“Having access to my spending gave him more control over me. He was constantly harping on how much money I blew. If I drew cash out, he wanted to know what I was spending it on. I had to start keeping receipts to prove it.” I duck my head in shame and stare at my lap, fiddling with my fingertips. “A big source of contention for us was that I didn’t want to quit my job. He wanted me home, taking care of our place, but everything I did was wrong. I folded towels wrong. I didn’t buy the brand of toilet paper he wanted. One time I forgot to check the pantry and brought home duplicates of things we already had. I came home from work that night to find all the duplicates lined up on the dining room table. It was his way of shaming me. Making sure I know the he knew I fucked up.”
As I confess all of this, I find my old anger at Roger surging up in me again. My breathing gets quicker, and the blood pounds in my veins. “I wanted out, but I felt stuck. Our lives were intertwined. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he controlled everything. He’d taken over paying all the bills, including mine, so I had no idea where it all was. He’d even started doling out cash to me for spending money to ensure I didn’t go crazy. I told my friend this at work one night and she said he was abusive and I needed to get the hell out of it.” I swallow, thankful once more for Michaela. She helped me understand just how bad our relationship was. “She pushed me into getting my independence for a couple of months, and I quietly started searching for another job, casting my nets out of state, even.”
I pause. Smith is stiff, not saying a word. I wish I could read him. I turn to look into his eyes and he stares hard at me. A long moment passes.
It’s difficult, but I make myself keep looking at him as I reveal what happened that night. “When I had a lead on a position in a different state, one that seemed promising, I finally gathered my courage and told Roger that I was done. That I don’t love him and I want us to break up and separate all our entanglements. Upon retrospect, telling him when he was drinking wasn’t my best idea. He got super angry with me, called me a whore, asked me again and again if I was cheating on him and leaving him for another man. Said he’d followed me at work and had seen me talking to men when I was there, or running errands. I…was shocked.” All the tension from learning about that reveal came back into me, and I started to shake again. “He’d put keystroke detection on my laptop and was monitoring everything I was saying. All this time, Roger had been watching me. Checking my text messages on my cell phone when I wasn’t looking, seeing who I was talking to, reading my emails.”
I close my eyes. “He grabbed me hard and shook me. I tried to get away from him but he wouldn’t let go. I got scared and shoved at his chest, and he screamed at me to stop fighting him, that I was making a mistake leaving him. That he’d make me sorry if I thought I could walk away like this. That he had a say in our relationship and he wasn’t done yet.” I press trembling fingers to my stomach and make myself breathe. The horror of that night, the overwhelming fear I felt, shudders through me. “So I stayed, because I was petrified. I stayed for another couple of weeks. During that time, Roger was his usual self—and why wouldn’t he be? He got his way. I was still there. Until one day, my cell phone rang and I got the job offer from here. I accepted on the spot. Then the next day, I waited until he was at work and I packed everything I owned and left. I drove to the bank and took out enough money for me to live on. When I made it to a friend’s house, I contacted my bills. Turns out Roger hadn’t paid any of them. He was hoarding my money and keeping me indebted to him. I worked out a payment plan to get me back on track.”
Shame burns me all over. I get up and move from his lap, and he doesn’t stop me. The rawness I’m feeling hurts so badly. Telling him that story, confessing it all, makes me realize what an utter fool I was with Roger. How did I let him control me like that? What is wrong with me?
I go to a window and press my forehead to it, looking down. I don’t see anyone out there who looks like Roger. No cars parked nearby. I finally let my guard down and Roger came back into my life, destroying everything again. And now that I’ve finally found someone I connect with, someone who excites me and stimulates me, he ruins it all.
I hate him. So deeply.
And I kind of hate myself for being stupid and weak.
Soft hands touch my upper arms, then wrap around me, and Smith tugs me to his chest. He’s holding me tightly, pressing small kisses to the side of my brow, then he turns me in his arms and grips me.
I can feel his body is so tense he seems like a live wire, and it makes me pause.
“If this fucker ever tries to harm you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” he says in such a cold, furious tone, it takes me aback. “I will protect you from him, I swear it. You will never have to be afraid of him or anyone else.” His words are breathed against my forehead, rustling the small hairs there. “I will find him and make sure he knows he will leave you alone for good.”
Listening to Smith, I’m convinced he means it. Some of the fear dissipates from my body, and I sag against him. He grabs me and scoops me into his arms again, carrying me down a dark hallway, kicking open a door. Then I’m delicately laid on a bed, and he’s curled up behind me, cupping me. My back is warm against his chest.