I swallowed over the rising lump in my throat. “Yeah. The first time it happened, I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to do. I just locked myself in our bedroom and cried. And it was just like you hear: the next morning, he apologized, swore he’d never do it again, and I believed him. Then about two weeks later, I was late getting home from class, and the minute I walked in the door, he hauled off and smacked me. Hard. I fell into the wall and cracked my head. That time, I cried, too, but only from the pain. Mostly, I was pissed off.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry from so much talking. “A lot of the time, women who are abused come from origin families where there is some history of abuse. But I hadn’t. I’d been my parents’ spoiled darling. So I didn’t fall into all the stereotypes—not at first. That second time, I got mad and started screaming at him. I got up in his face and said that if he ever laid a hand on me again, he’d be damn sorry. I told him my daddy had taught me how to shoot, and I wouldn’t hesitate to defend myself.”
“Did he back off?” Derek’s fingers had curled into fists. “Tell me he backed the fuck off.”
“That night, I think he was too surprised to do anything but that. Unfortunately, while I slept, he had a lot of time to think about it, and when I came out of our bedroom the next morning, he was waiting. He beat me until I was unconscious.”
“No fucking way.” Derek’s jaw clenched. “That fucking son of a bitch.”
“Exactly my thoughts—now. But then, I was scared. Gradually, over the next year, Wes took away everything that was important to me or anything that connected me to the outside world. He made me drop out of school. He didn’t let me see my parents, and when they came down to visit us, he wouldn’t let me see them without him being there. He took away my phone, saying we couldn’t afford it, and he made sure I couldn’t get in touch with friends. I was alone, I was isolated, and I was terrified.”
“Tell me this fucker is put away somewhere.” Derek’s anger was poised to release, I could tell. I understood that feeling.
“In the end, it wasn’t me who saved myself. One of my mom’s old friends PCS’d to Benning, and I ran into her at the commissary. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Wes, but I’d forgotten to buy sour cream for one of his favorite recipes. I was so afraid he’d be mad about that mistake that I scrounged up all the change I could find in the house and walked the whole way to the commissary, praying no one saw me and told Wes.
“When Beatrice saw me, she made a big fuss, saying she’d been planning to come visit me as soon as they got settled. I hadn’t seen her since I was a freshman in high school. She figured out pretty fast what was going on—I begged her not to tell anyone she’d run into me, and then she saw some fading bruises, too. The next day, before Wes left for work, the MPs showed up at our door, along with my parents and Wes’s commanding officer.”
“What did they do to him?”
I closed my eyes. “He was arrested, and then he was given a Bad Conduct Discharge. He went to trial, was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison. It was a nightmare, though. I had to testify, and living through it all again was brutal.” I straightened my back. “But my parents took me home, and they gave me space to heal. I’ve had a lot of therapy. When I decided to go school to be a physical therapist, they suggested I go nearby and live at home. It made sense, since I didn’t have extra money for room and board. But when I decided to do my clinical residency here, I insisted on moving out.” I hesitated. “We’re still working on my parents—particularly my mom—accepting that I can take care of myself. That year was frightening for them, too, and it’s left its scars on all of us.”
“Tasha, God. I’m sorry.” He slid his hand through mine again. “I can’t imagine how you made it through that in one piece. If you were sitting in the corner sucking your thumb, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“There were days when I thought that would be the rest of my life—hiding in the corner. But I wouldn’t let him win. My victory is in getting out of bed every morning, facing the day ... and moving on. Survival is a hell of a sweet revenge.”
“It is.” He was quiet for a second, playing his fingers over my smaller ones as he stared down at the table between us. “So since ... you left him, have you, uh, dated?”
Slowly I shook my head from side to side.
He nodded, his gaze darting to mine. “Do you feel like you’re ready to try?”
I managed a smile. “A week ago, I would’ve said unequivocally no. But then something happened on Sunday. This amazing man whom I’ve seen rise above his own pain and scars and weakness kissed me, and for the first time in years, I want to be brave with someone else. I want to trust someone and see where it takes us. I want to touch someone and be touched.” I tightened my fingers on his. “I wantyou, Derek. I’m scared, but not of you. I’m scared of losing myself again. But the want is more than the fear. The want is bigger than anything.”
His eyes had dilated again, but this time, I knew it was desire making them dark and heavy.
“I want to touch you, Tasha. I want to be brave with you. I promise that I’ll never hurt you.” A tic jumped in his cheek. “Can I take you home ... and can I stay with you tonight?”
I didn’t need to hesitate. “Yes. And yes. Please.”
Derek stood up, pulling me with him as he waved to our waiter.
“Check, please.”
