I was still high on Declan-pheromones as I got ready for his gig, smiling like an idiot and blissfully happy as I did my hair and picked out just the right outfit. A new hope had appeared in my head, and I felt as if I could see a bright future laid out in front of me instead of a bunch of depressing gray road bumps.

Once Declan told Trevor and the other guys how he felt and that he wanted to leave the band, he and I would date for a while. Depending on their transition plan, I’d follow Declan to Los Angeles or on tour or wherever he went until they found a new lead singer. I’d be on his arm through it all, supporting him and helping him deal with the parts of the music business he disliked. Be his refuge from the bullshit, his safe place.

The irony wasn’t lost on me—it had been a long time since I’d felt safe, even in my own home, but if things continued the way they were going, this wouldn’t be my home much longer. I could leave, ask Emilia to let me work as a virtual assistant from the road. I wouldn’t be dependent on my stepdad or Declan. I’d be free.

I practically bounced down the stairs, so ready to get out of this tomb and into a mass of sweaty strangers. I couldn’t wait to be part of a crowd screaming for more Declan and know that I was the only one who’d actually get more Declan after the show. After he had the big talk with his bandmates, of course.

When I saw Cal in the kitchen, all those good feelings disappeared. He was standing at the island in the kitchen, shoving cheese into his disgusting face. He’d moved out four years ago but came back unannounced whenever he felt like it. Just like I’d done from the second I turned eighteen until I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore and had to move back in.

He didn’t visit often, but after what he’d done to me last year, each time I was forced to see him felt like its own never-ending prison sentence.

My gaze suddenly stuck onto the floor, right where it felt like my stomach had dropped. Every muscle contracted. I hated how weak his proximity made me. I’d always been able to stand up for myself and for anyone else who needed standing up for. And in every other scenario, that was still true. But whenever Cal was near me, everything changed. I’d been blindsided, caught completely unaware by how naïve I’d been, thinking nothing like that could ever happen to me. Thinking I’d never be anyone’s victim—let alone my own stepbrother’s.

“Why are you here, Cal?”

“Mom and Dad went out with some business associates of Dad’s. And hello to you, too.”

“It’s seven o’clock. I figured you’d be weighing baggies and filling your pockets with pills to get ready for your night job.”

When he pretended to laugh hysterically, a tiny chunk of cheddar fell out of his mouth and landed on the counter. Gross. I’d never look at cheese the same way again.

“It’s a good thing you’re so hot,” he said, his gaze running up and down my body, “because I don’t think the comedy thing is going to pan out, little sis.”

“Don’t ever call me that again,” I snapped, spinning around on my heel and heading back out. I had to change my outfit—his comment made me hate it. Made me hate myself for needing to flee instead of screaming at him.

“Hey,” he called after me.

“Go deal your stupid drugs and leave me alone, Cal.” I moved faster as I heard his footsteps tap the wood floor. “Don’t even talk to me.” It was more than not wanting to—I couldn’t. I just couldn’t handle it. And this time, Declan wasn’t there to rescue me.

My stepfather never got home this early, but my mom was usually here. So, I rushed toward the living room, hoping I’d find her or the housekeeper, Beatrice. Damn it. Where was everyone?

He caught up with me in the family room. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I just said hello.”

Great. We were in the only room on the first floor of this giant house with only one door. And he was blocking it.

I put up my hand, as if that would keep him from taking a step closer. “Don’t touch me.” But it had never really been about the touch, had it? The feeling of helplessness was what had lingered, the knowledge that I hadn’t been able to stop someone from hurting me, taking something from me by force.

“No, Cal!” The strength of my voice made both of us flinch. “Back the fuck off.” I was stronger than this now. Smarter than this. And I knew what he was capable of. No way would I let him hurt me again.

“God, you’re so stupid.” He rolled his eyes. “Move on already, Sara. It was forever ago.” He wiped his hands over his eyes and then all the way down his face. “Fine. You regret it. But can we please be in the same room with each other without you freaking out? Can we just forget it happened and be friends?”

“Friends?” The strength in my voice had morphed into something with a definite shrieking quality to it. But I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to tell me to just move on. “Do you have a lot of friends who’ve raped you, Cal? Because I don’t. And I don’t want any.”

“Whoooaaa.” He jerked back a step, his arms out to his sides.

Rape. I’d finally said it. Shit, I’d never even used the word in my head. But it had always been there, waiting at the edge of my mind until I was brave enough to use it.

“What are you talking about, Sara? That wasn’t rape.”

