I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t really know. I guess there’s a lot to figure out, huh?”
“Plenty of time for that. I’ve called down for breakfast, I hope you’re hungry.”
We enjoy fresh pastries at the breakfast bar, sitting next to each other, our bodies brushing together occasionally, stoking the desire that is still smoldering from last night. But he’s right; there is a lot to talk about and the bright light of day makes things all the more real. I know I can’t run from it this time. Part of me doesn’t want to run. Denham has a way of making me feel safe and protected, and somehow, I know that I won’t have to face things alone. This makes it more bearable. The other part of me wants to run for the hills rather than talk. Detach from everything bad, in the hope it will go away, then I can focus on everything good. But I know it doesn’t work that way. The bad eats away at you until there’s nothing left. A shell of what you once were and a mountain to climb before you can even thinkabout getting it back. I want to get it all out and open up. But I really don’t know how.
Denham’s warm hand on my knee brings me back to the here and now. “You okay there? You zoned out…”
“Uh, yes.” I put down my mug of coffee and turn the bar stool to face him. “Can we please talk and get this over with? I’m not good at talking, I don’t want to talk, but we need to, so let’s do it.”
I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath to ready myself. He raises his brows, then his features soften knowing I need this. He takes both my hands in his and strokes his thumbs along the tops of my knuckles. “Arianna, I don’t want tomakeyou talk if you really don’t want to. That’s your choice. I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I’d like some answers and I’m sure you would too.”
I nod in agreement. He helps me off my chair and I settle on the large, black, corner sofa in the lounge, I don’t know why I’m so nervous but I can feel my heart beating hard in my chest as I sit cross-legged right in the middle, watching as Denham sits in front of me, mirroring my posture.
“Okay?” he says, far more positively than I’m feeling.
I nod and continue to nibble at the skin around my thumb nail. He continues to look at me, presumably waiting for me to start, and I continue to look anywhere but him, just wanting to fast forward to the part where this conversation is all over.
“I don’t know where to start…” My voice is small, barely above a whisper, but the room is quiet, so Denham answers me quietly too but with confidence.
“Just start from the beginning, baby…”
Hearing that endearment makes my skin crawl. I let it go when Aaron used to call me baby, but this is different. I don’t want to associate Denham with anything that taints my thoughts. It takes me back to a place I never want to visit again,but it’s the place where I know I need to start this conversation from.
“Please, don’t call me baby.” His eyes widen at my request and I can see he is confused. “I don’t like and I won’t answer to it. The root of most of my problems is a man that used that word as an affectionate term for me.”
“Arianna I’m sorry, I—”
“You didn’t know, I know, but you do now and if you want me to stick around that’s one of the only things I’ll ask of you.”
He nods, his expression neutral except for a few lines around his eyes that tell me he’s tense. Well, that makes two of us. I’m a little afraid of what revealing everything will do to me. I might be a victim, but I’m also a survivor. I don’t want him to think I’m some little woman who needs looking after because I’m not. I can cope perfectly well on my own. But I want him to know about my past; I want to tell him everything.
Cards on the table.
“How about you start by telling me how you know the asshole that blew up your car yesterday?”
“He’s my husband.” I let that revelation linger in the air for a little longer than I should, the silence swallowing me. It’s clear it isn’t the answer he was hoping for.
“Arianna, I’m going to need you to elaborate…”
“Okay, we got married twelve weeks ago, I left him on Friday and came here.”
Realization shows across his face and his eyes flash to my wounded cheek. I see his shoulders tense and the muscles in his neck flex as he lifts a hand to my face. “He did this to you?”
“Yes.” I lean into his touch, but I don’t need the physical distraction if I’m going to get through this story. I straighten my back and his hand falls away as he sighs.
“We argued, he hit me, I left.”
“He called you Natalie.”
I nod. “He doesn't know any different.”
“You want to tell me about that?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“That may be, but I need you to tell me all the same.”
I look down at my hands folded in my lap and continue to pick at the skin around my nails. I suck in a deep breath before I begin. “I left Boulder City a little over a year ago. I was engaged to a very violent man. He hit me, often, and the last time he beat me so badly I needed to be hospitalized for nearly two weeks. I knew then that I had to get out and the only way to do that was to disappear and start again, so I went to LA, changed my name, and started over. I met Aaron and fell into a comfortable relationship. I never loved Aaron, but up until we got married, he was good to me.”
