Random on Tour: Los Angeles (Random Series #7) by Julia Kent

Author:Julia Kent [Kent, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: genre fiction, contemporary women, Literature & Fiction, Humor & Entertainment, Fiction, General Humor, BBW Romance, humor, romantic comedy, New Adult & College, Humor & Satire, General, coming of age, Women's Fiction, Humorous, Contemporary, Romance, Contemporary Fiction, new adult
Published: 2015-07-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Maggie

“Why do I need to tell you any thing? You said you already Googled me. That’s all you need to know. The basics are highly searchable if you know what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t want the basics. I want the full story.”

I began to shake inside at the same time that a resonant calm filled me. No man had asked this question. I’d dated here and there for the past couple of years. First dates. Only first dates. Because Googling a potential partner is about as commonplace as making sure you have condoms in your purse or wallet for a date, most of them found the info.

The really weak ones just bagged out on me. I always knew that was why. The others were a mix of codependent assholes who wanted to rescue me, insensitive bores who just wanted to rubberneck, and genuinely nice guys who just weren’t compatible with me.

The codependents and the rubberneckers had researched my story so much that they didn’t ask me to tell my story. They seemed to revel in what they already knew.

When you’re a media sensation for all the wrong reasons...

“What do you want to know?” I asked carefully, wondering what he was fishing for.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

Shock tended to get people to back off, so...

“I was one of the lucky ones. My rapists were stupid enough to do it in front of a ton of security cameras and to leave DNA evidence. Their friends tried to make up fake alibis but one of them actually dropped his wallet and the cops found it under me.”

He flinched.

“Filled with blood,” I added, instinctively reaching up to touch the scar on my face.

His eyes closed. I saw his throat ripple, but he stayed silent. Not so fun to hear the truth, is it, buddy?

Tyler sighed, then said:

“I want to know how you mentally withstood two hours of steady torture like that and came out of it as normal as you are.”

Huh?

“What?” Most people asked how I kept my wits about me, or whether I don’t walk alone at night any more, or asked if I was worried about getting pregnant, or whether I had permanent scars or...they don’t bring it up at all.

“The article I read said that. For two hours straight those pigs tortured you. The hardest part wasn’t what they did to your body, was it? It was the mind fuck. Not the body rape.”

“How do you—” The rest of my sentence was, know. How do you know? But I couldn’t finish.

He started to strum slowly in the guitar, then picked out little melodies, riffs I knew he played on bass for the band. “The mind is its own mindfuck. It’s brutal. You can handle getting the shit kicked out of you as long as you know what to do with your mind. If you can tuck it away and not let it drive you nuts. It’s hard enough to turn off the mind when you’re doing something simple, like walking on a roof or trying to fall asleep.

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