Early on Saturday morning, I’m riding with the enemy. Stony silence fills Brad’s Audi on the drive to the Boston international airport.
Ash, sweetheart that she is, would’ve come back to Foxgrove for me and taken me home to her family for the holidays, but Jamie’s literally the last person I want to think about, so meeting and hanging out with his extended family is a hard pass.
The bitter sting of Jamie’s rejection hits me again, and I can’t keep the visceral response from happening… The sick feeling in my stomach. The desperate feeling of being tainted by my lowlife beginnings, and of perpetually being seen as low class when someone learns the truth about my life.
I let it all wash over me until it makes me angry instead of sad.
Fuck him. Andfuck anyoneelse who tries to make themselves superior by putting me down.
The sole benefit of Jamie’s proverbial slap in the face is it led to an epiphany moment. Fifteen years of carrying undeserved shame is long enough. Too long, in fact. I’m done. Letting it go won’t be easy, but I’ll never be happy in life if I don’t.
“So what’s the deal?” Brad’s voice is half sullen, half accusatory sneer. “I thought you weren’t coming to Palm Beach?”
“Plans change.” The words are icy and clipped.
“You realize no one wants you there.”
Staring out the windshield at the empty tree branches shaking from the wind, I raise a terse wall of silence. I refuse to be put on the defensive.
“You think getting into the Briar Club is a big triumph that’ll finally impress Grandmother? When you barely made the cut? Even while riding my mom’s coattails?”
My gaze flicks to the pinched expression on his face. “The nasal way you say grandmother makes you sound like a dickhead. You should rethink that.”
After a beat, he swerves across two lanes of traffic and makes a turn into a random strip mall parking lot on the side of the feeder. His slamming on the brakes causes my seatbelt to lock so I rock forward and snap back at the screeching halt.
A second later, his fist nails me in the upper arm. A bitter gasp emerges before I can stop it. Pain explodes from the blow. I grit my teeth to keep from rubbing my arm and spewing rage.
“You’re such a fucking cunt!” he snaps. To add to the humiliation, he slaps my face with enough force to turn my head and cause sharp, burning pain. I’m sure there will be a red mark. It might even stay visible and could raise questions, which he’s never allowed before.
I blink stinging eyes and bite the inside of my cheek, fighting to stay calm. I want to slap him back. Or to scream at him, but I stop myself. He’s dangerously out of control. After four and a half years of not hitting me, he’s starting again.
A feeling of impending doom oozes over me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand like the hackles on a wolf.
“You think I’m afraid of your boyfriend? Fuck him. He’s about to have big problems. Ones that’ll get him gone from GU.”
I only half process his words because I’m reading his angry expression and body language. He’s vibrating with rage. If I push back here and now with caustic taunts, he might snap and do more than hurt me.
My hand reaches the door handle and pulls. Light fills the small space, so I can see the harsh lines around his eyes. He grabs a clump of my hair and jerks me toward him. The pain in my scalp wipes away every thought. I shove at him, trying to escape.
“Close that fucking door or I swear to God—” He grabs my throat in a grip so hard I’m afraid he’s about to break my neck.
My heartbeat jumps in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. Fear pours down like an avalanche. Brad’s not just a bully. He’s out of his mind.
Letting go, he reaches across and bangs my forearm with his closed fist. My hand wrenches off the door, and I let it hover over my lap as my mind races.
“I want to get out,” I say, reaching for my seatbelt.
“Fuck you,” he says, shifting the car into gear. In an instant, he propels us forward. “Shut that fucking door!”
I grab the armrest shakily, my breathing shallow and erratic.
“If you jump out. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
The thought that he might kill me is shocking, but I can’t escape the feeling that things are spiraling, and my lifeless body could be found strangled in a nearby ditch.
A muscle in my jaw ticks as I stare at him. I can’t tell if he’s bluffing. He seems more in control now that he knows I’m scared, but I’m not sure I can trust his control to last.
He barrels onto the feeder, and the moment for jumping out of the car is gone. He enters the freeway going sixty.
