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“He wasn’t that type when I met him,” I begin to explain.
“You don’t have to explain that. You think I’d judge you for him being in jail?”
I lift my chin. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No. I don’t assign blame to innocent people for the action of others.”
I inhale, trying to hide my relief as his fingers unwind from my arm, his eyes not leaving my face, softening, as does his tone. “He hurt you,” he says.
I shrug my shoulders. “Not really physically. I mean, not that bad.” Though as I say it, I don’t understand the lie. I just know I’m so used to saying it, to myself and to those around me. “He’d smash up my stuff. Stop me from leaving my place sometimes. Push me… He got really possessive. Like, more than the usual guy stuff.”
Pushing me into walls, grabbing me and throwing me onto the bed, punching the wall beside my head, running knives through my clothes.
Does that even count?
And then, that last day…
I wonder for a moment why of all people it’s him I’m talking to, telling things I even hide from my closest friends at times…
I don’t know what it is. There’s something about his strength, his composure, that makes me want to give in, to hope that someone else can listen for once.
“And when we split up, he started to… stalk me, basically. Follow me. Threaten me. Text me a hundred times a day. Well, now he gets some sick friends of his to do it for him.”
His smoke-hued eyes lock onto my face as I speak.
“He’s from a good family. I mean, outwardly. They’re wealthy and—”
He shakes his head slowly. “You still think I’d judge you, don’t you? For picking abadman?”
I lower my eyes, hating that I feel the need to justify myself.
“Wealthy families can bebad,” he says. “I have extensive experience in the matter.”
The thought of Greyson’s imposing father still chills me today.
“I know. I just hate people thinking that… I’m into dangerous men. In the beginning, he never even raised his voice. If he had done one-tenth of the stuff he was doing at the end, I’d never have agreed to go out with him.”
“Stop. You don’t have to explain yourself like this.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like we live in a society that doesn’t blame women for the behavior of their male partners.”
He exhales slowly. “Stop, Indie. I told you… You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It's not your fault.”
I taste the salty tears that I’m swallowing as I peer down, watched by him.
“What’s his name?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you getting involved.”
“That’s too late,” he replies. “I’m going to have some security guys down here within a couple of hours.”
“No…”
“Then I’ll speak to the Assistant DA. I know him well. He’s a good friend of mine. He’ll deal with this when you get back to DC. We’re going to fix this fucking problem. And I’ll make sure you’re protected while we do.”
“Grey, I…”
“I need a name. I can find it out myself, but I want you to trust me.”
