“Hope. Turn. It. Off.”
“Watch. I went somewhere else in my head. That’s why I get quiet. But being between my legs, raping me, hurting me, that was his good place. He didn’t care what it did to me. Do you believe me?” I ask. “Is this enough, or should I try to find the website where he posted this to make money?”
She gets up and forcefully shuts the laptop. I push it to the side and get up. The words just spew out of me. I’m screaming, nearly blowing out my own eardrums. “Isn’t that enough?! Now do you believe me! Is this enough to prove he was a fucking bastard that raped his own daughter?! Do you want to interview Jaxon?! He bragged to his team about what a slut I was! How many times have you heard abusers say that?!”
“You’re being unreasonable, Hope. I can’t help you if you’re fixated on whether you can trust me or not. That’s not productive,” she says in a rushed voice.
“I’M NOT PRODUCTIVE?!”
She winces at my volume and motions for me to lower my voice. I don’t. “You’re the reason I don’t trust you! You have a personal bias and didn’t say anything! You want to cover up what he did to me! You’re just as bad as he is and that’s not paranoia! I have proof. Your own fucking words!”
“Hope—”
“You won’t even admit it! You just want me to be crazy because it’s easier. Did that video look easy? Did it look like I was asking for it while he slammed my face into a plate and broke it against my cheek? Did me being chained and still trying to fight look like I wanted it?!” I scream.
“I’m not arguing with you about that. He raped you, he—”
“And there’s no reason for rape! People can kill one another for self-defense. They can hurt one another accidentally. But rape is on purpose. Rape doesn’t benefit anyone but the rapist!” I scream.
I’m barely keeping track of what I’m saying. I know I call her a useless bitch. A traitor. I demand to know how many other people reported him that she ignored. I can’t stop screaming and anytime she tries to approach me, I end up throwing something.
Her hands are just as poisonous as my father’s. She wants to control me. She wants to ruin my mind. She wants me to think like she does because it’ll be easier for her. It will validate her.
She’s no better than anyone else who refused to listen. She’s no better than anyone else who wanted to call me crazy just so I’d stop talking. She’s on my father’s side and not even evidence will change her mind.
Jo won’t apologize. She’s not sorry.
My eyes blur. I can’t tell if I’m actually throwing things at her. I can barely recognize her. She looks like my father. She looks like Jax. She looks like a nightmare.
JAXON
“If you’re having a fight with your partner, would you rather get flowers, a real apology, an amazing date, or a stuffed animal?” I ask aloud as I follow the quiz in the magazine.
I scoff. “A real apology, obviously.”
But my finger circles ‘flowers.’ I don’t think I’ve been given flowers before. No…shegave me a flower once. She insisted it would make me happy. I held it too hard. I crushed all the petals and hid it so she wouldn’t see.
Something loud thuds against the wall and the secretary jumps up. I hear Hope, her voice muffled, but she’s yelling. The secretary looks at her desk, then back down the hallway. I put the magazine to the side, wondering if I should go and check it out, but Hope was clear.
“She probably needs to yell it out. Rage is good, right? Helps bring the person to life,” I say.
The secretary laughs softly. “Yeah… I guess.”
“Scream therapy or something,” I say with a shrug. “Yelling is better than shutting down.”
The secretary sits back down but keeps glancing to the hallway. I don’t blame her. I’m focusing on it intensely too. I grip the armrests of the chair, eager to get up and help Hope. If she’s giving the therapist hell, good for her, but if the therapist is trying to subdue her or tranq her or something, she’s going to have another fight on her hands.
I refuse to let anything else happen to Hope.
Something shatters as Hope screams something that sounds like “stay away,” and I’m on my feet.
She told me not to come in. She specifically said that the best thing I could do was stay in the lobby for her, but I don’t like the idea of her fighting a battle and needing backup. I don’t like the idea of anyone hurting her again.
“I can’t go in,” I mumble to myself. My fingers flex at my side as my hands itch. Another scream resonates from the room and the secretary suddenly moves and makes a phone call. I hear the word “security” and I head over. I’m not waiting for Hope to get dragged out of the office by other men. I’m not letting anyone else touch her and clearly that’s part of what’s going on in the room.
“I can’t go in,” I say to myself one more time, but I ignore it just the same.
Security comes from another way and kicks the door open. I step in with them and see Hope trashing the office. She’s already broken Jo Grant’s tablet and smashed her degrees.
