Page 97 of Bittersweet & Strange

He tries to answer, but nothing comes out. His gaze drops to his feet, and I realize he’s ashamed.

“What happened, Boone?”

“He sent everyone out. They all left.”

I wait.

“He came back.”

His voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear him.

“He locked the door.”

I understand enough that every question I was about to ask disappears.

Boone stares at the floor while his breathing grows faster, his chest rising and falling erratically. “I tried to get away from him. I told him I didn’t deserve him because I thought maybe I could…” He swallows. “I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted him away from me.”

“Boone.”

“He threw me down.”

His hand rises to his mouth, and he presses his knuckles against his lips as though he can physically prevent himself from telling me the rest.

“He got on top of me, and I fought him, Rhys. I fought him so fucking hard. I swear I did.”

I don’t move.

I barely breathe.

“What did he do?”

Boone looks at me.

I know without making him say it.

“He—” His voice breaks completely. He tries again, but nothing follows.

He doesn’t have to finish.

The room becomes very quiet.

Boone shakes his head, trying to push away whatever he is seeing, but the tears only come harder. “I told him no. I kept telling him no, and he didn’t care. There was rope by the door because I bought it to fix the clothesline, and he—”

“He tied you?”

Boone flinches.

My gaze drops to his hands. He keeps them tucked close to his body, partially hidden by his sleeves, and I reach for one carefully.

“Let me see.”

“Rhys—”

“Your wrists, Boone.”

He hesitates, then slowly extends one hand. I push one sleeve up his forearm. Red circles his wrist.

No. Not red.