I crossed my arms. “How? We’re barely even friends. I’m just now getting to know him.”
“Great!” he yelled. “You’re not close yet, so it should be no problem to cut off communication.”
I clenched my fists and tapped my toes restlessly against the truck floor bed. My thoughts drifted to Dante and our interactions so far. His charm and not-too-serious grins were refreshing. I liked talking to him. I liked having someone whowas into the same books as me and who liked getting coffee and walking around the library. I liked the idea of having my very own friend who understood the parts I chose to show the world.
“No,” I replied softly.
Bradley whipped around to look at me with crazed eyes. “Excuse me?”
“No,” I repeated, putting more power into the word. “I don’t want to stop talking to him. Iwantto be friends.”
He went eerily silent, and his wide eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. I held my breath and waited for the boom of his thunder. I waited for the battering rain of his argument and acrimony. I waited for the lightning to strike.
But it was silent.
Still.
The lack of response was almost more unnerving, because after the calm usually came an even greater storm.
The thought had me swallowing hard and leaning away from him in my seat. I picked at my thumb and tried to count each inhale and exhale coming from my quickening breath, but the chaotic emotions of anger, confusion, and desperation kept me from thinking clearly.
When we returned to the office, he still made no response. He left with a slam of his truck door, and I returned to my small room in the building. When work ended, there was still no sign or word from him, yet the anxiety of an impending tempest circled me as I drove home with knots in my stomach.
Bradley wasn’t used to me expressing my thoughts, and I, myself, was still getting familiar with my own voice. It had stayed locked away for so many years of our relationship that it shook the foundation we stood on when I argued or had an opinion that differed from his.
I tried talking myself down from my rampant thoughts and anxious worries as I unlocked my apartment and went inside.No sooner had I deposited my bag and keys on the island than a hard knock sounded on my door. I peered through the peephole, and my stomach soured when I saw Bradley on the other side. His nostrils flared, and his shoulders rose and fell hard from the quickness of his breathing.
The hurricane had finally arrived.
The minute I unlocked the door, Bradley shoved it open, nearly knocking me down in the process. I gasped and stumbled backward as he slammed the door closed behind him and continued his furious forward pursuit.
“Are you fucking him?” Bradley demanded.
I stared at him like he’d lost his mind as I was forced to continue backing away. “What?”
“If there wasn’t anything going on between the two of you, you wouldn’t have a problem not talking to him,” he barreled on. His breath came out hard and fast as he backed me right into the corner where my kitchen island connected to the wall.
I braced myself against the wall and held a shaking hand out to try to deter his relentless path forward. “Would you please calm down? I haven’t done anything! He and I are—”
“You’re not friends!” Bradley yelled, getting right in my face. He put a hand on the counter and a fist right by my head to lean in and snarl, “You are mine!”
With him screaming in my face, I caught the unmistakable scent of alcohol on his breath. My eyes widened. “H-Have you been drinking? Atwork? Whiledriving?”
His hand snapped forward to squeeze my cheeks tightly, and he shook me in his grip. “Don’t change the damn subject, you fucking whore! How many times have you cheated, hmm? You take after daddy?”
Tears rimmed my eyes. His goal to hurt me with that comment worked. He knew my dad’s infidelity was a sensitive subject. The old wound across my broken family had messed meup. He knew the invisible blow he was dealing when he hissed that at me. His mark struck true, knocking the air out of me as old memories resurfaced. My dad choosing another woman over his high-school sweet heart and the mother of his daughter, Mom fleeing to Japan and leaving me behind, Dad suddenly rejecting my requests to snuggle on the couch because that was now Scarlett’s spot, my hero turning a blind eye to every painful lashing his new wife dealt to me.
I gripped Bradley’s wrist, trying but failing to make him release his hold on my face. My heart raced, and real terror filled my insides until I thought I might suffocate under the weight of fear.
“Bradley!” I pleaded as his fingers dug in harder. “Please let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Say you’ll stop talking to him,” he snarled, shaking my face.
I whimpered and let go of his wrist to place both hands on his chest. I shoved him hard, and it was enough to finally get a little space between us. I used that small opening to run past him, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me back.
“Answer me!” he demanded. His alcohol saturated breath made my stomach churn with fresh nausea.
“Let go of me,” I begged, staring at this man I no longer recognized.
