White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Call it the product of a guilty mind. But a hideous bruise to the face could easily be mistaken for a host of different things, when judged from afar – depending on the lighting, one might even be able to mistake it for a birthmark.

Why am I telling you this? Because it's important.

And because Liz Johnson was currently seated across from me, trying to hide a welting black eye from beneath her hoodie.

"Ladies, this is a safe space," the school counsellor continued, looking around the room, making eye contact with the faces that peered back up at her. "And I've gathered us to this safe space today because there are some important issues to address. This has been a tough few months for us all. The school recognizes that these are trying times, and we want each of you to know that it's okay to not be okay right now. Do you all understand?"

There were some murmurs in agreement. The Ladies Space was a new initiative by the school counsellor – it gathered female students from the cohort every week to sit in a circle and voice their feelings – the anxiety of never uncovering what had happened to Jenny and Rob, the looming threat of danger that their disappearance implied. The grief of losing a dear, dear friend with no explanation.

The counsellor, Ms. Hargreaves, continued. "Today's session is going to center around gender-based violence. Now, let me just premise here that if you don't feel comfortable talking about a certain topic in this space, you will never, ever be forced to. This may be a triggering subject for some – if you'd like to leave now and call this session a day, that's totally fine. I'm just warning you now."

Silence. We nervously looked around at our peers, waiting for someone to stand up and decide to walk out. Liz Johnson kept her head down, avoiding scrutiny. Pretending to be invisible. Yet she remained seated.

I couldn't help but keep my attention squarely on her, burning with curiosity. What had happened to her face?

Ms. Hargreaves gathered some laminated sheets, hiding what they contained from us and keeping them close to her chest. She stood in the middle of our makeshift circle.

"This might be a bit confronting, so I apologize in advance. I've been given permission to show these images to you all." She revealed the first image – a girl deep in coma, with blood matted into her hair and cuts covering her face. We all collectively gasped. Ms. Hargreaves' expressed was grave.

"This young woman was the victim of abuse. She and her boyfriend had gotten into an altercation at a bar. She was only nineteen and underage – she had fallen out with her family, and been living with him at the time. When she spoke to me, she revealed feeling like she had nowhere else to sleep but in the same bed as her abuser."

She then revealed a second image, one that was as confronting and graphic as the other. A bloody, lacerated face. "This woman was in her late thirties – much older than the first, yet that didn't stop her from being assaulted. Her husband of eleven years had brutally beaten her, in front of her own children, and in the comfort of their home. By the time she was found, she had nearly been close to death." She quietly gauged our collective reactions, seeing the feelings of shock and horror and nausea written on our faces.

"I won't show you anymore, I think – you get the picture. These were every day women, who went to school and worked and had very normal lives. But their abusers hadn't been strangers – their abusers had been people whom they loved and trusted, people whom they had known for years. It's now a well-established fact that most patterns of assault happen between people who know each other well, as opposed to largely being random and unpredictable. Though instances like that also still occur."