Rowan isn’t beautiful in the sultry curvaceous sense of the word, but she is beautiful. Her face is angelic and easy to look at. Her eyes are round and open, and every emotion she feels can be read there plainly. Her small size and slight feminine lines are nothing like what I am used to, but the way she looks sitting on the side of the bed makes me want to touch her all the same.

Her head is down, and as she feels my touch she responds by tilting her face toward me and apologizing. Apology not being my strong suit, I slowly and gently stroke the skin of her neck, wanting to assure her that everything’s going to be all right. After a few moments, she begins to tell me a story. It’s the story of a young girl who’s gone from a loving home to losing a mother to gaining a monster. I’ve always known Rowan’s story was a sad one, but I never dreamed it could be this overwhelming. Hearing her talk about the abuse she'd suffered from her father is agony.

As she relives the worst of it, I can’t help but match up the lies she told my family and everyone else to the injuries she is now relating to me. She talks about the times Social Services had been called. And I remember such an occasion. Sara was so worried and wanted desperately for Rowan to tell her it was all a big mistake, and Rowan obliged. We bought into her lies so willingly, not wanting to believe the alternative. I understand now why she spent so many nights with Sara, to avoid confrontations with him. It worked, or so she said, but then, I was looking into the eyes of a young woman who had blood running down her face just twelve hours ago. It hadn’t worked at all. She had just been temporarily lucky. He was a monster, and there was no way he would stop using her as his own private punching bag.

Listening to her feels like being punched in the stomach. How could this have happened and nobody knew? I want to kill her father. I could kill him. Without doubt, I could kill him and think nothing of it. He deserves to die. He’s supposed to care for her. He’s supposed to protect her. She doesn’t deserve this. But I hide these traces of violent imaginings as I continue to push her for more information.

And when she’s finished speaking, I find my voice again, and the question I really need answered, “Why didn't you want me to call the police last night?”

She turns to me, instantly finding my eyes. “No. I’m sorry, but I won’t talk to the police.”

“What do you mean? He can’t get away with this. You don’t deserve to live like this. Why would you want to protect him? You don’t owe him anything, Rowan.”

“It’s not him. I hate him. He was nothing to me before my mother died, and he’s nothing to me now.”

“Then why? I don’t understand…”

“Because I have nothing. Don’t you understand? I don’t have your family. I don’t have your life. My mother was the only child of parents who passed away before I was even born. My father’s family is non-existent. Or if they exist, I’ve never seen them. I don’t get to go on with my life, my education, my dancing, my future… My life will be turned upside down. I could end up in a group home for the next couple of months, and for what? Don’t you see? I will be on my own next year. I can make it until then. It’s so close. I’ve already received my scholarship letter. I can’t screw that up now. I work as much as I can, but I can’t afford to be on my own right now. I’ll be eighteen in less than two months. Sara and I will be in Ann Arbor by next fall. I will never have to go back to that life and his shitty trailer. But I have to get there first without destroying everything I’ve worked for.”

She is fighting back tears and speaking so forcefully. It’s obvious this isn’t something that she’s considering for the first time. She has gone over and over and over this scenario many times before. But it isn’t right. He can’t get away with this. He’s already gotten away with years of child abuse. Now that she’s nearly grown, should he get away with this assault as well? There has to be some way, and I start thinking out loud. “My parents would let you…”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re their son. I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I just can’t. They’ve already paid my way through dance school for the better part of my life, and I feel guilty enough every time they foot the bill for me. You have to understand, this hasn’t happened for years. There’s just no point.”

But I can’t accept the conclusion she’s trying to push me to. “Don’t ask me to keep this a secret for you. You can’t ask me to do that.”

She’s crying again. “I’m sorry. You were never supposed to know.”

Her comment hits like a ton of bricks, and I’m suddenly struck by the sobering words she’s saying. I might never have known had it not been for that one phone call. The idea this could have continued to go on without anyone ever finding out is terrifying. And now she wants me to make a decision that’s not only unethical but also dangerous. This isn’t a decision I can make in an instant.

“Row, you have to give me time to think about this. I can’t even think straight anymore, and I need to know I’m making the right decision.”

At that, the conversation is over, and Rowan stands to leave the room. I watch her leave and want to call her back and keep her with me. She is suddenly the most vulnerable part of my life and that which I feel an undeniable need to protect. And with her gone from me, I start to drift asleep again, but my mind is racing. I know what I want to do, but I’m compelled to think about what will happen to her if I do. I can’t force her to comply. Were I to call the police, what would she ultimately do? Refuse to speak with them? Refuse to acknowledge what he’s done? I’ve watched Rowan grow up, and I know to what degree she was neglected by that man. She has wanted all her life while Sara and I have wanted for nothing, ever. She is poor, desperately poor. She has no support system whatsoever. Should I be the one that pushes her away now? But as heartbreaking as it is, I can’t overlook the fact that she’s been wronged, and the man responsible has yet to be held accountable and never will if she has her way. He has to pay, but at what cost to Rowan?

* * *

Logan is sleeping soundly, and I have to get home and change for work. I quietly grab a pair of Sara’s shoes and find Logan’s keys on the kitchen table. I unload my bike from his car before returning the keys and heading toward home. I change quickly, not wanting to spend any more time there than necessary. Dad is watching TV in the living room, not the least bit interested in the world around him. Fortunately, his anger always fades with sobriety, and the post inebriation amnesia kicks in. The fact I had escaped him the previous night evades his memory. I leave the house without saying a word and manage to make it to work with a few minutes to spare.

