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“I’ll never let anyone hurt you. But I need to know that you’ll be okay once this year with Nix ends. That when I’m not around, you’ll still be protected.” I can’t stand the thought of sending her off alone if that Zayan prick is just lying in wait. Hell, I can’t stand the thought of never seeing her again after this year is over.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. The fear in her eyes makes me want to steal her and hide her away, so I can know she won’t ever get hurt again.
“You can talk to me. Tell me what he did to you, Tara. Let me help you. I need to know what I’m up against if I’m going to keep you safe from him.”
“You have to promise not to tell Marnix.”
I feel terrible, but I’m gonna have to lie to her. If she tells me something I think he needs to know—only in terms of keeping her safe—I’ll tell him. It’ll be easier to ensure her safety if there are more people looking out for her. Sometimes I won’t be around, and he needs to know who’s coming for her. “I promise. I just want to help you, and I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what I’m up against.” I cringe making this promise knowing I’ll likely break it, but it’s what’s best.
She moves to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the one beside her. I don’t think she even realizes she did it, but the contact between us seems to relax her. She tries to move her hand, but I grip it firmly, not letting her pull away. I want her to know I’m here for her.
“Zayan and I started dating in high school. I was sixteen, and he was a couple of years older—he’d just turned eighteen. He was popular, handsome, and so sweet. I was head over heels in love with him. He’d take me on little dates every Friday after school, and send me flowers—dahlias.”
That’s probably where that little nickname came from.
“When I turned eighteen, he convinced me to move into his house on the East Side with him. My parents wanted us to get married first, but I was too eager. I moved in, and everything was perfect, until it... wasn’t.” Tears well in her eyes, but she clears her throat and keeps going.
“When it first started, I was too infatuated by him to see it. Fuck, even my parents adored him. They loved that he was Indian like us, and came from a good, wealthy family. Later on, I found out Zayan and our parents had been planning this wedding before we even went on our first date, but they thought we should come together ‘organically’ instead of them stepping in and forcing us to see each other. I don’t think I was his parents’ first choice, but there was something about me that he just had to have, even before he knew me. He’s always had some sick obsession with me that runs deep.” She sighs deeply, with a light chuckle at the end, almost like it’s humorous to think about.
“For the longest time, I didn’t even see what he was doing as abusive. I wasn’t on any birth control, so I wanted to use condoms to make sure we were being safe. I was young and completely unsure about whether I even wanted kids. But he’d always convince me not to use one. It was always the same arguments, like ‘if you loved me, you wouldn’t make me use one’ or ‘I want to feel you baby, but I can’t do that with one on.’ I always felt bad, so I did it his way, even though I was terrified of what could happen.”
What a fucking manipulative asshole.That shit is more than just abusive—it’s fucking rape.
“Then it started slowly getting worse. He’d get angry at me for getting home later than I said I’d be, or for being friendly with any man, no matter who they were. He even refused to let me start college right after high school like I’d planned. That still didn’t alert me, because he’d take his anger out on me sexually, which I-I liked at first.”
I can see it in her eyes. She blames herself for not seeing it sooner, for not realizing the signs were there the entire time. She’s beating herself up for liking rough sex. That pisses me off even more—she should never be ashamed of what she likes. I want to say something, but I don’t want her to shut down.
“His punishments started getting more physical, and the verbal abuse got worse too. Then our relationship turned into a full-out war when I finally told him I wanted out. After that, he’d beat me black and blue to keep me in line. Each time I thought I might leave, I got too scared. He’d threaten not only my life, but my parents’ lives too. He’d make sure no one saw me for weeks while my bruises were healing, always claiming we were busy or that I wasn’t feeling well.
“I could usually take the beatings. The worst for me was when he’d drug me. When I could no longer be in control of my body because of the toxins running through me.”
“He fucking drugged you?” Drugs are a curse. Pure fucking evil. Once they get their fangs in you, it’s a bitch to get free of them. I should know.
A tear spills down her cheek as she nods. “He started by slipping things into my drinks, but when I figured that out and refused to drink them, he’d force them down my throat.”
All I see is red. I want to get up right now and hunt him down, but Tara needs me. She’s vulnerable, which I know is hard for her. I don’t want to ruin this moment by acting on my rage.
“How did he do it?” The hand I’m not holding picks nervously at her shirt sleeve. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. I just want to understand what you went through.”
“It’s okay. I want to tell you, Rush. I haven’t ever been able to tell anyone what happened.”
Not even her best friend? Fuck. This absolute piece of shit did a number on her.
“He would tie my hands behind my back and pin me down to the bed, then force my mouth open and pour it down my throat. He wouldn’t get up and cut me loose until the drugs kicked in, so I couldn’t fight him.”
Being addicted to drugs is hard enough when it’s your own choice. I can’t imagine what it feels like when it’s not.
“Fuck, Tara,” I murmur, feeling like I want to burn down the world for her. “What did he give you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
That fucker’s going to die.
“Did he do it every day?”
“No, probably about once a week. Sometimes more, when he was in a bad mood.”
Shit.As bad as it sounds, it almost would’ve been better if he had done it everyday. At least then she wouldn’t have felt that constant hell of withdrawal.
