Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
For being so naïve, for not seeing the warning signs, and because I had no idea I was living with a supposed addict.
That was his defence—that he was high when he attacked me—but I’d never known Kyle to touch drugs.
We thought it was bullshit and he was using it as an excuse for his actions, but the toxicology report showed he was high when he turned himself into police. There’s no disputing that.
When we were together, he was possessive but in a way that made me feel treasured. He’d smile, we’d have fun, and fuck, I was so in love with him. The last six months of our relationship, though, the feeling something wasn’t right gnawed at me.
He became stressed at his job, and his possessive side became worse. He was constantly on me about what I’d been doing while he was stuck at work. He’d be suspicious if I went out with Law, and he even followed me one night.
When I called him on it, he said he’d finished early and wanted to see me, but I’d never told him where I was, so I didn’t know how he found me.
When I found the tracking app he’d hidden on my phone in the folder labelled “Phone crap” which held all my useless apps, I broke up with him.
He said he was sorry, promised to delete the app, and I stupidly took him back.
I ignored his downward spiral, his increased possessiveness, and his frequent distrust until I couldn’t take it anymore.
His attitude was no longer fun. We no longer laughed. We were tense around each other, and the loving, carefree boyfriend I fell in love with over lazy Sunday mornings making breakfast and cuddling on the couch was gone.
And apparently breaking up with him again was the last straw. He turned up at my apartment with nothing but coldness in his eyes.
He asked for another chance. I should’ve gone with it until he’d calmed down. The smart thing might’ve been to call the cops right away. But I stupidly believed that no matter how fucked up Kyle was, he’d never hurt me. He loved me.
Boy was I fucking wrong.
Even when he tackled me and held a knife to my throat, I still didn’t believe he would really hurt me. It wasn’t until I lay dying that I truly comprehended what had happened.
I had been blinded by my feelings for Kyle, and I promised myself I’d never be that dumb again.
“That must be tough.” Brody’s sincere tone makes the shame worse.
My gaze meets his, and all those things I’m expecting to see aren’t there. There’s only concern.
“Tough is one word for it.”
“What happened? And remember you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I was attacked.” I swallow hard. “About five years ago.”
Brody’s whoosh of breath is audible even from the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry, man. That’s … I was going to say tough again, but I’ve already said that. I might need a thesaurus.”
I want to smile. I really do. But I just can’t do it.
“Was it random?” Brody asks, more serious now. “Please tell me they got the guy?”
Something goes wrong in my gut. My stomach turns sour, and my hand begins shaking. Great. Apparently my body’s had enough excitement for one night. There’s no way I can tell him about Kyle and survive it.
“They got the guy,” I whisper.
“Were you … uh …”
I think I know what he’s trying to ask, and it’s one question I have no trouble answering. “No sexual assault. Umm, he just took a knife to my throat.”
Brody’s look of relief is short-lived. “Just took a knife to your throat? There’s no just about that. That’s a big fucking deal, Anders.”
I take in a shuddery breath. “I know. Believe me, of all people, I know it’s a big fucking deal. I have the fucking scar to prove it.” I turn my head and part my beard so he can see the rough skin beneath it.
I don’t show anyone my scar, and I don’t know what possessed me to do it just now.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You sound dismissive of it. As if what you experienced isn’t as bad as someone who was raped, when it’s not true. Your whole situation is terrifying. Was it a mugging or …”
My throat constricts, and I can’t find my voice. So for some stupid reason, my brain thinks it’s okay to nod.
And I’m back to lying.
Fuck.
“Is the scar painful?”
“No. I’m just self-conscious of it. Hence the beard. It covers it so I don’t get questions.”
Maybe Brody senses it’s getting too much, or maybe he doesn’t know how to handle the situation, but he says, “You look wrecked. I should let you get back to bed.”
He moves as if he’s going to place a hand on my leg but thinks better of it and pulls back.