Chasing the Night - Iris Johansen [7]
“Just put a couple gauze pads and tape across the wound. That will be fine until I get to a doctor.” She paused. “You did that very well, Kelly. Thank you.”
“I studied first aid at camp last year. Most of the other stuff was pretty dumb, but that was kind of neat. But this was different. Real blood.” She took the gauze from the package. “You could have done this yourself. You thought it would help me to do it.”
Smart girl. It was amazing that she had been able to see through Catherine’s subterfuge considering the shock she was suffering. And there was no doubt that she was hurting. The girl’s hands were shaking, and her blue eyes were wide and haunted. Everything about her seemed terribly fragile and childlike. She was delicately boned and appeared younger than her fourteen years. “Yes, I could have done it. But it was easier for me to have you do it. And if it helped you, too, that was a plus.” Her lips twisted. “And there’s not much that can be considered a plus in what happened tonight.”
“Or yesterday.” Kelly turned away and quickly snapped the first-aid kit shut. Her voice was muffled. “It was because of me he died, you know. He tried to keep Munoz from hurting me. Munoz came into the tent angry and shouting and he was saying that he’d been screwed and he was going to get his own back. He tore my clothes and—” Her voice broke.
“Hush.” Catherine’s arms closed around her. “You don’t have to describe it. Just tell me one thing. He hurt you?”
“He raped me,” Kelly said baldly. “Why don’t you say it? Do you think I’m a kid? He kept telling Daddy he’d do it if they didn’t let his brother go.”
She was a kid, Catherine thought, but she’d been jerked out of any semblance of childhood. Smother the anger. It wasn’t going to help Kelly. But damn she was glad she’d taken Munoz out. She wished she had him here so that she could do it again. “No, I don’t think you’re a kid.”
“Daddy shouldn’t have fought him.” Her voice was almost inaudible against Catherine’s shoulder. “It didn’t matter if he—”
“It matters. I know what you’re saying, and I would probably think the same as you. He didn’t take anything from you that was worth losing your father.” Catherine’s arms tightened around her. “Don’t talk about it now. You’ll have to do that later, but not now, when the wound is raw.”
“Daddy shouldn’t have tried to stop him.” Her hands were clutching Catherine. “It didn’t do any good, and maybe Munoz wouldn’t have killed him. He hurt me, but it wasn’t worth that.”
“No, it wasn’t worth that.” Her hand brushed Kelly’s hair back from her face. “But your father wouldn’t have understood. Rape is something that most people have a problem with.”
“But not you?”
“No, it happened to me, too.” She was silent a moment. “Only I was a little younger than you, and I didn’t have a father to try to protect me. I guess that could have been a good thing. I was the only one hurt.” She added softly, “Later, when you get past the sorrow, you’ll be angry, and you’ll feel dirty. That will go away, too. But what you must never feel is shame. What happened to you is no more reason for shame than this wound of mine you just bandaged. We may have scars, but we’ll heal. It will only make us stronger.”
“I don’t feel…strong.”
“You will. Just don’t let anyone pity you because of what Munoz did to you. They won’t understand that you don’t need it, and you might begin to think that they’re right.” Unconventional advice to a wounded child, but it was all she could offer. It came from the depths of her heart and personal experience. “You can’t expect them to understand since they didn’t go through it.”
“But you understand.” Kelly nestled closer. “If you let me stay with you, I wouldn’t need anyone else…”
Need? Dependence. Even as her arm tightened protectively around the girl, she felt a rush of dismay. Lord, she couldn’t afford to be responsible for anyone. Not now. That wasn’t what she