Billy Carter

Chapter 38: Misguided Ghosts

Annabelle stopped down the street and leaned back against a tall wooden fence. She was covering her face with her hands and didn't see me come up - but I think she knew I was there. I stopped a couple metres away from her and shifted my weight anxiously. I didn't mean to shout at her, but I was still fucking pissed. I had so many angry thoughts racing through my head, I didn't know what to say first.
"Why... Do you think much before you speak?" I asked irritably. "Or is this a pregnancy thing?"
"I'm sorry-"
"Please shut the fuck up. I think you've done enough talking."
We stood in a tense, horrible silence for a few moments.
"How could you, Annabelle?" I asked finally, my voice trembling a little bit as my anger faded and fear, despair and hurt swept me up instead. "I trusted you with that... information. We've had countless conversations about it, I've opened up and told you things I haven't even told Oliver because I'm scared of what he'll think. I've been so... vulnerable with you. And for you to be so careless and irresponsible and reveal that it even happened at all to the others, even by accident... I'm not even sure why exactly, but that really hurts, Annabelle. That's cut me deep. It's like... it's like you're not taking it seriously. And now even if they don't know everything they know enough. And they'll ask about it. I don't want... I'm not ready to talk about it again. I mean it's ok with you, Mum, Ollie and Jim, but you all already know. And to have to go through everything again for each individual person? How many times is that? Five. I guess the other option is tell them all at once, like a grisly ghost story around the campfire, but I especially don't want a goddamn audience when I talk about that stuff. Or I don't tell them anything, and they resent me for not trusting them."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know."
"I do take it seriously, Billy. I really do."
"I know. I guess it's just very... isolating. I feel so alone in it. I know I'm not the only person in the world who's been sexually abused, assaulted or raped, but I feel so separated from everyone else."
"Do you know I dye my hair?" She asked suddenly.
"Er, no."
"I started puberty when I was ten," she told me. I wasn't sure where she was going with all this; it didn't seem very relevant to me and I was starting to feel frustrated with her. "By the age of eleven I had developed breasts - small as they were at the time. When I was twelve I was raped by my best friend's older brother."
A deep, dark pit formed in my stomach. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking down at her feet while her hands tugged restlessly at her pyjamas and her hair fell around her pale face like a mourning veil.
"I told my friend," she continued, her voice shaking, "and she got mad at me and told her parents. They yelled at me too. Her brother denied it, and they said that they believed him. Even when I showed them the blood on his bedsheets, he made up some lie about getting a blood nose." She laughed suddenly. "Seriously? Can you believe that? What a lame, bullshit excuse. Anyway, his parents told my parents that I was making it up and they yelled at me and scolded me for being so attention-seeking and ruining their relationship with another rich, powerful family." She breathed shakily, and when she spoke again I could hear her crying.
"I tried to show my mother my injuries but she ignored me and called me a whore," she spoke quietly. "My own mother. And I begged them to take me to the hospital but they refused. I was so hurt, Billy. I was battered and bruised and he'd literally torn me apart. And everyone involved - my parents, my friend and her parents - they all knew I was telling the truth. I know they did. I watched his mother drown the bloody sheets in bleach the same day I told them, and my mother made me take a pregnancy test. They knew." She started to shake with heavy sobs. "I want to sit down but I'll ruin my pyjamas," she said with a sour laugh through her tears.
"Here." I took off my jumper and laid it down on the pavement. I wasn't very cold anyway. Annabelle murmured a thank you and sat down on top of it and kept crying. I wasn't sure if she wanted me to touch her but when I sat down beside her she turned into me and cried into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her in a warm, comforting hug, hoping she could feel as safe as I knew she was with me. Safe to speak freely, to be honest, to give as many or as little details as she was comfortable with. Safe to be herself and to feel her emotions and her pain openly. Safe in the knowledge that I'd love her no matter what. Because that's how she made me feel.
She cried for a little bit, then when she was ready to continue she told me the rest:
"It was easier, and more beneficial for them to just shut me up," she said of her parents. "My friend told everyone at school that I was making up lies and trying to ruin her family. They called me so many disgusting things, they made up horrible rumours and treated me so terribly. Girls would say I was a slut and teased me for having breasts, and boys would grope me and say horrible lewd things. People would bully me for making up false accusations then in the next breath claim I was probably flaunting my body and had wanted him to have sex with me. So when I finished primary school I convinced my parents to let me go to a public secondary school because nobody from my private primary school would be there. They agreed because they thought taking me away from the other wealthy family's kids would help people forget the "scandal". Out of sight, out of mind. But I was terrified that I'd still be called a dumb blonde at my new school, because for me that's kind of like a trigger, I guess. Like you and shouting. I'm not saying I have PTSD, but it's a reminder of the bullying which is a reminder of my assault, and I'd really rather not be forced to think about that all the time. I've done a pretty good job of pretending it never happened, actually. Almost as good as my parents," she said bitterly. "So I started dying my hair, and getting my eyebrows tinted, and I pretended it was always that way. The only person I've ever told since my parents and his family is Kenny Leary. I know you hate him but he's one of my closest friends. He's so supportive, but I've still always felt so alone, like I was in an invisible bubble keeping me distanced from the rest of the world. And I feel guilty about it, and please don't think that by any stretch of the imagination I'm happy that you've gone through what you've gone through, but when you told me what had been happening to you at the hospital that day, I felt the tiniest piece of relief that maybe now I would have someone else in the bubble with me. I know it's selfish, please don't think terribly of me. But maybe now you feel the same way? A little bit? Or at least you know I can relate to the sexual abuse. I just want you to feel better. I hope I've helped you at all," she told me.
"Annabelle, it doesn't make me feel better to know that something awful happened to you. I'm so sorry that somebody did that to you, nobody should ever do those things to anybody else. But I'm glad you told me. I hope you did it for yourself as much as for me. You don't owe me anything, you know. What I mean is, I hope you told me that because you were ready to open up about it, and not just because you felt bad about... before."
"It was a bit of both. I do feel bad."
"Don't. It was a mistake. And I know you're sorry, you don't need to feel bad anymore - I forgive you. And I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"Thank you. I hope I haven't just burdened you with my... secret."
"I'm good at keeping secrets," I told her with a wry smile. "I kept Dad's... anger, a secret for almost eighteen years. I kept my sexuality a secret for almost a year. Well, except for the people who walked in on me and Ollie."
"I'm not. Obviously."
"You kept that secret for a long time. And I don't think anyone knows that your hair isn't naturally black. And you kept your pregnancy a secret for two months - you even kept it secret so I could choose fairly between you and Oliver. And you let me go. That was really brave, Annabelle. And selfless. But I wish you had told me before."
"Why? I didn't want to influence your choice. Would it have? Influenced your choice?"
"I would have picked you."
"See, that's why I didn't tell you."
"Hear me out. I'm not unhappy about the pregnancy, I'm not wishing it didn't happen, but I feel so horrible dragging Ollie into it. It's not fair on him. I would have stayed with you because I know you need a lot of support, and I'm still going to give you that support, but now I have to try and find a balance with you and Ollie. After the baby is born, I know it's going to be really hard to maintain my relationship with Ollie - at least for the first few weeks, months even."
"But you don't love me, Billy. You love Oliver. It wouldn't be fair on you to give that up for me."
"... I know you saw me kiss Ollie at the hospital," I told her. "I'm really sorry I did that, that wasn't fair to you. But I'm thankful that you didn't make a big deal about it at the time."
"Yeah. That's when I knew I was going to lose you again. It was devastating, honestly. But frankly there were bigger things to worry about and I was more concerned with your safety," she told me.
"I'm sorry I did that. It was cheating. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine, I don't mind. Honestly."
"And then afterwards you would listen to me and you'd never judge me. You'd never tell me that I should have done something different. You'd never tell me I was wrong or confused. I guess now I know why you were so understanding. But you made me feel safe and supported in a way nobody else could - besides Mum. You're an incredible person, and I'm so grateful to have you in my life. Honestly. And if I'm going to be co-parenting with someone for at least eighteen years, I'm really glad it's you," I said with a laugh. "You're going to be an incredible mum."
"You're going to be an incredible father."
"Well, I'll try."
We sat in silence together for a minute or so. There was a cool breeze, and we could almost see some stars through the light pollution in the sky. There were a couple wispy clouds and a faint hint of pink coloured the sky where the (very) early morning sun was rising. It was quiet and still and comfortable. Annabelle was still crying, and my emotions got the best of me so I was now too. And I found that I had something to get off my chest.
"Annabelle?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
Anxiety was eating me up.
"I just-" I paused and hugged myself with both arms. " I just... let it happen. And I feel so rotten about it."
"That's ok," she said. "I did too."
"I mean I tried to fight at first, but when I couldn't I just stopped trying and I let him do that to me. I let him do that to me."
"No, Billy, you did nothing wrong," she said very seriously, drying her eyes and grabbing my hand, making me look at her.
"But I should've done something, right? I should've fought harder." Annabelle gave my hand a squeeze and leaned against me as my words sunk in, even to myself. That was something I'd been in such denial about - that I did the things Dad wanted without putting up a fight - and it was physically painful for me to admit it. My chest ached and my stomach flipped and flopped like the anxiety and shame were going to kill me.
"I'm not saying I put any effort into it, I certainly wasn't trying to please him - not like that. I just knew that if I tried to leave, or tried to talk him out of it or tried to fight him off or defend myself, it would have been so much worse." I felt oddly numb as I told Annabelle about what had happened, almost as if I was describing something that had happened to someone else rather than to myself.
"But now it's that part that haunts me the most. Because I let him." I frowned as the words came out of my mouth, feeling confused. Why had I let him? What was wrong with me?
"And I can't believe I let him," I continued, my voice beginning to waver. "Can you even call that rape? I didn't want to do it, but I didn't say no. I didn't say anything. I fucking... I fucking got him a beer when it was over. I got him a beer, Annabelle. I got him a fucking drink, I let him do that to me and then I got him a drink." My composure crumbled quickly with each word I said, devolving into near hysteria by the time I had finished speaking.
Once again I was crying - but "crying" seems a mild way to describe the tumultuous sobs that wracked my body. By saying all that out loud I was finally acknowledging the trauma that I'd buried and hidden from the most - the darkest, most insidious fear that was slowly eating me up from the inside - that I was in anyway responsible for what Dad had done to me. And there aren't words to describe how that felt.
But Annabelle didn't need a description, or an explanation. We'd swapped positions - now she was holding me while I cried on her shoulder.
"You've heard of the fight or flight response, haven't you?" She asked me, stroking the back of my head. "There's actually two more - freeze and fawn. Freezing is when your body and mind stop because they're still assessing the right course of action. However, when you fawn it's because your body and mind have learned that the safest thing to do is to please the attacker or abuser. You said before that you knew if you tried to leave the situation or fight back it would be worse. Well deep down somewhere your instincts knew that too. You did what you had to do to protect yourself, Billy. You knew you couldn't protect yourself completely, but you could at least protect yourself from more pain or danger than you were already enduring. You did nothing wrong. And just because you were more "cooperative" or didn't fight back violently doesn't mean that you wanted it to happen or let it happen. If a store owner is held at gun point and ordered to hand over all the money in the cash register, does it then mean that it's their fault their store was robbed if they do it? No, it certainly does not, and the same goes for you, Billy. And honestly? I think you did make the right decision, because any decision that protects you even a little bit is the right decision. I'd have done the same thing. I did do the same thing. I stopped fighting my rapist when I realised I couldn't stop him. He was so much bigger and stronger than me and he had me pinned with one arm. Steve's a big guy, Billy. He's tall and he's strong. In a physical fight, he was always going to win. Hell, it took you, Jimmy and me to fight him off. And you grew up in an abusive environment - your body and mind have learnt probably hundreds of strategies, tips and tricks on how to manoeuvre and navigate his abuse over seventeen years. I bet you can read his mood by the way he blinks. I bet you can predict and sense his reactions and responses with almost supernatural accuracy. You're probably an expert at reading his tone and body language without even realising it. You took what you learned over seventeen years of subconsciously studying Steve was the safest course of action. You need to be kind to yourself. You did your best. That's all anyone can ever ask." She gave me a squeeze and kissed my cheek.
"I should have told someone," I sobbed into her shoulder.
"You did. You told me. And Jimmy, I think."
"I should have told someone sooner."
"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. We can't go back and change it, so there's no point in beating yourself up over "I should've done this" or "I should've said that". It happened, but it's over now," she murmured softly in my ear. "And honestly, I'm sure it felt pretty normal to you. You probably didn't even realise how wrong he was, because you grew up in it. It was your normal. And by the time you knew it was wrong and he needed to be stopped he'd already isolated you and filled your head with so much poison you didn't think or know that he could be stopped. I'm sure you were worried about your mother, I know that Steve had threatened Ollie - Ollie told me you said that. You'd withdrawn from all your friends, so I'm assuming you didn't think we could - or would - help you. I blamed myself for what happened to me for so long, Billy. For going into his bedroom, and for letting everyone intimidate me into silence. You know as part of my punishment for "telling lies" my parents forced me to write an apology letter to him, his sister and their parents? Sometimes I wonder if that was more humiliating than the actual assault. It takes a long time to even begin to move on, Billy - and that sucks. But you need to remember to be kind to yourself, because you did absolutely nothing wrong, and the things he did aren't your fault. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He might have said things to make you think it was your fault, maybe he said you were leading him on - that's what my rapist told me - but he knew he was abusing you, he knew it was assault. Abusers are master manipulators, Bill. Steve is no exception."
"I guess." I sat back and dried my eyes and cheeks with the bottom of my shirt and sniffled. "I just feel really bad. Like I'm bad. And sometimes I get really worried that I'm going to turn out like him. Dad's whole family is a lineage of abusers. His grandfather abused his father, who abused Dad, who abused me - and it goes further back too. I don't think I'm capable of hurting anyone let alone my own children, but I can't shut up this nagging part of my mind that's paranoid I'm going to end up like the rest of them." Annabelle held my hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Well, I know that's not true. You're nothing like Steven, Billy. You're the sweetest, kindest, most gentle guy I've ever met. But, for the sake of soothing that anxiety at the back of your mind - I'd never let you hurt our kids. But I'm not worried that you would ever even think about it, so don't take that as I'm going to be watching you like a hawk or anything."
"No, no. Thank you." I smiled grimly and gently bumped her shoulder with my own. She returned my smile and leaned against me again.
"You're welcome. I like talking about this with you. Well, I don't like it, but... oh, you know what I mean!"
"I actually... don't mind talking about it with you," I said, putting my arm around her shoulders again. "When I talk about it with Mum or Ollie I feel like I can't say everything, like I can't be completely honest - because I'm worried I'll upset them. But with you, even before you told me about your own experience, I knew I could say anything and it'd be ok. I can be sad with you. With Mum and Ollie, they always worry that I'm about to jump off a cliff or something, and they overreact and it makes me feel like I'm burdening them. Maybe more so Ollie than Mum... But you don't jump to conclusions like that. You let me speak and explain myself. I know they mean well, and they're only worried and trying to help me, but sometimes it feels suffocating - especially with Ollie. I mean he's a big help too, don't get me wrong. He gives me lectures about mental health, how I should look after it and pay attention to my behaviour and "symptoms" so I learn what triggers my anxiety and panic attacks and blah, blah, blah."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean he's right, of course he's right, but sometimes I just want to feel sad and not have it be a bad thing. It's normal to be sad, you know? Or angry, or whatever. No one should feel guilty about it, it's part of life and being human. I love Ollie, and he looks after me so well - Hell, I didn't even realise I needed looking after until he came along. He's got a heart of gold and he helps me without me even realising it half the time, but I feel shitty whenever I'm down because I feel like I'm letting him down. I know that I'm not, I know he's so proud of me and all that, but I still feel like I should be better, like I owe it to him, and because of it I just end up feeling worse than I did to start with."
"I know what you mean. I've never told anyone about this, but I don't really like myself very much. I know it comes from my assault, and how it was handled, or rather not handled. But I feel like I'm not real. You know? Like I'm an actress playing a role. But I don't want to be the girl I am. I hate who I am, and I feel so utterly miserable all the time. And I know that I shouldn't, because I'm really lucky. I know I should be grateful because I've got a huge group of great friends, I'm doing well in school, I'm healthy, I'm beautiful, I've got a promising career as a model, and I could do anything I wanted. My parents kicked me out but honestly that's no big loss - I wouldn't say we had a great relationship anyway, and your family has been so welcoming and gracious to me. I've lived with Nelly and Harry for barely a week and I already have a better relationship with them than I ever had with my real parents. And I'm excited about the baby, too. I'm scared and anxious but I love them so much already and I can't wait to spoil them rotten. I've got so much good in my life, I know I do. I don't know why I feel like this, it's so frustrating, and I feel so guilty that I'm not constantly on fucking cloud nine! It's like... it feels like I'm drowning, all the time; like I'm being sucked into a black hole or some bottomless empty void. I don't enjoy anything I used to. There's been so many times that all I wanted to do was to curl up in my bed and cry, but instead I forced myself to go shopping with friends and gossip about boys because that's the sort of girl I'm supposed to be. I'm like a fucking Barbie doll, Bill. I'm just plastic, and hollow inside. I'm so fake it makes me feel sick. I hate it. I hate me. I feel like shit, then I feel worse because I feel guilty for feeling like shit, then I get angry with all our friends because they're the reason I feel guilty about feeling like shit because I know I have so much privilege and then I just feel guilty all over again for blaming it all on my friends. It's an unending, ridiculous cycle of overthinking," she said with a smile.
"That's exactly what it is, isn't it?" I asked with a laugh. "You nailed it."
"For the record, I don't think you need looking after. You're strong and capable enough to look after yourself. And you don't owe Oliver anything. If I can be honest... I know you don't give yourself enough credit, and I understand why, but I don't think Oliver gives you enough credit either. I'm not trying to be the jealous ex-girlfriend, but... I think Ollie likes looking after you, and that's fine, but sometimes I think he oversteps. Sometimes I think it's not exactly healthy. I know he means well, and I'm not saying you don't deserve to be looked after or cared for or anything, but I worry sometimes that maybe you're too dependent on him. Just make sure that you're not always doing things just because Oliver tells you to. He's not always right, Billy. And you can trust yourself, you know. You're not as weak or useless as Steve has led you to believe. You're brave and capable and clever - and very talented. And you have so many people who love you. Never underestimate yourself, William."
"Christ, don't get sappy on me," I scoffed, rolling my eyes playfully.
"Sorry. But I mean it."
"Thanks." We smiled at each other and a lock of hair fell over Annabelle's face. I immediately reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, and she blushed. "Sorry," I said. "Just... I don't know. Instinct? Sorry."
"No, it's ok. I don't mind. It's nice. Affection, I mean. My parents weren't very interested in that kind of thing. It makes me feel cared for."
"I do care for you."
"I know."
I honestly don't know what possessed me and I didn't even realise what I was doing, but I leaned in and would have kissed Annabelle if she hadn't pulled away looking confused.
"Uh, no. I don't think so, mister," she said with a nervous laugh.
"I'm really sorry, I'm not sure why I did that," I apologised, equally as surprised by my actions, and blushing terribly (not that she could see in the dark). "I guess I'm very emotional at the moment. And maybe still a little bit drunk. I'm sorry, that was very inappropriate."
"A little bit. I mean, I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for your boyfriend."
"Me too," I sighed, then realised how that sounded. "Er, I mean, um-"
"I know what you mean," Annabelle said, and it was a good thing she knew what I meant because I didn't.
Why did I do that? What the Hell just happened? I love Oliver, how could I do that to him?
Because I love Annabelle too.
"You said it wouldn't have been fair on me to pick you over Oliver," I said.
"Yes. Because you deserve love."
I glanced sheepishly into her eyes. "You love me."
"But you don't love me."
"Of course I do, Annabelle," I told her. "Very much. I think I realised after everything with Dad came out, and you were so supportive and loyal and forgiving and compassionate. You're a brilliant person, Annabelle. I don't think I ever really gave you credit for that. I think I struggled to look past your beauty and your wealthy family - and I'm really ashamed to admit that, and I'm deeply sorry for it. You're patient, generous, kind, accepting, intelligent, funny, determined, fiercely independent, cheerful, and you've never been judgmental about my family or their lack of wealth. Maybe you've put your foot in your mouth a couple of times, but I'm just as guilty of that. Not to mention you're incredibly brave. You might have saved mine and Jimmy's lives when you jumped in to protect us from Dad. And you were so incredibly strong for me at the hospital. You helped me tell Mum the truth - that's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. So how could I know a person who's wonderful in so many ways and not fall in love with them?"
"That's enough, Billy," she said. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"But I mean it," I told her. She leaned away from me and held her hands in her lap.
"That's the problem. You're with Oliver. It's hard enough for me seeing you everyday, with all this love for you that I can't give. Don't tease me with musings of a reality you're only considering because it didn't happen."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling guilty. "I just... I want you to know that I don't take you for granted. Not anymore. And if you ever need anything, or anyone, I'm always going to be here for you."
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry that we're not... that I'm not... that I-"
"You love Oliver more. That's ok. Really."
"... I suppose."
"It's fine. I understand, and I don't hate you for it. But I don't want to talk about this anymore. And if you try to kiss me again - at least while you're still dating Oliver, or anybody else - we're both going to end up regretting it. And I'm gonna slap you."
"Yes, alright. That sounds fair."
"Good. Now there's just one more thing we have to work out before we get back to everyone else."
"Yeah?"
"What are we going to tell them about... my slip up?"
"Oh. I don't know. Ollie knows, maybe he filled them in."
"Do you want to text them or something? See if they've said anything?"
"Do you think... can we just go back and pretend it didn't happen? Do you think they'll let us get away with that?"
"I mean... sure. I'll make a big deal about how much I hate air mattresses," Annabelle said with a laugh. "I'll take all the attention off you. And I'm sure Oliver will deflect a lot as well."
I sighed, and started to feel miserable as fresh tears welled up in my eyes. "It's so embarrassing, Annabelle." I hung my head low and she brushed some hair off my face.
"I know. It's horrible. But they're our friends, and they love you, and you don't need to feel embarrassed about it around them. What if... what if we tell them what happened together? You can tell them about Steve and I'll help. And I'm sorry, but... I'm not ready to tell anyone about what happened to me. Not yet."
I thought about it for a moment before I nodded. "That's fine. They'll find out eventually," I said quietly. "About me, I mean. We can keep your thing a secret."
She smiled and I held Annabelle's hand while she reassured me some more, and just as we were about to head back we heard footsteps on the pavement as someone approached us with a torch. It was hard to tell who it was with the light in front of them - all we could see was a silhouette - but I wasn't surprised when it turned out to be Ollie.
"There you are," he said. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I sighed. He sat down beside me and put his arm around me.
"It's alright. I'll take care of it - I've got a solution worked out."
Annabelle's words came back to me: "I don't think Oliver gives you enough credit..."
"Thanks, but Annabelle and I talked about it and I know what I'm going to do," I told him.
"Oh, good. So what's the plan?"
"Well I figure our friends are smart enough to have figured out exactly what's happened. Annabelle and I are going to tell them the truth."
"You and Annabelle?"
"I'm gonna help," Annabelle told Ollie. "We're going to tell them what happened together."
"Yeah, ok. And I've got your back too," Ollie told me with a small reassuring smile.
"Well, I figure everyone will have questions, but I think they're all respectful and tactful enough to know what to leave alone," Annabelle said to me. "My strategy would be to just be frank and leave little room for curiosity."
"The only person I'm worried about is Trent, honestly. He either doesn't know when to drop something or doesn't care. He's just nosy, I guess. Boundaries seem to be a foreign concept to him," I said.
"I agree with that. Or he thinks he's being funny - and when nobody else laughs, it's because they don't have a sense of humour." Ollie rolled his eyes. "Whatever. When you're ready we'll go back, Bill. And honestly I was pretty worried that you'd be a lot more upset after what happened," Ollie told me. "But I'm really glad that you seem pretty at ease instead. I thought I'd be walking into a fight, or a break down."
"Oh, we already did all that," I told Ollie. "And I am still anxious about going back to Trent's, but I have you two backing me up, don't I?"
"Of course. And I think this is one of those "rip off the bandaid" type situations. The sooner we get it over with the better," Annabelle told me. We shared another smile until Oliver cleared his throat. "So shall we head back then?"
"Yeah, let's go," I sighed. We all got to our feet (I retrieved my jumper) and walked back to camp, chatting casually on our way.
When we got back to camp we found the others sitting around the dying fire (it was mainly embers at this point). Everyone looked up at us expectantly when we entered through the gate, and I took a few deep breaths to calm my anxiety. Time to rip off the bandaid.
"Dad... he did that to me once. Only once, and recently. He never touched me as a kid or anything. Well, not that I remember, anyway. And I don't want to talk about it. In fact I'm quite tired and will be returning to bed immediately. Good night everyone."
"Goodnight Billy," they said together.
I headed straight for my tent and climbed in, Oliver right behind me.
"Night Annabelle," I said to her as she went to her own tent.
"Goodnight Billy, Ollie." She gave us a small smile and disappeared into her tent just as Ollie started zipping up the entrance to ours.
"Feeling ok?" Ollie whispered as we wriggled into the sleeping bag together.
"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess. I'm proper tired though, so I don't want to talk about it right now."
"Then I'll just say that I'm glad Annabelle helped you. And I'm sorry that I couldn't."
"Oh. It's ok, I just needed some space."
"Why did you sit with Annabelle then?"
"She just gets it."
"And I don't?" He didn't sound irritable, but I got the feeling that I should be treading lightly.
"Of course you do," I replied. "Goodnight. I love you."
"I love you too."
We fell asleep, and this time I didn't dream at all.