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I scowled at him and shook my head. "Micah is like my brother and—"
I stopped speaking when he stared at me with wide eyes and gripped my arm. "How can you expect me to be the man in the situation and just sit back and let you getaway with that kind of behavior!" He was speaking through gritted teeth, and by the time he finished, he gripped my arm so tightly that it was painful.
I yanked my arm away from him, and he let me go. I stared at him as blood pulsed through my body. He had really hurt my arm, and I looked down at it in disbelief. My adrenaline was going, so it was hard to say how bad, but I was hurt.
I was hurt, but I was not scared, and I was not about to cower to him or let him get away with that. He didn't advance on me any further. He was standing below me, and I was at the perfect position and angle to lift my foot and pop him right below the belt. I gave his crotch a swift kick with the top of my foot and he instantly groaned and crumpled in pain, cussing.
"What did you do that for? That hurt!"
"You hurt me," I said. I turned over my arm because it was still throbbing. The outside of my forearm was pink and tender looking, and when I turned it over I could see redness in what would certainly be bruising. "You really hurt me, Jake."
"You hurt me, too," he said, leaning over and using the stair rail for support.
"My arm really hurts where you did that. It's not appropriate. It's not okay. I'm never going to see you the same. You need to get out of here, and don't come back."
"Wait, are you trying to break up with me?" he asked. He reached out and grabbed my arm again. He unbelievably reached for the same arm, and I pulled away from him with a violent jerk.
"I have mace in my purse," I said. "I never dreamed I would have to say this to you, but really, Jake, don't you dare lay your hand on me again." I backed up a step. "You need to go while you're ahead," I said. "I'm serious. This building is full of my family, and a few of them are fans of the second amendment."
He cussed again—a stream of profanity left his mouth.
"Why are you acting like this Jake?"
"Because I love you. Don't you see? I love you. I know we haven't said it, but—"
"Yeah, we haven’t. Because I'm still getting to know you. Obviously, I don't know you very well at all." I turned over my arm, which was becoming redder in the spots where his fingertips had been. There were clear fingerprints on my forearm, and the sight of them caused me so much anger that I might as well have been breathing steam. "Jake, you hurt my arm. You physically hurt me just now. This is the end for whatever we had, and I'm asking you nicely to leave."
He started backing up like he knew I was serious. My heart pounded with adrenaline. I always wondered what I would do if a situation ever arose. I could tell Jake didn't expect me to react the way I did, and that made me feel good. I didn't smile, though. I held it together and remained serious.
Neither of us said another word. It was awkward, and Jake looked at me the whole time he backed up and let the door close behind him. There was a window in the door and I could see him as he turned and walked away.
I watched him for a while, and then I jogged quickly up to my apartment where I locked the door. I quickly accessed the security cameras on my phone, and I watched as he walked to his truck, which was parked close by in the alley. I lost sight of him after a minute, but he was gone.
I took a shower and I cried. I already had visible bruises on my forearm from where he grabbed me. I could clearly see them as I was standing in the shower, and I had so much pent-up emotion about it that I had to cry a little while I stood there letting the water hit my body.
I couldn't believe I had wasted several months of my life dating a guy who was capable of flipping a switch and doing that.
Honestly, even though it just happened, I was ready to forget the whole thing, forget Jake, and move on. I knew that I had done the right thing by defending myself and breaking up with him on the spot, and I didn't want to give him or the arm-squeezing incident any more time and thought than necessary.
One time, when I was sixteen, our family pet died. Gertrude. She was a beloved dog who I had known and loved for twelve years of my life—my whole life basically. She died of old age one day, and I was devastated, but I had a dance to go to that night and I really wanted to see the guy, so I pulled up my bootstraps and got myself together and went. When I was there, I told someone that my dog died that day and that I was really sad about it, but the sooner I got out of the house and started carrying on the better. I acted cool and confident all night, and I realized that the best way to get over something was to get on with your life as quickly as possible.
I had since used that night as encouragement so I could look back on it and realize that I was capable of moving on even during times when I didn't feel like it. Maybe that wasn't the same for everyone, but I found that I dealt with traumatic events when I didn't let myself sit and dwell on them.
That being said, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed a distraction at that very moment. I felt like I needed to get out of my house even though I planned on staying in for the night. By the time I finished taking my shower, I had decided to leave my apartment. I would go meet my brother and cousins at Micah's house.
Chapter 8
It was a fifteen-minute drive to get to Micah's, and I didn't listen to music on my way, which was rare for me. My mind was full, and it wasn't full of thoughts of Jake or the breakup. I put those thoughts aside.
I was remembering the moment earlier when Micah opened the case and saw his guitar. He had become a man in the years since I had known him—a handsome, strong, hardworking man—and he had to blink back actual tears when he saw it. He was truly touched, and I could not stop smiling at the memory as I drove toward his house.
Then, a minute later, my thoughts betrayed me and I experienced a flash of Jake's face. I could picture him as he stared at me wide-eyed in that stairway. I imagined the disenchanted face he wore that whole evening. I shook my head a little as if the motion could physically remove the thought from my brain.
I was thinking of Micah again as I approached his gate. I had the code memorized, and I punched it in only to be told by an automated voice over a speaker that it wasn't valid.
I called Micah right away. I assumed and hoped he'd pick up on the first ring, and it had me feeling confused when I listened to four rings followed by his voicemail message.
I stared into space for a second and then I called my brother, Isaac. He picked up on the first ring. "Hello," he said.
