at her. Silently allowing his brain to catch up to all the information she’d just thrown at him. He was reeling—unable to comprehend.
Jane stared right back, her eyes blazing with fury, her fists clenched in rage.
“Fun little trip down memory lane,” she hissed, watching him carefully for signs of breaking.
“Why,” he began in his soft tone, “Why would you do this to me?” he couldn’t believe it. Dave wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating in this moment or if she were entirely real.
“To you?” Jane could barely control the tremor in her voice, “To you?”
“Janey,” he tried, reaching for her hands—this was a misunderstanding, he could fix this.
She wrenched them back in horror with a startled gasp.
“That’s not my name,” she spat, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Dave felt his heart ache at the absolute loathing in her eyes. “I loved you,” he said. “I did.”
"You took advantage of me. You used me, manipulated me, you destroyed my life!” she snapped, slamming her hands against the table in order to keep herself from flipping it over. “But you did not love me.”
“I took care of you. I was there for you when your parents and your sister weren’t,” he reminded her.
“My sister was always there for me, you fuck,” she burst out with brutal vengeance.
He looked her dead in the eyes, “And so was I.”
“You actually believe your own lies, don’t you?”
“There is no lie,” he returned heatedly, his gaze boring into her with an intensity that set her nerves even further on edge. “You were perfect, our relationship was perfect,” he insisted, as memories began to replay over and over in his head of their times together. He almost smiled at the way she adored him back then.
Jane gazed at him with incredulity, “It wasn’t a relationship. I was eight years old and you were my sister’s twenty-one-year-old boyfriend!”
Dave shook his head in denial, “I never saw you as a child.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think you saw.”
“I never hurt you,” he promised with sincerity in his gaze.
Jane let out a loud bark of painful laughter. “You raped me.”
“I made love to you. We shared something sacred. We loved each other,” he clarified, thinking of all the times she would run into his arms and kiss him—practically begging him to play with her.
“Then let me ask you something—why did every reminder of our time together make you sick?” Jane questioned, infuriated that his brain warped everything she threw at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Black olives. You hate them now even though we ate olive pizza every weekend. I sent you memory after memory—the hair clips, the smell of sharpies, the root beer bottle, strawberries and whip cream, Nirvana CDs—all of it, Dave. I gave it all away to you, and every time I saw you interact with one of those lost pieces of the past, you deteriorated. I watched you get drunker and drunker—I witnessed your life fall apart around you. Now, if what we had was so beautiful, do you honestly think you would be where you are now?”
He could not ignore her logic. Jane hoped her question would finally dig out one truthful piece of his mind.
He evaded her as he shook his head, his voice filled with sadness, “Why was betrayal the only option?”
“Betrayal? What was I supposed to do? Stroll up to your house, knock on the door and say hello? Include your family in a chat about our relationship? Do you think they would see it the same way as you?”
He was silent, but the look in his eyes told her she finally cracked through some level of this delusional farce he was currently playing out.
“I want you to admit it. What you did to me, how wrong it was. How much you hurt me and Ellie.”
“Ellie? How did I hurt Ellie?”
“I told you, she killed herself—overdosed. After I told her what you did to me.”
“Jane—”
“It’s your fault she’s dead,” she bit out, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. She would show him no weakness.
“She was always troubled,” he tossed out with patronizingly false remorse.
Jane leapt to her feet, seething with rage. She hurled the glass she was holding with all her might. It shattered into pieces. What was left of the sticky liquid slowly dripped down the dark wall. How dare he talk about Ellie in that way—Jane was seeing red, but she needed to remain in control.
She took several calming breaths. She knew this was what he wanted—to make her seem unstable, possibly insane. She forced herself to sit back down and lower her voice.
“You have no idea how many years I’ve spent trying to understand you. To cognize why you did to me what you did. Your parents are no better than mine were, but I never raped anyone, especially not a kid. Not only did you rape me, you groomed me, normalized what we did. You normalized it because it was truly that horrific. You locked it away and thought about it as often as you’d think about any other ordinary or inconsequential act from your past...but not me, Dave.”
He watched her with calculating eyes. If she was capable of devastating his life in this manner, what was stopping her from taking it altogether? Dave needed clarification.
“So you came back here, for me.”
“To destroy you.”
“And ruin my life.”
She nodded, “I was only returning the favor.”
“I didn’t realize it meant, I meant, so much to you,” he commented with a look close to reverence cresting his eyes. “I am honored.”
“You are nothing. You are pathetic and weak. You are a coward and a liar and more than anything I wish I could feel sorry for you. But I can’t. I’m no longer that girl, the one who would do anything to make you happy. Your time is up, Dave. Apologize to me.”
He let out a morose sigh, “I wish I could Jane, truly, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not sorry. I don’t regret it. And I don’t think you do, either.”
How had she come this far without considering that Dave’s reaction would be anything but this? He was a narcissist, a pathological liar...it was how had he hidden so well for so long. It was only now that she was calling him to the carpet that he was forced to show his true colors. The reflection was broken, his bubble close to bursting.
