedroom calling after her.

“Rachel! Rach!” This isn’t fucking happening. “Rachel!”

I’d just started to turn to run back to the living room in search of my phone to call 9-1-1 when I saw the paper and ring sitting on the nightstand. My stomach dropped and I stared at the nightstand for a few moments before I could force myself over to it. Grabbing Rachel’s engagement ring, I fisted my hand around it and tried to make sense of the words on the paper.

I understand, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry.

“Understand what?” I whispered to the empty room.

The sound of pounding feet on the hardwood had me turning just as Rachel entered the room.

“Where the hell were you?” I yelled across the small space.

She flinched back into the wall near the doorjamb and her eyes darted around the room as her mouth opened and shut. “I-I-I, um . . .”

“Rachel, you can’t disappear like that after what we just went through, okay? Fuck!” I stalked over to her and for the first time in over a month, I brought my mouth down onto hers. “I thought—Jesus Christ, I thought you were gone again,” I choked out and started to kiss her but stopped abruptly when I realized she was cringing into the wall. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” I took a step back but kept the hand that wasn’t clenched around the ring on her waist.

She kept her eyes on the ground, and I watched as her chest rose and fell roughly before she finally shook her head.

My eyes fell over the bruised parts of her body that I could see, and I wondered again how she’d come to get those. I hadn’t stayed for that part of the interview yesterday. Like Mason, I knew the sexual assault exam showed nothing, but why was she shaking . . . Oh my God. I’m scaring her. My fiancée is scared of me . . . after being kidnapped and held captive for over a month, she’s scared of me. Son of a bitch.

Strike one.

“Rachel,” I said softly, making sure to keep my voice low and even. “Am I scaring you?”

Her eyes darted up to mine quickly, but long enough for me to see the moisture gathering in them.

“Damn it,” I whispered, soft enough that I’m not sure she even heard me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry for yelling at you, I was just fucking terrified when I walked in here and couldn’t find you,” I explained to her as I slowly brought her body closer to mine. “Please don’t be scared of me, I honestly don’t think I could deal with knowing that I am what scares you after everything you’ve been through.”

“I just—I just didn’t want to be in a bedroom anymore. I’m sorry. I went outside to write, you were still asleep, and I didn’t think you would go looking for me . . . I just wanted to be outside.”

Slipping the ring into the pocket of my jeans, I cupped her face, lowered my forehead onto hers, and watched the few tears slip down her cheeks. “Shh, no it’s okay. Don’t cry, Rachel. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.” Jesus, of course she wants to be outside, she was in a room for thirty-six days! “Let’s go back outside, we’ll talk out there, all right?”

She swallowed audibly and nodded her head as I pulled her away from the wall. When she didn’t make an attempt to go back down the hall, I grabbed her hand and started leading her down it. I didn’t understand why she kept walking directly behind me instead of beside me, and I shot her a confused look when she grabbed onto the back of my shirt with her free hand, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She was staring down at the ground.

I opened my mouth to ask what she was doing, when a flash from yesterday hit me hard. The way she’d been following Trent down the hall as Mason and I waited in the rooms. I heard her say in the interview that he would take her to a bathroom that was at the other end of the building. Is this how she always walked with him? Stopping suddenly, I turned to her and noted that she looked calmer now than she had since we first found her yesterday. But I couldn’t let her do this; this wasn’t normal.

“Rachel, does this feel right to you?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together as I loosely grabbed the hand holding on to my shirt. “What?”

“Does this feel right to you? Normal . . . walking like this, holding on to my shirt?”

“What? No, I—” Her eyes widened and she quickly released my shirt before taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I—”

“Don’t apologize, Rachel. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, okay?” Bringing her back to me, I made lazy circles on her back and waited until she was looking up at me. “Is that how you had to walk with him?”

Rachel’s eyes turned pleading. “Yes, but it was only because he needed to make sure no one took me! He didn’t do it—”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I’m just making sense of it, but we’re going to fix it, okay? You’re going to walk the rest of the way in front of me without any physical contact from me. You already went through the hall a few times alone, and you know this hall well. No one is going to come after you in it, there’s no one here but you and me.”

Instead of the tears or fear I had been expecting, her eyebrows slammed down and her mouth formed a tight line before she sneered, “Don’t treat me like I need to be fixed, Logan! Don’t talk to me like I’m going to fall apart. Don’t act like you know how to make it all okay again. You have no idea what happened there, and you are the last person I need treating me like I’m a broken child. I know how to walk down a fucking hallway without touching someone, it was just instinct!”

She pushed past me, and my head dropped as my shoulders sagged in defeat. Bringing my hand up to the back of my neck, I rubbed over it and squeezed it hard once before turning to follow her.

Strike two.

At the very least, I should be happy that Rachel still had her fire. It may be buried deep under confusion and . . . whatever else she was feeling. But it’s there. And I was determined to uncover the rest of it.