Talia’s voice pierced through the fog. I didn’t know how many times she’d whispered my name before I managed to turn toward her, but from the furrow between her brows, the deep concern carved into her features, it had been more than once.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” she whispered.
No. I wasn’t okay. I stood as far from okay as possible. A monster occupied the room, wrapped in the costume of a benevolent man, and everyone welcomed him with open arms. How could that bastard stand here under the guise of aiding victims of domestic violence when he had engineered my own private hell? The sight of him mocked everything this space was meant to be. It turned help into parody, justice into farce.
I should rise. I should speak. I should shout that this man had no right to be here, no right to help anyone. He was the reason I sat in this chair at all.
But like the coward Vincent had always accused me of being, I stayed silent. After all this time, after all the work, I still shrank beneath his presence. What could I even say? I had no photographs. No documented injuries. No reports to legal authorities. Only a handful of bruises long faded and a minefield of memories I carried alone, memories with no timestamp, no witness, no proof. It would become my word against his, and Vincent’s word came with credentials, power, and connections. All I had was a story, but no way to verify it had ever happened.
My silence, the one I had once used as protection, had turned into a muzzle.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I whispered back.
The lie came out pitiful, and I knew she didn’t buy it. Talia’s eyes stayed on me, narrowed with worry, but she didn’t have time to press before Vincent turned to address the group.
“Thank you, Elijah. I’m honored to be here. My name is Vincent Langley. I’m a partner at Garner and Croft and it’s my pleasure to offer any support I can to this incredible group.”
Nearly six months had passed since I’d heard his voice, yet it still had the power to unmoor me. I’d fooled myself into believing I had changed, that I’d taken back control. But when the moment came to prove it, I shrank. Just like I always had. Just like I feared I always would.
“Ironically,” Vincent continued. “Oliver and I had the pleasure of working together a few years back.”
Fuck.
The gleam in his eyes told me he was baiting me, enjoying it, daring me to speak or act. We both knew I wouldn’t.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, forcing my voice into something conversational. “Vincent was the assigned prosecutor in my dad’s DUI trial.”
“And coincidentally, Oliver is now pursuing a case against his father through our firm. In fact, he’s scheduled to meet with me directly after this session. Isn’t that right?”
That look. That cold, commanding stare. I knew what it meant. Resistance wouldn’t be tolerated. “No” would not be allowed in my vocabulary.
“Yes.” I forced the quiver out of my words. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What a small world,” Elijah said with a chuckle, unaware of my inner turmoil.
Small didn’t begin to cover it. My world had collapsed inward, crushed into a cage I thought I’d escaped. It shrank tothe circumference of one room, one chair, one man’s shadow stretching across my soul.
The conversation continued around me but I didn’t comprehend any of it. My mind had become a whirlpool, sucking every thought into a singular vortex of dread. The hour-long meeting managed to be both excruciatingly slow and cruelly swift.
“I’ll be staying after group in case any of you wish to speak to me individually,” Vincent announced at the group’s official close. “Oliver, can I borrow you first? There are a few preliminary things I want to review with you ahead of our meeting if you don’t mind,” Vincent said his voice all faux warmth and calm.
Trapped in a spider’s web, all I could do was nod.
“I guess we aren’t doing smoothies today, huh?” Talia asked as I gathered my things and got up from the chair.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, Talia. I completely forgot about the appointment.”
“No worries. If you wanted, we could get together tomorrow and do something?”
“Um, yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”
She seemed unconvinced, but with Vincent’s watchful eyes on me, and standing within earshot’s distance away, I didn’t dare risk saying more. I followed him to the small table set up in the corner.
“Of all the places I thought I’d find you this certainly wasn’t one of them. A DV group, Oliver, really? I never hurt you,” he said, his voice slipping into the tone that always made me question what I knew to be true. “Not in any way that mattered. You were always so sensitive. Always twisting things in your head until they sounded worse than they were.”
