* * *
Mama’sand my fear turned to reality Monday afternoon when Dillon caught me on the way out of my work building.
“Finally,” Dillon snarled, and he gripped my arm. “I wondered if that hockey player locked you away.” Dillon squeezed harder, to the point I cried out, shocked by the ache through my muscle and into my bone.
“Let go,” I yelled.
“You don’t tell me what to do. You’re nothing without me, Ida. Nothing. Clearly, you need a lesson to remember that.” Dillon shook me and I reeled back, intent to get away…and ran my cheek into the edge of the metal door frame. Pain exploded.
“God. You’re so stupid,” Dillon sneered.
I blinked through the haze of pain, trying to grasp the change in him. I’d dated Dillon for years and never seen the brutality he now exhibited. My muddled mind couldn’t merge the disinterested former lover with this vicious man.
“Is there a problem?” The security guard for the building stepped forward, hitching his pants as he glanced between us. His name tag read Paul.
Of coursethere was a problem—Dillon was squeezing my arm and my head throbbed. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Sweat glistened on the guard’s forehead, and it wasn’t just from the heat. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth grew more prominent, his bald head gleaming with perspiration. I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing: Dillon hurt me. He might hurt others.Please don’t let him have a gun.
The security guard’s eyes darted around, as if seeking hiding places. There were few; safety was back inside the modern building behind us, and that was more glass than steel. Would bullets shatter it? Hurt the innocent people inside? I licked my lips, cringing from the strange feeling of my fattened lip, peering out of my swelling eye.
My cheek already burned, and I tasted blood. “He’s hurting me.”
Because I wouldn’t have slammed into the door frame if he hadn’t made me feel so unsafe.
The guard cleared his throat as his hand hovered over his weapon. “Back off, son.”
Dillon squeezed my arm even harder, and I screamed as my flesh contorted under his cruel fingers.A woman exiting the building pulled out her phone and pressed a button as she darted back inside.
“Come with me,” Dillon snarled.
“No!” The word was so high and loud, it shredded my throat.
“You don’t tell me no! I tell you no,” Dillon snapped.
“Let her go, buster,” the security guard said. “Now.”
Dillon leaned in closer, squeezed harder. “This isn’t over, Ida.”
Oh…oh…God. Dillon flung me away, and I stumbled back into the security guard’s thick chest, clutching my arm. I heaved a sob as shock took over the pain. By the time I caught my breath, Dillon had disappeared.
“Come back inside, ma’am. We need to report this.”
The security guard helped me back into the building. His eyes were kind but filled with speculation—no doubt he was wondering if Dillon would be back, and if he’d hurt me again. I was, too. I shivered so hard that walking was challenging. Paul cupped the elbow of my good arm, and my messenger bag banged against my quivering leg.
“I called the police,” the woman said. She darted forward and pressed a cool can of soda to my cheek. “Best I could do. I can’t believe the bastard accosted you like that. In broad daylight.” Her fear rippled outward, merging with mine. We were supposed to be safe during the day. But I wasn’t, not if Dillon didn’t fear consequences—and why would he? Up until now, there never had been any in his life.
I’d played the fawning girlfriend for years. I’d broken the pattern, refused to participate in his game. He’d made it clear in those awful texts and now, in person, that he refused to abide by my new rules—or my wishes.
I collapsed into the chair Paul pulled out for me at the kiosk that served as the information center for the building and his desk. He and the woman fussed over me as we waited for an officer to arrive.
I gritted my teeth, not wanting to go through whatever this process was, but knowing that I had to document Dillon’s behavior if I were to have any way to stop it. Not that I expected the police to do much.
I sucked in a long, hard breath.I’d just become a statistic.
Fumbling, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and dialed Millie’s number. Then, I remembered she was gone.
My cheek throbbed. My eye had already swelled shut, and I lost vision on my left side. My right arm burned, matching my bruised and swollen right hand.