It is Saturday, and we will be busy. I spend most of the evening going through the motions. My mind is fixated on Logan. My future is in his hands, and I haven’t forgotten it. I feel like I’m waiting for the doctor to tell me the inevitable bad news. On the one hand, if Logan can’t come to terms with lying for me, not to mention setting his conscience aside, then my life as I know it is over. On the other hand, if Logan does keep my secret, I’m responsible for pushing him to a lie he shouldn’t be a part of, and that jeopardizes his reputation and possibly his career. So the diagnosis is detrimentally bad and detrimentally bad. And as I obsess about his decision, I’m driven insane by my worry. What must he be thinking? What will he decide? And then I see him.

He’s just strolled in with Amy. Have I mentioned I hate Amy? She is gorgeous and everything every man in every world has ever wanted. She’s a bitch, but she hides it well. She’s the type of girl who would slit your throat to keep you down but talks sweet as pie. Logan’s been seeing her for the better part of the past two years and everyone thinks they are the perfect couple. It’s sick. Sure, they look perfect together, but what he could possibly see in her is beyond me. He is nothing like her; he has none of her selfishness. Logan has always been caring in a way she would never understand. He is good, she is bad. It’s as simple as that. I suppose she just puts on a good show for him. Never mind I hate her by virtue of the fact her boobs are three times the size of mine.

To my horror, they are seated in my section, but hey, at least I look good. Ha! What could be better than being seen in the obligatory uniform of black pants, white button up shirt, and a pathetic looking red ascot? Oh, and let’s not forget the customary black beret. I hate being lame, and I especially hate looking lame in front of beautiful women. Just once, I’d like to be the beautiful one—not the one looking like a circus sideshow freak.

Logan watches me as I approach their table. My hands are shaking as I fill their water glasses, and by the uncomfortable look on Logan’s face, he’s well of aware of this fact. Amy is off in her own little world, looking around to see if anyone she knows is there. He says “Hi”, and I manage a “Fancy to see you here,” the fake casual tone of my voice a little too contrived and obvious.

Amy suddenly decides to join the rest of the world and finally acknowledges my existence. Not, of course, in any civilized manner. “Oh my God! What happened to your face? You look terrible.” Her words are as fake as her blonde hair and pathetic personality.

My embarrassment is palpable as I look desperately around for any excuse to leave their table. I find nothing and abruptly give a bizarre nod of my head before turning heel and heading back to the kitchen. Sometimes I just can’t act normal to save my life.

I realize, as I’m halfway down the corridor to the kitchen, Logan is behind me. I keep moving, suddenly sure I have some sort of food stuck to my butt and completely unsure what to do next. He makes that decision for me by catching up to me, taking me by the elbow, and pulling me into a small side hallway.

“She didn’t mean anything by that, Row,” he starts as he turns me to face him.

I open my mouth to object but then think better of the decision. He’s done a lot for me and insulting his girlfriend isn’t the best way to make it up to him. Besides, disagreeing with him will only put him in a position to make a choice between us. He will either support the mega bitch or me. He doesn’t owe me any allegiance, and why should I care anyway? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. If he wants to be enamored with the blonde bombshell, so be it. Oh, who am I kidding? I do care, and I’m not at all sure I want to know how he would choose. I settle on the non-response, resorting to staring at the ground. I sense him staring at me, waiting patiently for my response.

“Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to make sure you got here okay.”

“Well, you can see that I did. Will you please leave now? The food here sucks and…”

“Why are you trying to get us to leave? We just got here, and I’m hungry.”

“Because, it’s … it’s humiliating being seen in this stupid outfit and having to work around you.” My eyes widen as I realize what I just blurted out.

Logan contemplates this as embarrassment burns through my cheeks. There are many long, awkward moments of silence where I know without looking at him that his eyes are trained on me.

“Well, I happen to like seeing you in this little getup, and having you serve me seems quite appropriate after the night you put me through.” And at that, he reaches his hand up to the front rim of my beret and flips it with his finger.

Looking nervously to his eyes, I see he is smirking down at me. He’s enjoying himself. I can’t help but smile back at him. He’s just so beautiful, and I wish again that I was one of the beautiful ones, too. Just once.

I manage to get them through dinner without dropping anything or humiliating myself further, though I can feel Logan’s eyes on me as I move through the restaurant tending to other tables. I’m sure he’s thinking, “This little girl is hardly worth my trouble.” And I can’t help but feel ashamed that he knows so many awful things about me. When they finally leave, I’m relieved to see them go. It is the first time my body hasn’t stood at attention since catching sight of him. My shoulders instantly slump, I stop sticking my pathetic mosquito bites out trying to pretend I have breasts, and I let my body relax. How pathetic am I? The rest of the evening is a blur, and I’m glad when ten o’clock finally rolls around. We finish up quickly, and I head for the door.

As I enter the back parking lot through the employee entrance door, I immediately notice my bike is not leaned up against the dumpster where I left it. I then become aware of Logan’s Cherokee parked by the other employees’ cars. He’s standing leaning against the hood of his Jeep, talking on his cell phone. When he looks up and sees me approaching, he wraps up his call.