When I finished speaking, I stared down at the floor, unable to look at Annabel. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of what she might have thought about me. It was more the fact that I was physically and emotionally overwhelmed. I was almost twenty-eight years old, and it had taken me sixteen years to say the words out loud.

A rustling sound finally drew my stare from the bloodstained tile. I looked up to see Annabel slowly inching toward me. Just as our bodies touched, she stopped. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

With a shrug, I replied, “You don’t need to say anything.”

She shook her head. “How could I hear a story like yours and not have something to say?” She wet her dry, cracked lips. “I would say I was sorry, but that simple word seems so insignificant.”

More than anyone I knew, Annabel truly understood the meaning of her words firsthand. “I guess so.”

Tears welled in her sad eyes. “You were so young. Just a baby. Me . . . I was old enough to know better. In some ways, I got what I deserved. I walked right into the lion’s den.”

“Don’t you fucking say that!” I shouted, my fists clenching at my side. My words and tone caused Annabel to shrink back. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at, but at the same time, I had to get through to her. And I didn’t know how many chances I would have to get this right. It wasn’t like I had a whole lot of experience consoling broken women.

Tentatively I reached my hand out to touch her cheek. When she didn’t pull away, I brushed my thumb along her jawline. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Annabel, I want you to understand that you should never, ever think like that.”

A mirthless laugh tumbled from her lips. “Honestly, Rev, you’re too forgiving. I’m twenty-four years old, not fourteen. I knew better. But still I asked a man I’d never met to take me on a motorcycle ride. I allowed myself to become a victim.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I spent years blaming myself for drinking that coffee when I knew I wasn’t supposed to have any. I wasted so many nights lying in bed thinking I deserved what happened to me because even though I was drugged, I hadn’t fought back hard enough. That there was something I had done wrong to make Kurt want me over my brothers.” I shook my head. “It’s all bullshit, Annabel. Letting those kinds of thoughts eat away at you won’t get you anywhere.”

She remained silent for a few minutes and I could tell she was deep in thought. “After you were . . .” She swallowed hard as she met my eyes.

“Raped,” I enunciated the word for her. “I’ve been a fucking coward about the word long enough.”

She gave a quick nod of her head. “After you were raped, did you ever want to hurt yourself?”

Her innocent question sent the walls of the room spinning and closing in on me. My breath quickened to harsh pants, and I knew I was dangerously close to hyperventilating. No, I can’t lose it. Not here. Not now.

Closing my eyes, I pictured myself far, far away from the blood-soaked room. I waded into the crystal-clear waters of a stream. As the cool liquid encased my body, peace began to hum through my veins. The farther I went into the water, the greater the relief became.

I opened my eyes to find Annabel staring at me openmouthed. “What did you just do?”

“A visualization technique Breakneck taught me many years ago.”

“You calmed yourself down right in front of me. One minute it was like you were going over the edge, and then the next . . .”

“I had peace,” I finished for her.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“I was pretty volatile there for a while after what happened to me. The emotions coupled with preteen hormones made me explosive. I was throwing punches at my brothers, at kids at school. It was when I took a swing at Breakneck that he realized I needed an outlet.”

“Will you teach me the technique?”

“Sure. If you think it will help.”

“Yeah, I do.” She gave me a small smile. “Thank you, Rev.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Then I braced myself to unburden myself even further. “The answer is yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, I tried to hurt myself.”

Her green eyes widened. “What did you do?” she questioned in a whisper.

“I tried to hang myself in my closet.”

Although she had tried slitting her wrists not a half hour ago, Annabel’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Oh no.”

“The months after the rape were almost as bad as the day itself. The man who raped me was just a drifter, so no one came looking for him or had any questions about what happened to him. I guess it would’ve been even worse if my father had gone to prison. Within just a few weeks, my old man left his church. He started drinking again, moved out of the house. My mother cried all the time. My brothers had no clue what had caused the seismic shift in our family, but I did. It was all my fault. I had caused my father to kill a man, to leave his wife and family, and to leave his church.”

“You poor thing,” Annabel whispered.

“So I took a belt, tied it to the rack in the closet, and then tied it to my neck. I didn’t leave a note. I just climbed up on the chair and stepped off—” Annabel’s gasp of horror caused me to momentarily pause. “But my weight was too much for the rack, and it collapsed to the floor.” For a moment, I was that scared, devastated little boy all over again. I could feel his pain and desperation just as strong as when I was first experiencing it.