“Your choice to do what you did to me, in your head, comes from a place of care. I know your story, it’s similar to mine...the difference I’m not entirely sure of. Maybe it’s epigenetic, the affect that your environment had on your genetic make-up, or perhaps your prefrontal cortex doesn’t properly regulate impulse control, or maybe you were born with a predisposition, a sickness that was allowed to fester because you never received any sort of nurture in your childhood.”
“I understand your need to justify what we did, but I think you’re making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be. I wanted you, you wanted me.”
“I didn’t know any better! My brain wasn’t even nearing full development. Don’t attempt to put any of this on me. I was the child and you were the adult. You were the one who should have been teaching me the difference between right and wrong.”
“And what is the difference between right and wrong?”
“You say you loved me, wanted to protect me...but how is having a sexual relationship with a child in anyway helping them?”
“Throughout history there have been many cultures that follow similar practices.”
Jane let out a laugh of disbelief, “Textbook. You’re unreal. It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You will find a way to protect yourself from accepting the truth. That’s all I have been trying to do this entire time, Dave, is make you accept your truth.”
“The truth is, you’ve spent your entire adult life focusing on me. Are you going to deny it?”
“Of course not! I can’t move on. I’m not able to have a normal sex life, or a healthy relationship because of you. The first time I tried to, all I could see was you on top of me, holding my mouth shut, forcing yourself inside of me. I have had to live with the shame of what we did for years. Feeling dirty and disgusting, like there was something wrong with me, but there’s not. It’s you that’s corrupt and twisted, not me.”
For the first time, Jane saw true anger in his gaze.
“And now? Now that you’ve upended my life, you think you’ll find happiness? You think you’ll be able to let go of me?”
Jane could tell he was beginning to wear down—there was only so much truth a person could take before they reacted. If he made a move to harm her in any way, she was ready. Her body was strong and relishing the possibility of a fight. She would be more than willing to return her pain to its original source.
“Do you remember the first time you saw me here, in this bar? We locked eyes and I thought for a second you recognized me, and I think a part of you did. It was after that, that you began ordering whiskey for your invisible friend. But you know who I think J is? Your conscience, even if you won’t admit it. I think you saw me and even if you didn’t know it at the time, something was triggered. You created a personality to have conversations with. A split. A fragmentation to protect yourself and dissociate from what was right in front of you all this time. What did you talk about? Morality? Did you convince yourself that everything you’ve done in your life was true and right? Are you the victim here? Do you understand how repression works? And how it returns? You’ve been suffering, not because of the outside actions around you, but because of the internal thoughts and feelings you have ignored and discarded for years.”
“I never forgot about you,” Dave accused.
“But you tried, you never thought for a second that I was the one torturing you. You knew something was off, wrong, but you pushed me so far to the back of your mind you completely eliminated the possibility of me coming back for you someday. I bet you never thought that would happen, huh? You thought you’d get to screw with my mind, rape and use me and then move on and live your wonderful life with no consequences.”
“I didn’t!” he yelled, slamming his fist onto the tabletop as his body leaned into her personal space. Being this close to his mouth made Jane’s stomach roll. She couldn’t stand the rise and fall of his chest, the passionate energy he was exuding as his breath fell across her face. But she didn’t flinch, she didn’t back down, she stared directly into his eyes.
“Yes, you did.”
Whatever he saw in her eyes, terrified him—that much was clear. He slowly retreated back to his side of the table, as if he only just realized he’d moved. His fist was making repetitive squeezing motions around thin air.
They sat in silence, just watching one another.
“You took quite the gamble,” he finally spoke.
“There’s a difference between counting cards and bluffing.”
Dave felt a rush of exhaustion sweep over him. He was beyond weary but still stood by his statement. What they’d shared together all those years ago was not wrong. It was consensual.
He was delusional. It was infuriating. Jane took a deep breath as she hammered in the final nail of his coffin.
“I have proof,” she whispered. “And so does Georgette.”
That got his attention.
She watched his eyes widen, his hands once again jerking forward as if he meant to reach for her. She slid her chair back in anticipation of his next move.
“Proof?”
If Jane thought he looked terrified just moments ago—it was nothing compared to the fear he was experiencing now.
Jane liked that—she liked it a lot.
“She saw the tape, Dave.”
He frowned in confusion, his brain working on overdrive, “I never touched Desiree. I never raped her, what did you do? Doctor up the video surveillance from my office to make it look that way?”
“This has nothing to do with Desiree.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Don’t you remember? How deeply buried is that recollection?” she taunted, feeling control return to her side of the table. “The first night you raped me, you recorded it. For years I wondered about that red blinking light in the corner of my room,” she watched what little color was left in his face drain away. “I can see I’m jogging your memory.”
“No,” he whispered, horror prevalent in his eyes.