“I said no.” After it had happened, I made sure I was never alone with him, so we’d definitely never talked about it before. But to claim it wasn’t rape? How dare he?

He made a stupid face and snorted. “Yeah, like, once.”

“Are you serious?” My body shook with fear and rage. “I said no and tried to push you off and was crying and begging you to stop. How the fuck is that not rape?”

“That’s not how I remember it,” he said snidely. “Not at all. What I remember is a spoiled little bitch who had way too much to drink and who was looking to get laid. All I did was give you what you were asking for, Sara. Get over it.” He sighed. “You want to regret it? Fine. That’s your choice. But just because you want to pretend it wasn’t your fault doesn’t mean you get to claim rape.”

“I—” The air left my lungs. I didn’t know what to say. I’d dreamt of this moment for so long—finally having the courage to confront him. Fantasizing about every word I’d say had been the only way to stop myself from crying every time I thought of it.

One thousand different scenarios of what would happen, and this wasn’t even close to any of them. How could he pretend what had happened didn’t? Just like my mother when I told her.

It had happened. I know it did. I hadn’t been asking for it, didn’t want it. I’d begged him to stop. I know I did. I…

My jaw quivered. When the two people who knew you best tell you something didn’t happen, you can’t help but doubt yourself. You can’t help but question every horrible second of the nightmare.

I’d said no. I’d screamed no. At least, I thought I did. But Cal was right—I’d been drinking. I was one hundred percent sure I hadn’t wanted it to happen. But what if I’d never said it out loud? What if I’d been so shocked, horrified, and scared that I’d never actually said no?

“I didn’t want that.” I shook my head violently. “I was crying and trying to get away. I would’ve never asked for that.” I rubbed my wrists where he’d held me down when he pushed himself inside me. “You forced yourself on me. It was not my fault.” Tears burned streaks down my cheeks. “It was your fault.”

He stared at me for a minute, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was he trying to decide how to say sorry? How to explain how horrible he felt about what he’d done? Even if he begged for my forgiveness on his knees, he wouldn’t get it. It had been too long. I’d been forced to spend too many dinners sitting across the table from him, pretending like we were a family.

So, what now? Should I hit him, walk away with my tail between my legs, say something hurtful before stalking off? Something that I couldn’t think of right now. What?

My indecision took away my choice.

“You’re so fucked in the head, Sara, and I’m done putting up with all your bullshit. Just stay away from me.”

I watched his back as he left, the way he sauntered. Exactly how he’d walked away from me that night. And I’d stayed frozen with hot tears running down my cheeks, unable to speak, breathe, or think. Just like now.

“And believe me,” he said over his shoulder, “if you even think about saying that word to Mom and Dad, you’ll learn the true meaning of regret.”

The slam of the front door brought me back to life. At least enough to get a bottle of scotch and bring it up to my room.

The moment I’d been dreading for an entire year was supposed to have made everything better. I was supposed to feel freer now, be ready to finally get closure so I could go back to being the woman I used to be. Maybe even a better version of that woman—a little wiser, a lot tougher.

So, where was she?

“Declan,” I whispered as I dragged my feet up the stairs. “You would’ve loved her.” It hadn’t occurred to me before, but that was where that brief moment of courage had come from. I’d finally been brave enough to face Cal because my desire to have a future with Declan was more powerful than my fear of confronting my rapist.

I’d wanted to be a woman who was that strong. For myself and for Declan. So, where did that leave me now?

Opening my bedroom door with my left hand felt awkward, but I wasn’t sure my right fist would unclench from around the neck of the bottle of scotch.

“Huh,” I said as I looked around my room.

I hadn’t planned for tonight to have been the night, but regardless, I thought I’d know what would happen afterwards. Everything should’ve looked different, been different.

But nothing had changed—all my shit was right where I’d left it. Count on me to put every makeup brush, hair tie, and piece of clothing back right where it was supposed to go.

Count on me to never admit I needed help when I wasn’t sure where the rest of my life was going.

I locked the door and went to my bed. When I sat down, I noticed what I was wearing. It had taken me forever to decide on what to wear. Something that Declan would like but didn’t look as if I were trying too hard. Something that he might want to show me off in. Be proud of me. For the way I looked and what I wore. Right. Because that’s pretty much all I had.

I got under the covers, leaning against the headboard of a little girl’s bed. A little girl who’d turned eighteen four years ago and had never felt smaller and less significant than she did at this very moment.

The scotch smelled terrible. Tasted worse. But after a few more lifts of the bottle, it wasn’t too bad.