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“Yes. Here.”
I waited as the wind lifted her sleep-tangled hair from her shoulders. She crossed her arms over her chest. I wanted to tell her it was too cold, offer to go inside, but something told me to keep my mouth shut until she said what she had to say.
“When I met Pierre, he was really nice to me,” she said. “He made me feel special. But after we got together, he changed.”
I went still, listening, feeling the cold seep through my clothes.
“It was gradual at first,” Brit continued. “But he didn’t like my friends, so I stopped calling them. He didn’t like the movies I liked, so we only watched the ones he picked. He didn’t like me going out without him, so I stopped going. I wore the clothes he liked and ate the foods he approved of. He wanted me to lose weight, so I went on a diet. He picked out the furniture in our apartment because he thought my taste was terrible. And on and on. Eventually, if I disagreed with him, if we fought, he’d tell me that I was fat and ugly, and he could have any woman he wanted, and if I didn’t stop being a bitch, he’d find someone else.”
“Brit,” I said softly, but she held up her hand, and I went quiet.
“It was the same with sex,” she said, her tone carrying only the slightest quiver. “It was about him, not me. I needed to please him. I had to do it even if I didn’t want to, because a fat girl like me should be grateful that a man like him gave me the time of day. I always said yes, pretended to want to, but by the end, whenever he put his hands on me, I felt sick.”
I couldn’t help the words that came out of my mouth, hot and angry. “Fuck that guy.”
Brit swallowed. “It sounds pathetic, right? Why did I put up with it? I don’t know. I only know that before he came along, I liked myself. I had friends, I dated, and I liked to have fun. And somehow he robbed me of all of that and turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. As time went on, I didn’t feel safe—like, physically safe. It was hard to leave by then, because I lived in his apartment and we ran the salon together. Leaving him meant I lost my home, my business, my career. But I knew that he was…ending my life. Draining me of who I was. It’s hard to explain, but I felt it. So I left.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, because something sharp was digging into my chest, under my ribcage.
“You didn’t fuck things up, Axel,” Brit said. “I did. I said I wanted to be friends, and then I kissed you, and then I froze you out. I know I’m all over the place. But Pierre took me apart so completely that I didn’t even know how bad it was, and I can’t let you go on thinking that you did something wrong. I don’t want you to be mad.” Her voice broke a little on the last word, and I dropped my hands.
She was so beautiful and so courageous, standing on a cold, windy street in winter, her cheeks red and her arms wrapped around herself as she told me the truth. She had more guts right now than most people had in a lifetime. “What are you asking me?” I said.
“I’m asking you,” Brit said, “to please,pleasetell me we’re friends. Because I need that more than anything.”
I didn’t know I was doing it until I had already stepped forward and wrapped her in my arms. I squeezed her to me, pressing my cheek to her hair. Something inside me slid into place when I felt how perfect she fit against me.
“Of course we’re friends,” I said, my voice hoarse. “We always were. We always will be.”
Her arms went around my neck, and I felt her relax into me, heard her deep inhale as she breathed into the side of my neck.
And just like that, I mattered to someone again.
We stood there for a long time, our bodies warming each other in the cold. Though I could feel every curve and valley of her, it wasn’t about sex, and I wasn’t in a hurry. If she wanted to stay like this, then I wanted it, too. For as long as it took.
After a while, I stroked my fingers through her hair. “We’re giving the neighbors a show,” I said.
Brit gave a choked laugh against my neck, but her grip on me didn’t loosen. “I don’t really care.”
“Nope,” I agreed. I didn’t let go of her, either. “Fuck that guy,” I said for the second time, because the thought of him made me sick with anger. “I’m not the violent type, but doesn’t he run a hair salon? Come on. I’ll fly to L.A. and beat him up if you want.”
If possible, she squeezed me even tighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t hit anyone.”
“Okay,” I said, still stroking her hair. “I have to make the offer. My masculinity and all that.”
Brit sighed against my neck. “I admit that your masculinity is of premium importance.”
“I’m glad we have a consensus on what matters here.”
She didn’t laugh, but I felt her lips smile, and it was enough. I moved my hand down to her back, between her shoulder blades, and she said, “How is it possible that you’ve been running for an hour and you don’t stink? It’s inhuman.”
“I’m magic,” I replied. “Want to go get breakfast?”
“Yeah,” Brit said. “I do.”
FIFTEEN
Brit