“You gave me that tape the day before my family and I left Repo Ridge. You hid it in one of my stuffed animals and told me, with astounding arrogance and grandiosity, that it was a little something for me to always remember you by. Your special girl,” she sneered with contempt. Jane spat the words as if they were poisonous and burning her insides.
Dave’s head fell into his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He began to shake as agonizing sounds erupted from his throat, much like a dying animal.
Jane felt her fury soar at his unfair display of emotion.
“Oh Jane,” he sobbed over and over again.
Jane was waiting for the rush of satisfaction that would accompany this final blow.
But it did not come.
His tears were not enough.
“Apologize to me, Dave. Admit it. Admit what you did and how it was wrong.”
"What difference does it make now? My wife, my Georgie...she will never forgive me.”
“No, she won’t.”
“You kept it all these years, ” he moaned with anguish.
“I didn’t even know what it was until after Ellie died. I found it when I was cleaning out our old things. Do you know how it felt, to have to relive that again? To watch you hold me down and fuck me like some object, even as I cried and struggled to get away.”
She could see she was breaking through his defenses—he was finally remembering, finally accepting.
“No,” he begged, “No, you wanted me. You loved me, Jane.”
“An eight-year-old girl with a broken family looking for affection trusted you. You took advantage of that trust. Look at me,” she snapped as he lifted his gaze of sorrow to hers. “You are a monster and now the love of your life knows it. She knows it and so will everyone else. You cannot hide any longer. Accept the truth, your truth Dave Collins. You are a child rapist and pedophile. Soon that is what everyone will associate you with when they hear your name. Now you can see how it feels to be powerless, broken and alone.”
He let out a choked scream as he grabbed at his head. His hands repeatedly smacked against the sides of his face as if he were trying to dislodge some parasitic creature eating away at his brains. She’d gotten through. The tape was the hard, factual evidence that he could not ignore.
“Fuck!” he screamed, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He stumbled from the chair and looked around wildly for a means of escape. But there was none. No matter where he turned he couldn’t get away.
The tape.
He could remember it all so clearly—the images of Jane and him together. He could see his hand slapping over her mouth, her small cries and the fear in her beautiful green eyes.
He was shaking uncontrollably. His mind was breaking at the thought of exposure, of feeling bare and naked for the world to inspect. To see all his wrongs thrown into light—the rape of a defenseless child, was that really what it had been?
Jane watched him, wondering what his next move would be. In her experience with unearthing repressed thoughts, whenever a patient was confronted with a truth that was unacceptable to them, one of two things happened. The first being that they accept the truth, no matter how hard—they move forward while living in continued misery until they are able to work through the issue and change. If this were impossible, the patient would likely create another reality, an irrational one based in fantasy that would allow the mind to protect itself from the actual truth of the situation.
Dave looked on the verge of a psychotic break.
“Where are you going?” she asked as he staggered towards the front door.
“Away from you, away from this,” he slurred. His eyes were twitching, his mouth slightly foaming.
“You have no one to help you,” she reminded him, “By morning everyone in Repo will know what you are.” She couldn’t confirm this, but she knew how fiercely Georgette fought to protect the abused—this news would not go unshared. Even at the cost of her own reputation, Georgette would do the right thing and help put her husband behind bars.
Dave turned. His hand was wrapped tightly around the knob of the door when he looked back at her one last time, “You win, Janey. You win.”
And he was gone.
Jane took a deep steadying breath—her heart was pounding like chaotic drums on the eve of an ancient battle. The emotions racing through her were fluid, there were too many feelings to place all at once—she conquered the monster, faced him, called him by his name and returned his memories with true context.
Her job was done.
But her story wasn’t over.
She got up slowly, her knees buckling slightly beneath her—a side effect, the release her body gained from this confrontation. The come down of adrenaline.
Jane carefully followed after him, out into the night, curious as to what his next move would be.
She wondered if he’d run for it—attempt to get as far away as possible. It didn’t matter if he did—she would find him and drag him back here to face the consequences of his actions.
Jane stepped out of the bar just as a wild screeching inundated her ears. Her head snapped towards the sound. Jane watched with wide eyes—everything appearing in slow motion.
Dave was tossed into the air as the car smashed into his body with a deafening crack. He flew gracefully through the night sky before landing on the wet pavement with a sickening crunch. Jane grasped onto the side of the door, her mind reeling.
The driver was already getting out of his car. Jane stood frozen as an old man rushed toward her, begging her to help him. She numbly pointed towards the inside of The Devil’s Eye where he would find a phone.
She was in shock.
She hadn’t considered the third option: when someone is presented with a truth they are refusing to accept—instead of facing it, they take their own life.
That thought propelled her forward as she jumped into action, approaching Dave’s bloody and battered body.
He looked like a twisted marionette, legs and arms all bent—a piece of metal from the bumper was lodged in his throat. Jane reached forward, ignoring the sickly feeling of having to once again bear touching him.
There was a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.
Sirens wailed in the background as Jane smiled to herself.
It wasn’t Dave’s time to die—it was his turn to suffer.