As fast as I could, I drove my fist full of keys into his face, grazing his brows. He groaned and held his face. I had done it. I had hit him. My heart was beating through my chest.
What did I do now?
“What the fuck?” he yelled, clutching his face. “You little piece of shit, I’ll—”
Grant put a firm hand on his shoulder, towering over him by a few inches. He seemed like a shrimp compared to Grant, but the man was still taller than me. “We all saw what happened,” Grant said in a low voice.
The people that had been watching, more now than before, muttered their agreements. And yet somehow, the rest of the packed bar continued partying on, like nothing had happened.
“You’re full of shit,” the man said.
“I called the security guard over,” Grant said. “If I were you, I’d take myself elsewhere,” he said, mimicking the man’s earlier warning. The man glared at Grant, a tiny trickle of blood winding down his face. “We saw you choking her. It’s over. Go home.”
The security guard, half of the size of the two of them, but twice as wide, pat the man on the shoulder. The man lumbered out the door, and the few that had been watching resumed their socializing. In the background, I could hear the poor recitation of Freddie Mercury. Sweat trickled down my spine, wetting my dress.
Grant handed me a cold glass of water. I gulped it down greedily, not bothering to ask questions.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
***
The air was warm, but still cool on my skin. Anything was better than that sweltering bar. We walked in silence down the street, avoiding groups, Grant observing our perimeter with careful determination.
I had done it again. All it took was alcohol and I was right back where I had started. Lying to people. Begging them to like me. Trying desperately to be funny. Getting into fights because at least that was better than being ignored.
We came upon a small lot that contained a garden. I took a seat on the edge of the fountain, feeling the spray of droplets on my back. Grant sat next to me, but I couldn’t look at him.
“Do you want to train?” he asked.
I huffed. “You think I want to train right now?” I tilted my head. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “You used what I taught you.” That was true, but that didn’t mean I was up for learning something new. Even practicing was out of the question right now. “What will help you feel safe?”
I thought of so many things then. His arms around me. Pain so electric I couldn’t breathe. A mind erased. His gaze holding me as I drowned, then bringing me to the surface again. It was the only time I ever felt safe. When I could forget. When nothing else mattered but knowing that you trusted someone to take you to that dark side, and to bring you back alive.
I always knew that when it came to the sadistic strangers I chose to sleep with, I risked everything. There was no promise that I would return, but I had to have that release. It was all I had.
But with Grant, there was a hope inside of me that kept growing. Maybe I could feel something else with him. Security. Protection. The presence of pain, but the absence of harm. Shelter inside of the storm.
I wasn’t supposed to want these things. It’s not how I was supposed to ‘reintegrate’ into proper society. Because Grant’s only true mission was to control me until I was fit for a normal life.
Then he would leave too.
“This is who I am, Grant,” I said. I motioned around us. “I do what I want. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. And I’m always in trouble for it.” I faked a laugh, shaking my head. Tonight hadn’t even been the worst situation I had caused. Not by a long shot. “You can try to control me and tell me what to do. But this me? The real me? It’ll always be here. Lurking under the surface.” I crossed my arms. “It doesn’t matter how much schooling I go through. If I get a real job. If I move into a nice home. I’ll always be a mess.” His shoulders straightened, and that rigid posture made me want to scowl and cower at the same time. Grant followed orders. He was loyal to Zaid. The kind of man who took care of his mother. And I was hardly dependable for my sister. Hadn’t held a job for more than a few months. A wanderer. From group to group until they realized they never liked me. “I’m not like you.”
I turned away, facing the rose bushes. Their floral fragrance stank in my nose, somehow masking the exhaust from the street, but I was determined not to look at him. Not to give in.
He sniffed at the same pungent flowers. “I’ve been with you,” he paused, taking a breath, “constantlyfor the last few weeks. I know you. Better than you might think.” His arm brushed mine, warm and hard, and I rubbed the spot where he had touched.
He had turned completely towards me now. Waited until I locked eyes with him. Assessing me. Attentive.
“No one can control you, Hazel,” he said slowly. “That much I know.”
I bit my lip, blinking up at the starless night. I wanted to believe that he meant it. That he understood me. But I had wanted that so many times with friends and lovers and family, and it always ended up the same. So I went back, time and time again, to those masochistic tendencies. The compulsion to experience violence. To know that they cared enough to harm me.
Love and hate weren’t opposites. Apathy was the opposite. I couldn’t stand when people abandoned you without any emotion. As if they were indifferent to your presence in their life.
