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Most of what she says are meaningless words to me, but I understand enough. She met this male, and she was fascinated by him. She was flattered by his attentions. It reminds me of Bek, back when the humans first arrived and he thought to claim one without resonance. He and Claire were happy for a very brief time, and then Claire left him and Bek was hurt. Bek has a mate that he cherishes now, but I remember how tense we all were when he and Claire argued over and over again, so loud that it filled the cavern.
"I found out later on that Brad was an MMA fighter, and that should have been a red flag because he liked to punch people, but I was just dazzled by how hot and dangerous he was. So when he asked me out, naturally I said yes." She gets lost in thought for a bit. "We dated for about two months before he raised his hand to me."
"Raised a hand?" I ask, because I do not understand what she is saying.
Sam taps her cheekbone. "Hit me. Right across the face. I can't even remember what we were arguing over. Something small, like a missed stop sign or something. It was stupid, and I remember we were in the car. I said something and he just reached over and bam, hit me. My head smacked against the window, too, and I got out of the car and left."
I stare in shock. This male—this Brad—hit her? Struck her? Even in their worst fights, Bek would never raise a hand to Claire. I cannot imagine such a thing. "Why would he strike you?"
"To try and show me who's the boss, I guess." She brushes her fingertips over my chest. "Can I have more sah-sah?"
Wordless, I hand the container back to her.
She drinks heavily once more, then settles back down against me, tucking her cheek against my chest again. "I broke up with him, and I thought that was the end of that. Man, that was stupid of me." She laughs, but it does not sound as if she is amused. "A week after I broke up with him, he showed back up at my work and acted like nothing was wrong between us. Insisted we were still together. That I was just pouting and trying to make him jealous, and he wasn't going to fall for it because he loved me."
"If he loved you, he would not hit you," I growl. I am furious at the thought of a male striking my delicate Sam.
"That's what I said. I mean, I was naive, but I wasn't an idiot. I know if a guy hits you once, he's going to do it again. So I did my best to ignore Brad, but he kept calling me and texting me. Sending me emails. He kept showing up at work and making a scene, acting like I was just playing hard to get, that this was just part of our relationship. I changed my email address. I changed my phone number. I switched my shift to overnight so I wouldn't see him." Her mouth quivers. "And then he started showing up on my doorstep."
I stroke her arm, wishing I could make this easier for her. I have never hated anyone before, but I hate this male. I hate him with every bit of my body.
"I called the cops to tell them he was harassing me, but they never did anything. Brad was really likable, and he was able to talk the cops into believing anything. He told them we were having a lovers' spat, that it was just a game we played together, that I was being moody because of my period. They always took his side. He was really good at making people believe him, and of course, I was just the hysterical woman." She shakes her head. "So I moved across town. I got a job at another coffee shop. And Brad found me again six months later."
I have so many questions. Where was her tribe? Her family? Why was no one protecting her from this male who would not leave her alone? But I sense if I interrupt, she will not say more, and I desperately need to hear the rest of the tale.
"The same thing happened," Sam says, breathless. "He'd show up at my work. He found out my phone number by getting cozy with my friends. He showed up when I went out. It got to where I couldn't leave my apartment, and it was getting hard to hold onto my job. He broke into my apartment, too. Three times. I think it was just to show me that he could. Each time, he wouldn't do anything. I'd just get home and there'd be a note on my pillow, or a rose. He was showing me that I wasn't safe. That I couldn't avoid him." A bitter laugh escapes her. "I certainly couldn't date. After dealing with Brad, I didn't want to. This went on for another year, I think, before I saved up enough money to move again. And you can guess what happened after that."
