Page 85 of He Hate Me

“Where did you get a gun?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Don’t worry about it? Is he crazy? He could get killed and if he kills Devin he’ll spend years, maybe even the rest of his life, in prison.

He gives me a quick kiss on the lips and leaves. I have to figure something out. I can’t call the cops, Brandon is as likely to get shot as Devin.

Pacing in front of the fireplace, I dial the only person I can think of calling right now. It rings four times before it’s answered.

“Are you all right?” my mother asks, her voice sounding strangely choked.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, “but Brandon just left to confront Devin. He has a gun. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared Devin will shoot him.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Five minutes, maybe. Do you think you can call Devin, maybe, get him to stay away from the house?”

“One sec.”

I wait for what seems like an eternity for her to unmute the call.

“I was able to contact someone who can help. They’re headed there now.”

“It’s not the police, is it?”

“No.”

“Is it Anton?”

“How much did Brandon tell you?”

“He told me what’s on the tape and what happened to Dad.”

“How are you dealing with that?” she asks gently.

“The fact that Devin killed Dad? It’s awful.”

“It is awful,” she says, “but I meant what happened to you.”

“Can you be more specific?

“What did Brandon tell you was on the tapes?”

“I—“ My brain is moving at light speed. Brandon said the tapes documented Devin’s sexual assault of his mother. So why was my mom asking about what happened to me?

“I’m on the tapes, aren’t I?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

I’m too overwhelmed to reply. My stomach falls and an ache spreads from my belly out through my whole body. I sit down, unable to stay on my feet. I think my mother is still speaking, but I’m trying to wrap my head around what I just learned. My memories of my life with Devin flash before my eyes. Every hug every touch, every time I sat on his lap looks different now.

“When?” I ask.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Did it happen after we moved in with him?”

“No,” she says. “It was before…before he and I started dating.”

“But you started dating when I was thirteen. What are you telling me?”