Issues // H.S. // A.U.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

TRIGGER WARNING:  Please be very careful reading further. The next few chapters are tough to read, and some characters recall very traumatic events involving abuse.

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DANI

Mickie is sitting next to me, head on my shoulder while I brush my fingers through her hair. The guilt running through me was immense, not being able to push back the thoughts that had been plaguing me since she called.

I don't think I would ever forget the sound of her voice when I answered her call. She sounded so terrified, and, although it brought back too many memories, I was able to push it all to the back of my mind to focus on my friend.

She was shaking next to me, hand clutching mine, and I could feel every bit of her pain. I wanted so desperately to go back in time and make sure she never went near him again, but I was so consumed with my own fear that I hadn't really thought about her. I took her quick and panicked promise not to see him when I should've known better.

I should've told her.

None of this would've happened to my friend if I had just been brave enough to say it. I knew firsthand how charming and convincing Clint could be, and he could've easily pretended he didn't know who I was. Mickie probably still didn't realize that I knew him. She had other things on her mind.

My eyes flickered up and met Harry's in the rearview mirror. I mouth the words, "I love you," and watch as they soften. Neither of us wanted to disturb Mickie. She wasn't sleeping, even though I suggested she try to. I knew there was no way she would sleep tonight in general, so it was a feeble attempt.

I was grateful for Harry. That he was with me when this happened, and okay with driving so far away to get Mickie where she wanted to be. Even just his presence was calming me. I look back down at Mickie, and sighed out in sadness. She was going to have to tell her mom and dad what happened. No way could she get away without doing that with the state of her face right now. It was going to be a nasty bruise on her face, and the ones around her neck were rather gruesome as well.

I still wasn't entirely sure what had happened - How far he got. When I first saw her, I noticed how disheveled her clothes were, but I didn't see anything missing. Maybe she had gotten away before things got really really bad. I wouldn't know until she started talking, but I couldn't push her to talk either.

That was the thing about events like these. To force someone to relive such a traumatic experience was so dangerous to their mental health. It could do major damage to someone who wasn't ready to speak on the matter.

But in a case like this, things were also time sensitive. Her bruises would fade and her testimony would become less and less believable as the days passed. The sooner we could go to the police the better, but I couldn't force Mickie into doing it. Not if she didn't want to.

I knew that overwhelming feeling of shame that was rippling through her body and mind right now. The embarrassment of "letting" something like that happen. She knew what was going to be said about her if she came forward and tried to place charges on him. It had been one of the main reasons I never said anything. They wouldn't believe me. Why would they? I was a foster kid who had "acted out" before, came from a drug family, and was female. I wasn't someone people would automatically believe, no questions asked.

I could just hear people saying, "Yeah, but she also came from a tough childhood" or "She's probably just looking for attention".

And I knew it wasn't just me. Women everywhere had difficulty coming forward with their stories. For a judge or jury, just the fact that Mickie was out partying over the weekend would be enough to discredit her, because god forbid a girl can't enjoy the same things a man does without fear of something happening to her.