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“I did what anyone would do and asked him what was up. He denied anything was wrong. Well, it got worse, so I did what any worried girlfriend would do: I read his texts and emails. Maybe that was wrong of me, maybe not. Regardless, I came to the conclusion that he was cheating on me. I confronted him, and he denied it. I want to say I pushed the issue, but I didn’t. I wanted to believe the man I moved in with wasn’t a total prick, so I dropped it. The following two weeks, I tried really hard to believe everything was okay between us.
“Then, one night I came home from a late event and found Dean and some girl in our bed. Our bed! The girl ran out with her tail between her legs before I started in on Dean: ‘You bastard! How could you have done this to me? To us? I was right the whole fucking time, you can’t deny it anymore!’”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Except he did. He kept denying anything happened. He said she was just a friend. Right, he’d had a ‘friend’ in our bed and ‘nothing had happened.’ Bullshit.
“I told him it was over, and I was moving out right now. Dean went ape-shit. Literally. He threw me against the wall, told me he’d kill me if I left, and stormed out. That’s how I fractured my elbow. You can still kind of see the indent it made.” I pointed at my elbow. “I called a cab and went to the hospital. The doctor put a splint on my arm, and, stupid me, I went back to the apartment. Dean hit me a couple of times over the next couple of days. I knew he was going out to cheat on me at night. I don’t know why I stayed those few days—I think I was in shock, not believing it was really happening to me.”
Tears of mortification welled up in my eyes. I forced myself to continue.
“One night, I had had enough. I grabbed what I could manage with the splint on my arm, and moved to a motel for a few days while I looked for a new place to live. I filed a restraining order, moved into my new apartment, and hoped that was the end of that. It wasn’t. Weird things started to happen at my new place.
“One night after an event, I came home and one of my windows was open. Now, that in itself isn’t weird. Maybe I forgot to close the window before I had left to go to work. But, on the window sill were a bunch of red rose petals. I brushed them out the window and locked it. A couple of nights later, I came home to find my bathroom mirror completely shattered. I called my landlord and had my locks changed, and I filed a police report. Filing the report was a joke, it didn’t do anything; Dean still found ways to get into my apartment, and his machinations were escalating.
“My clothes started disappearing and reappearing with blood and semen on them. I received threatening letters telling me what a whore I was and how I was going to get it.”
Vic motioned to me to wait one minute. He went to the kitchen, got a bottle of water from the fridge, and brought it back to me. I gulped it greedily.
“One night, I woke and saw him sitting in my chair watching me. I didn’t move a muscle. I pretended he was just another night terror. Eventually he left, but I knew that wasn’t the last I’d see of him. Next time, I might not be so lucky. That was the night that I decided to leave Seattle and move to Santa Barbara.
“The next day, I packed up my few belongings and left without a word. I didn’t let anyone know where I was going. Partly because I didn’t want to put them in danger, but mostly because I didn’t want to put myself in danger. It didn’t matter though, somehow he found me. He’s been emailing me, telling me he was going to find me and kill me. Now, he’s finally keeping his word.”
I tossed the empty water bottle to the floor.
“Stay here,” Vic said, as he kneeled down to lace up his boots. Vic had traded in his robe for an all-black ensemble: cargo pants, a cable knit sweater, and combat boots. He looked like he was about to kick someone’s ass. Part of me wished it was mine.
“Stay here?” I said. He wanted me to stay at his apartment alone? Was he losing his mind? I might as well shoot a flare gun for Dean to come and find me. Vic could probably see the cogs working in my mind because he reached out and grabbed my hand. On his knees, our heights were about the same. I looked down at my hand in his, so small in comparison.
Vic caught my chin with his other hand and pulled my concentration to him. There was something about that gesture that drove me wild. It was like he knew how to silence my overactive brain. When he took my chin, all my thoughts vanished, and all I saw were his black eyes locking me into place.
“Lenny,” Vic said.
I gulped. Hearing him say my name—the nickname he’d given me—stirred feelings I believed to be locked away from his reach.
“Do you trust me?” Vic said.
I tried to turn away from his question, but he tightened his grip on my chin. I looked at Vic’s hair, his ears, his mouth—everywhere but his eyes.
Did I trust him? After everything that had happened? Trust wasn’t one size fits all. I might trust someone to watch my cat, but that doesn’t mean I trust them to pull me up from the cliff I’m falling from.
Finally, I let my gaze return to Vic’s onyx eyes, to his level stare.
“Yes,” I said, surprised at my unconscious revelation.
Vic released my chin and stood. “Good.” His tone was clipped, but he appeared satisfied with my response.
I played with the hem of my shirt. Yeah, so I said I trusted him; that didn’t mean I was any less fearful of my circumstance. There was a psycho out there trying to get me!
“Lennox.”
The timber of Vic’s voice cut through the fearful voices in my head. Reluctantly, I looked to him. His business-like demeanor was completely wiped away and had been replaced with something else, something . . . carnal. His eyes burned like coal and all his muscles were tensed.
“Yes?” I asked cautiously.
“As long as you’re with me, you will not be harmed.”
I smiled. I don’t know how someone can keep that promise, but it was a sweet sentiment. And for a moment, it did make me feel better.
“What’s that?”
