“Absolutely, hon. Would you like something more than water?”
“Iced tea, if you have it.”
“We sure do,” she says. “Should be out quickly.”
“Thank you.”
While I wait, I pull up a social media site. I haven’t logged into any of my accounts. One of the police officers told me I shouldn’t, since so many of them share my general location. So, I created fake accounts. Anonymous ones that don’t follow anyone, don’t post anything, and have no friends.
I had to see. To know what he’s up to. If he’s looking.
His last four posts have been with a woman. Thalia Blue, another model. Up-and-comer. Young. Impressionable and ambitious.
I recognize her hunger because it mirrors mine from when I first started in the business.
I can’t warn her. Not without potential exposure.
When the iced tea is placed in front of me, I’m surprised that I’m biting my nail and tapping my foot incessantly. My mind races for a solution. I can’t just leave her victim to his narcissistic ways.
I start to text Juliet but stop myself mid-sentence. If she messages Thalia and Thalia tells Pierre, he’ll do what he can to ruin her career, too. And it puts me in Juliet’s proximity.
Instead, I email the police officer that made the initial arrest and ask if there’s been any advancement on my case, on his end. It’s in the court’s hands, now, but Officer Brandt was brutally honest when he told me it likely would go no farther than maybe a fine and time served.
Years of abuse for me. Two nights for him.
I copy the same email and send it to the prosecutor who was assigned to my case but I haven’t heard a peep from.
When I look at Thalia’s account, I don’t see any posts from her that include Pierre. In fact, there is a picture of her and another man with whom she looks close to. Switching back to Pierre’s account, I examine each of the three photos. He posted them on different days; she’s in different outfits in each one. But they look like they could have all been taken in the same studio, the lighting is the same in each, even if the background is slightly different.
It’s bait.Either he’s trying to lure me out or I’m a paranoid bitch. Fuck, it could be both, at this point. After four years with him, I think I know him better than most. At least, when I let myself see clearly. This fits him. It tracks with his personality, his manipulative ways. Pierre lives to make me jealous. To get a reaction out of me. The more I ignored him and his antics, the harder he’d try.
My life is spent in fear of him knowing me too well, but what if it’s me who knows him too well? Do I have the upper hand here? It doesn’t seem likely, but maybe that’s only because I have no confidence left.
The meal comes out and I try to ignore the building tension inside me about Pierre. For now, I need to focus on my well-being. Starting with learning to eat like a normal person. I’ve spent my entire career not enjoying food. More than that, I’ve been fearful of it.
If it kills me, I’m going to eat this sandwich and fries and like it. I’ve earned that, surely.
Six
Grady
“You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.”
Bob Marley
Days like today can make a grown man cry.
I’m bone weary by the time I get home, the daylight fading fast. All I want is my chair by a small fire out back with a strong bourbon in my hand. I don’t drink often, but somedays, it’s hard to control the melancholy of life from sucking me down without a little help.
With a glass of ice in one hand and a bottle in the other, I step out to the backyard to find my new neighbor already has a fire started down closer to the beach. Lou sits atop a frayed wool blanket; the same one Irma always used for the same purpose.
I clink my glass against the bottle on my walk out to her. Forewarning that I’m here. She looks over her shoulder, the rare smile on her face falls when she sees me, and I almost retreat, thinking I’m intruding on her happiness.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Am I that obvious?” I sit on the opposite side of the fire.
“You always look indifferent,” she says. “Right now, you look sad.”
