The Divorcee Murder Club

Cincuenta Y Cuatro ~ 54

              The drive back to the safe house was absolutely quiet. Aside from stopping at a gas station to pee, and a fast food joint for burgers, Angie didn’t say much. 

When we finally arrive, I pull into the garage, and she hops out of the van before I even shift the gear into park. She disappears into the house and yellow light spills from the door she left open. It’s warm, inviting, and I need a nap, but the reality of what happened to Alma awaits. So, I head inside and jog up the basement stairs to speak with Jackson. He needs to know what Richie said, and I need his advice about what to do. 

Allowing Richie to see Mindy would mean revealing that I’ve been holding her deadbeat ex-husband hostage this entire time. It would mean, telling her that I’m a liar and a horrible person. Then again, she already thinks I’m scum for sleeping with her hours after sleeping with Celia. So what’s one more notch on my belt of shame?

However, all of that swipes away as soon as I step into the kitchen. My eyes go wide. 

“Gwen?”

Her head whips in my direction, surprise in her expression.“Hi.” 

“Relax,” Jackson says. “Alma called her. I’m actually proud of her for reaching out, even though… you know.”

“Yeah, I do.” I remain frozen because the last thing I wanted was to drag another innocent bystander into this. 

“You guys don’t have anything to worry about,” Gwen assures us. “All I know is what Alma told me about escaping a human trafficking ring. I don’t need to know whose house this is or why there are guards with guns, and I sure as hell don’t want to know why Angie’s shirt has blood or why your hands do, too. For legal purposes, the less I know the better.” 

“Our lips are sealed,” I say.

“Now, Dr. Banaag and I agree that Alma should be dropped off at the hospital. They have tools to perform a thorough evaluation, and an ultrasound since Alma thinks she might be pregnant. Don’t wait any longer to take her.”

“Alright.” Jackson nods. “I’ll go help her get ready.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch. Alma is going to need a lot of therapy in the coming months. Lord knows what she just went through.”

After Jackson leaves the kitchen, I’m left with Gwen in an awkward silence. The last time we spoke, I was pretty awful to her. I told her to fuck off when she was trying to help me sort my feelings about Augusta assaulting me, and I’m an asshole for that. 

“So…” I dig my hands into my pockets and stare sheepishly at my feet. “I’m sorry for storming out on you. It was a lot to digest.”

Gwen chuckles. “You’re not the only patient to ever treat their therapist like shit. It comes with the territory.” 

“I was an asshole.”

“When someone realizes what happened to them was sexual assault, it comes with many mixed emotions. Your anger was valid.”

Furrowing my brows, I think back on what I blurted at Angie in the bathroom. “I believe I know why what happened makes me feel so sick.”

“Why?”

“Because part of me enjoyed it. I got off on how many times I could make her orgasm. Like a power trip. She’s a rich woman who treats me like shit and wants to control me, but in that moment she was clay I could mold in whatever shape I wanted.” 

“That’s understandable, and not uncommon. Part of what makes sexual assault confusing is when our attacker makes it feel good. It messes with our head because we know what happened was wrong, yet it gave us pleasure, so it causes shame.” Gwen places her hands on my upper arms and looks me in the eyes. “You did nothing wrong. That woman took advantage. She’s the scum of the earth. Not you.”