Curran throws out his hands. “Why the hell not? What’s stopping you?”
I stand to face him. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t have any money, Curran. None. No line of credit, because I have no credit cards—I can’t even open a bank account.” I swerve right, then left, uselessly searching for a place to go, only to stop. “He found out about us. You know what he did to punish me? He saddled me with the tuition for my last semester of law school. Thirty thousand dollars. Where am I going to get this money?”
“You have to get a job.”
“I don’t think you’re listening. If I take a job, he’ll stick me with any outstanding bills and I’m out of a home.”
For a moment, he simply stares at me, his eyes searching every aspect of my face. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”
I ease away, wanting to deny it, but realizing I can’t. “Yes.”
“Even though he hasn’t laid a hand on you in years.”
Again, his tone sounds so accusing. “This damage he’s inflicted isn’t due to one thing alone, Curran. It’s a culmination of everything he’s done and how it’s made me feel.” I sigh, frustrated. “I’m not sure I can make you understand.”
His large hands clasp my shoulders. “Try,” he tells me. “Help me understand so I can help you out of this mess.”
I hug my body, working hard not to lose it as I do my best to explain. But the truth hurts, and doesn’t come easy. “My father has spent a lifetime stripping me of my worth. I don’t dare fight it, because it’s been ingrained in me that I’m not supposed to argue, or complain, or do anything other than quietly obey.”
“You wouldn’t obey me,” Curran snaps. I still then, only for him to scoff. “Come on, Tess. If I tried telling you what to eat, how to dress, how to talk, you’d rip me a new one and throat-punch me for being a prick.”
“It’s different with you,” I stammer.
“How—”
“Because I’m not afraid of you. You’ve never hurt me!” It’s then I finally crumble. “My father may not beat me, but it doesn’t mean I’m not broken. I’ve grown up thinking there’s nothing good about me, and constantly reminded of everything that’s wrong—the way I look, the way I stand, the way I breathe—nothing is ever good enough.”
“But you’re wrong. You’re beautiful and smart and kind. The problem is, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Instead you believe everything this lowlife shoves down your throat.”
Curran is right, but his words border on blame. He doesn’t understand that the strength I need to face my father has always lurked beyond my reach. Yet it’s what he says next that turns my shame to fury. “You shouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“What?”
“I said you shouldn’t let him treat you that way—”
“God damnit!” I storm away from him, only to veer on him and lash out. “You stand here, this strong and formidable man, judging me when you’ve never been dragged by a proverbial leash—forced to do what you’re told, shoved into clothes that make you feel ugly, and obliged to eat food that makes you sick so you don’t starve.” I ram my finger out. “It’s easy for you to tell me to walk away—you’ve never been afraid, or had every layer of your being stripped until you’re reduced to a pathetic mass of flesh and bones.”
Tears pour out of me, and my shoulders tremble. Curran gathers me to him, attempting to console me with his warmth and shield me with his hold.