another's words

Evelyn

My tears have all dried up. At least now it's easier to pretend.
Pretend, pretend, pretend. I could be a talented actress with my acquired skill at pretend.

What a wrong they have dealt me; what hypocrites!

The events come back to me again and again.
The poor girl fought and struggled; still the energy of her refusal to submit was nothing to Alphonse's physical size and strength. He forced himself upon her so-- how lucky I came upon them when I did. I can't think of what might have happened!
Oh, but the indignity my own cousin inflicted was something I never expected. He shouted and swore that my anger was unjust and unfounded and grew so incensed that he turned round and slapped the poor victim across her face. He released his anger into the force of that blow; it knocked her to the floor.
I still cannot comprehend such an action. So much abuse leveled at one girl! She will have numerous bruises and I feel as though it is my fault.

Will her bruises at least be evidence of Alphonse's misdoings? Or will Father continue in the idiotic vein that the maid consented to Alphonse's advances? How can something so obviously abusive and twisted be construed as consent?
Why do my accusations carry no weight? Why is my love and dignity insignificant when compared to Alphonse's pride and honor? He is a coward; only a fool would be blind to it and only a fiend would deny it.

I have been blind.