Deceiving Lies

“You ready, Rachel?”

Her jaw trembled when she looked up at me, and it broke me to watch her eyes fill with tears again. She opened her mouth, but only nodded when nothing came out.

“All right, let’s get you to the station then.”

AS WAS EXPECTED, I wasn’t allowed in the room as they questioned all the men we’d arrested or Rachel on everything that had happened from the actual kidnapping, to the month that she’d been gone. At least Chief had let me stay in the observation room to Rachel’s room so I could watch.

I hadn’t decided if I was glad I’d stayed to listen, or not.

After finding out Trent was the one to physically kidnap her, and keep her locked in that fucking small room with the mattress in it, my jealousy turned into pure rage, and it took everything for me to not hunt down the room he was in and finally do what I’d been wanting to. After listening to Rachel countlessly remind the detectives interviewing her that Trent had been protecting her, taking care of her, and trying to help her escape, I just wanted to throw up again.

She talked about him like he was a hero. She described him as being tortured emotionally, and being forced to do everything. “But, oh no! He isn’t a bad person!” And apparently I wasn’t the only one thinking it . . . because Detective Byson asked her if she’d ever heard of Stockholm syndrome.

“What? No! I mean, yes, I’ve heard of it; but no. I don’t have that, he was just good to me. He was just protecting me and keeping me safe, and it’s something I appreciated, that’s all.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to remind her that he’d taken her from me. That he’d kept her from me and had me believing she was being tortured. I wanted to know why she’d let him kiss her. I just wanted to fucking throw something. That must be why they didn’t have tables or chairs in the observation room. And I completely stopped breathing when Byson asked his next question.

“Rachel, did you and Mr. Trent Cruz have any form of a sexual relationship while you were in captivity?”

“N-no! No! He— No! We just . . . No!” She licked her lips quickly and turned to face the one-way mirror.

I stared into her blue eyes through the glass for a few seconds before I turned and walked out the door. There was so much pain radiating through my chest, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I’d been prepared for her to be hurt. I’d been prepared for her to have some things to work through if we got her out okay. I hadn’t been ready for this.

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 fu

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.