Page 106 of Fracture

Oswald withdraws the spoon from his coffee, tapping it gently against the porcelain cup three times, before placing it down on the saucer. “You seem very sure of that.”

“Because I am. I lived in that house. I saw them together. My father didn’t care enough about Gloria to do anything remotely humiliating to her.”

Oswald lifts the cup to his lips, taking a small sip. “Your father was incapable of love, I think. Though I’m told that before your mother became a raging alcoholic, he was obsessed withher. That is…” He lifts his eyes back to mine. “Until he had a new object of his obsession.”

I feel sick. I’m going to faint or throw up, I can’t decide which.

“How old were you when he started asking you to pose naked for photographs?”

How does he know this? I suck in a breath, unable to hide my trepidation, and Oswald’s face betrays his silent triumph.

“Well? How old were you?”

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging, and I blink rapidly, desperate not to cry right now. “I was ten.”

Oswald sucks on his teeth, tearing his almond croissant in half. “Ten years old. Still a baby.”

“He said it was lucky I developed early. I never knew what that meant.”

Oswald shakes his head, taking a bite of his food and chewing slowly. “Terrible. Just terrible. I’m sorry, Stella.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since a colleague of mine showed me the pictures.”

My blood runs cold, and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. “When?”

“Ohh, now let me see.” He taps his fingers against the tabletop. “I’d say it would have been around thirteen years ago.”

“Wh-what?” I choke out. “No, that was… That was when… You mean, you knew? When Gloria married him, you knew?”

“I’ve always known.” His level gaze makes my heart drop into my feet. “Like I said, I never liked your father. But I did see the value in what he could offer my daughter.”

“And what’s that?”

“What she should have had, all along. A place in the White House, the first lady of this country. Her pathetic biker boyfriend was never going to offer her that.” He shakes his head,the feathering of his jaw the only sign of his contained rage. “That man was a menace. But one that was… Easily dealt with.”

His meaning dawns on me slowly, and goosebumps break out over my skin again. “What do you mean?”

“I have a way of dealing with people I need dealt with, Stella.” He swipes the screen of his phone, and pushes it towards me.

I look down at it, at the grainy video playing on the screen. I swear I stop breathing. The room caves in on me, and I’m hot and cold at the same time, watching the video loop and play again and again.

“Where did you get this?”

“I have my ways.”

I can’t tear my eyes from the screen. From the woman, flopping between three men, who take turns to shove her head down into their laps. To push their dicks into her while another man holds her down. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she’s clearly drunk, and high. One man ejaculates on her face. Another holds up her legs so one of them can fuck her ass. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, but the man claps his hand over her mouth.

I look so different. I barely recognise myself. Gaunt and hollow. A shadow of who I am now.

But I remember waking up after that night. I remember waking up sticky with cum and shame, on the floor of a seedy motel that I had no memory of stepping foot into. The three men at the club had offered me one drink after another, had fingered me roughly on the dance floor, and I hadn’t cared at all.

Then I’d let one of them take me to the bathroom, and he’d fucked me without a condom. I’d lain back on the counter, and let him press into me, staring at the speckled ceiling of the nightclub bathroom, watching it turn into a haze as I dreamed of Dylan, as tears stung my eyes wishing he was there with me.

That was the last thing I remember clearly. After that, it’s nothing but flashes of rough carpet against my ass, of choking on sweaty flesh and tasting salt, gagging on the smell of body odor. I’m not even sure I said stop, or no. I’d begged them to not hurt me, but that had probably been in my own head.

They’d drugged me, just like my father had, and I’d let them use me.