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I brought my hands up to hide my face, but he was faster, grabbing my wrists and holding them down by my lap. I shuddered at the action.
“What the fuck happened to you?” His eyes were frantically searching mine. I could tell by the way his hands were holding onto mine and the way his breaths were coming out quicker that he was trying to remain calm. Trying to keep his cool. But if I didn’t start talking soon, I thought he just might lose it.
“Terry,” was all I managed to get out before a sob broke through from my chest.
He held me, pulling me close to his chest so that I spilled out of my chair. And that’s where we sat: on the floor of my office while I fell apart in his arms. He didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t try to make me talk. All he did was soothe me and I let him, too afraid to say anything through my tears.
When my eyes had dried and my breaths had stopped coming out in shudders, he spoke. “Mia, baby, what happened to you. Please talk to me. Did someone hurt you?”
I nodded slowly. I didn’t have a voice yet. I couldn’t find the right words to destroy the vision he had of me, because I knew the knowledge of this would. It had to.
“Okay,” he said. He was staring at me like he was looking at a cornered animal, unsure of what to say, afraid to say the wrong thing in this moment.
I swallowed. I knew I had to be the one to start talking, so I did. The words came tumbling out of me. “He was waiting for me when I got home last night. He did these things to me. He hit me.”
My voice came out eerily calm, so calm that I almost didn’t recognize it. I watched Terry—his face softened and he went to pull me back into his arms, but I stopped him.
“You were right. There is a reason I do the work that I do. Why I donate to the charities that I do. And why I was invited to attend the ball. It’s because I was abused by a man that I dated, the first one after you.” I laughed ironically, but I only saw pain in Terry’s eyes. “He did a lot of terrible things to me, and now he’s come back.” A sob ripped through me again, and I couldn’t say anymore. I couldn’t finish explaining. It was too much, but I hadn’t even said enough.
Terry gathered me into his arms and placed me on his lap. Rocking back and forth, soothing me as he went, he let me fall apart in his arms. He didn’t ask me any more questions. I could have stayed like that all day, until I realized where I was. I went to move, but he held me in place.
“Hang on. When you said he had come back—why is he back? What does he want?”
I sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling of my office. What I wouldn’t give for it to be a few days ago again, when it was just him and I. When I was living in blissful ignorance of the fact that Chad was back in LA.
Terry wasn’t waiting for me to answer his question. I could tell he was in planning mode. “Have you called the police yet? I think we should. I think that’s our next move.”
“No, no,” I shuddered out, my voice shaking. “We are not going to call the police.”
“Why not? He’s hurt you, and clearly, he threatened you. I think this calls for the police.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. The last time I dealt with him, I didn’t go to the police. I didn’t and we’re not going to now either.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“Because that’s not how I dealt with it the last time,” I told him with a touch of finality in my tone.
“What happened? Who is he?”
“His name is Chad and he was the man I dated right after you. Things were really good for a while. Until one night, we were at a happy hour with a few of my coworkers. I worked in design back then—this was when Shoegasm was just a dream.” Terry nodded and I pressed on. “One of my coworkers made a joke at Chad’s expense. I don’t even remember the joke anymore. I wish I did, because I do remember that I laughed. Chad didn’t. He didn’t think it was funny, and I remember looking over at him and he looked like a wounded puppy. I tried to backpedal, but he said it was fine. Stupid me, I thought it was. When we reached his house that night, he took me into the bedroom. He pushed my face into the mattress. He had me by the neck, and I thought I would either pass out from pain or that he was going to smother me. He told me that I should never laugh at him again. Not if I knew what was good for me.
“He got off me and told me he was going to go take a shower. I curled into a ball and faked sleep when he came out. He left me alone. When we woke up the next morning, I expected an apology or an explanation, but I got neither. He acted as if nothing had happened. That should have tipped me off that it was only going to get worse. A few weeks went by and nothing else like that happened again, so I assumed it was a one-time thing. The next time he put his hands on me, it was over a football game. I was doodling and he was watching the game. His team wasn’t doing well and, me being me, I made a wisecrack about them. He stood, threw my sketchbook on the ground, and punched me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain. I’d never been hit like that before. I curled into a ball and began to cry. That pissed him off more. He threw me to the ground by my hair and kicked me in the stomach several times. He stormed out while I lay in pain on the floor. Thankfully, we were at my place so I was left alone to cry.”
Terry handed me a tissue, and I blotted at tears that I hadn’t realized had formed. I was so focused on my story and the bile churning in my stomach as I told it.
“The abuse became more regular then. It was always slight and little things. Pulling of the hair, a slap on the face, a hit on the head. Or his favorite pastime: kicking me. Anything that set him off, I was surely going to bear the brunt of it. He was really smart, though. He figured out how to do it without leaving a mark.
“Once, I was hospitalized because he accidentally kicked me in the head. He said he was aiming for my chest, but my head got in the way. I’m not sure which would have been worse. But he gave me a concussion. I ended up in the hospital for eleven days. Most of those days, I was unconscious.”
“Did he visit you?” Terry cleared his throat and took a swig of water from the bottle that he had carried in with him. I saw the look of pity flash on his face. I swallowed deeply. It was time to press on.
“Ally took me home from the hospital. I stayed with her for a few days. During that time, Chad never came around. He kept his distance. It was a month after the hospitalization before I heard from him again. He came over with some flowers and apologized. I, of course, accepted it. I took him back, and things were fine for a few weeks. Chad was charming and attentive. He brought me flowers before our dates, chocolates for no reason, and was so considerate. I thought the worst was behind us. But I was wrong, so very, very wrong.”
I put my head in my hands, not wanting to talk about what had happened next, and I think Terry sensed it.
“You don’t have to continue if it’s too painful. You’ve said enough.”
But I pressed on.
