Debra set her glass down and turned to Billie. “Okay.”
“She, um…” