Wash

Chapter Three

Zoey
Four weeks later

...as spring bounces into summer...

I close my eyes and push away the newspaper that has the word 'serial rapist' plastered in angry black font all over the front of it. Sergeant Hughes promised me no one would find out about what happened when he came to check up on me a week after my assault...which was four weeks ago now.

He lied.

He also lied about finding the guy who did it. Four weeks have dragged by and no word, but there are two more victims. The newspaper says the police are getting closer to finding the rapist, but if you ask me, I'd say Sergeant Hughes doesn't know shit about this guy.

I push away my pancakes and slump into my chair. The only two good things to happen to me in the last four weeks was receiving negatives on all of my tests and getting my period last week. No STDs and no unwanted pregnancy. Those answers were the last things I needed before I could finally put what happened that night behind me.

I'm getting better. I no longer cry myself to sleep or need my mother to sleep on the floor in the hall just outside my bedroom. The nightmare is still vivid, but it's foggy around the edges.

I haven't spoken to Sebastian since that night. Three times a week he comes and sits against the white, wire fence outside my house, like a loyal canine. He disappears once the sun comes up, but returns again late at night. He doesn't ask for anything and he doesn't make a disturbance.

He just waits with his back to me.

As silly as it sounds, I sleep better when he's here. I don't know...I feel...lighter knowing he's outside my window.

"Sebastian is still outside." Mom says with indifference, pretending she's busy washing the dishes. "He's been there since eleven last night. Do you think he's hungry?"

My stare catches Dad's as he peers over the top of his fishing magazine. Clearing his throat, he inches the magazine a little higher, leaving me frowning at a swordfish.

They've wanted to invite Sebastian in for meals since it happened, but the thought of having him sitting at the same table as me when I know what he saw...it's humiliating. I don't want to eat pancakes across the table from the boy I imagined taking my virginity on a million separate occasions. It's fucking awkward--even more so now.

Yes, he saved my life.

No, I don't want to invite him inside.

"He saw everything." I mumble, reaching for my glass of ice-cold water.

I take a nervous sip and swallow hard, my heart clenching tightly in the heavy silence that looms over us.

"In your own time, then." She says over the clash of cutlery. "Maybe he just wants to know if you're okay."

I blow air out of my cheeks and sit back in my chair. Why would he want to know how I'm doing? He didn't care before my attack. Why now? The last thing I need is someone motivated by guilt to be my friend. I pull my side braid over my shoulder and toy with its tip.

"Inviting him in would be the right thing to do." I mutter, chewing the inside of my lip. "I'm just...I'm not sure I feel comfortable with the idea."

Dad peers over the top of his magazine again, his thick, brown eyebrows curved with patience. "Something tells me he has no problem waiting until you are."

I sit forward and the warm wooden chair presses against my bare thighs. "But why? Why now? It's not like I haven't tried to be his friend in the past."