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He laughs as I pull out the first bag. I grin wide when I see it’s a red, limited edition, Gucci crossbody handbag with a detailed chain-link design. It’s fricking gorgeous, and I love it instantly.
“Now, drive me to your work to get this fucking dress,” he says, walking around to the passenger side and sliding in. I look to the driver’s side, debating whether I should get in. Finally, I decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth and take it. People throughout my life have taken from me in so many ways that it’s nice to receive something. I know I don’t deserve it, but did they all deserve the pieces of me they stole?
Grayson, luckily, hasn’t stolen anything.
He gives.
It’s his love language to gift.
Me? I receive.
And now it seems this is my love language.
We get each other in that way, and it’s nice. Even if I want to say no, I know I won’t. This car is great, and even Grayson can be great.
But I’m just not sure if we are great together.
“Stop thinking,” he orders as I drive.
“Easier said than done.”
“Okay, let’s get deep. Tell me the worst human you have ever met,” he says, catching me off guard.
However, the answer is easy.
“We weren’t allowed to call him by his name. He was one of my owners who gave me away because I was too scarred. He is the worst human imaginable…if you can even call him that. He gave me up because of scars, some of them that asshole put on me himself, and he took great pleasure in making me bleed. He treated me as if I were lower than an animal. If I hate anyone in this world, it is him…” I pause, swallowing roughly. “Why would you want to know that?”
“What’s the worst thing he did?” he asks, not answering my question.
When I glance over at him, his eyes have darkened
And I shiver at the thought of it.
“I—”
“You’re safe now. Tell me.”
“I have a therapist, you know. I’m better now,” I quietly reply.
“Okay, so why aren’t you telling me?”
“He was mad at me this one time. I think, if I remember right, I had tried to run away again. I was a teenager. He was having a party, and I figured it was the best time to run. He thought of me as his…his possession. The sick fuck.” I shake my head at the thought of him. “He always found me, even when I ran as fast as I could. Even when I thought I was safe. He had an uncanny way of finding me.”
“That’s why you got mad about the police,” he guesses.
“I never changed my name, but that’s because he stole it away, and I was only to be known as ‘girl.’ So when I took back control of who I was, I grabbed it by the balls and ran,” I tell him, pulling up to the dress store.
“After he whipped my back, he tore the nails off my fingers so my hands would be useless to climb. Then he cut into my palms so deep they had to be stitched. It was all to teach me not to run.”
Grayson reaches for me, grabs my hands, and turns them over. The scars are faded now, barely noticeable, but his finger traces one anyway.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. If I could take the pain away, I would.” His words shock me, along with his tone. It’s soft but not pitying, and I wish I could crawl into his embrace. But I can’t.
I pull my hand away and get out of the car.
Grayson follows me into the store, and I lock it behind us.
“Powerful men usually get what they want.” I smile at him. “So why not get what you can out of them?” I walk over to a yellow dress, grab it, and hand it to him. He passes me his black card, and I swipe it through. Once payment is cleared, I go to give it back, but he doesn’t take it.
