“One minute you’re looking at me as if I’m stupid, and the next you were trying to rip the eyes out of my head.”
“Did I hurt you? Fuck, Ben!”
“No! No, Jules. I’m fine. I got exactly what I asked for…and I’m sorry. It was the wrong thing to do. I didn’t know. I mean, I knew, but I had no idea…”
“What?”
“Your file says—I mean, I just didn’t expect the trauma.”
Ben read my file, thought he understood, and then threw it at me to provoke me.
“The physical abuse. Eric,” I confirm, nodding my head. If I blacked out, then I must have assumed I was under attack. It’s only happened twice before. Once when I was six or seven, the first time Eric beat me black and blue, and again when I was attacked by a pair of boys at school. Though I’ve never been able to recall what happened during the blackouts, I certainly knew the consequences of them. I fought hard. I caused damage. With Eric, it just made him angrier. With the boys, I fought my way free. They called me a freak, but they never messed with me again. Still, blackouts aredangerous. I’d rather know what’s happening to me. I’d rather be in control, even if it sometimes means taking a beating submissively.
“I thought you were my father, Eric, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck…tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“No. No, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt me. It’s all right. You’ve been holding too much inside. It all just came out at once. You’re okay.”
Funny that he’s making this about me when I’m asking if he’s okay. I might not be able to see his face, but I figure he’s lying. I look down at his hands, steadying the cola on my thighs, and see what I’ve done. They’re criss-crossed with gouges, some bleeding, some not. Half-moon fingernail imprints are as prolific as freckles, smattered up and down his hands and wrist. I’m pretty sure I catch the indents of teeth in the meaty part of his palm by his pinkie finger. And those are just the parts that I can see.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I lost control.” I swallow hard over the thick lump that forms once more in my throat. It feels bigger than before. Like all my sins have banded together to choke me. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re in shock. This wasn’t you; it was trauma. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“You were trying to help. You weren’t to know I’d go all murder-bitch on you. “
“Neither of us could have anticipated that.” He laughs gently, suggesting he’s joking. “Don’t blame yourself for this, Jules. None of this is on you.”
But itison me, and it was a possibility. Sure, it hasn’t happened in years, but that doesn’t mean it went away or that I have it under control. In fact, with all the new bullshit in my life, it is likely to happen again. And I can’t risk that. I can’t lose control again. It might mean the difference between life and death in the hands of Franz or Hanson.
“…I fucked up,” Ben says, like it’s a conclusion he’s come to at the end of a discussion. I wonder how much I’ve missed while in my head. He sighs hard and pulls away from me, coming to stand in my eyeline. More scratches line the left side of his face. His lip appears to have bled at some point, but it’s stopped now. He has a pair of black eyes, but I recall Dax saying he’d hit him, so I don’t think that was me. He grabs his phone from the shelf across the room. “Let me call Aiden or Dax to come get you.”
My first response to his words is relief, but it only lasts a second before the reality of that option sinks in. They’ll put me on lockdown. They’ll treat me like a bomb primed to explode. They’ll not trust me to handle myself.
“No…no. Please, Ben. They will think I’m really fucked up in the head.”
“They won’t. They care about you.”
“They’re already overprotective,” I argue.
He snorts. “I can’t say I blame them.”
“Ben…” I begin, but what do I say? How do I convince him I need to handle this for myself? Having all my decisions taken from me is almost as bad as being back at home and stifled under Eric’s rule. I want to stand on my own two feet. I want to look after myself and be secure in who I am. Only then can I truly accept what I’ve been through. It’s my job. My choice. I want to invite Aiden and Dax into my life, not have them micromanage it because they think I’m too damaged to do it myself. How long before I start believing that too and it becomes my new reality? My new prison? I don’t want to resent the people I care about anymore. I’ve already lost Mum and Carlo.
Or maybe they’re all right, and Iamtoo fucked up. Perhaps none of this is worth the fight? Maybe I’m not worth the fight. Sometimes you just have to stop and accept what you are. And I’m damaged beyond repair. Fighting is hard, and it’s constant. I’ll be fighting this forever. I want to rest for a while. It’d be nice just torest. No more trauma. No more fighting, no more fear, no more trouble. Just peace.
Ben waits patiently for me to finish my thoughts. “Do you think…” I begin, “Do you think it’s worth it?”
His brows sink low as he watches me. “Is what worth what?”
“All of this trouble. Is it worth it…? Am I?”
“Fuck. Yes, Jules! YES. You’re worth it. You’re not trouble, but even if you came with a nuclear bomb strapped to your back and a faulty timer strapped to your front, you’d still be fucking worth it.”
A small chuckle escapes me. “Okay.”
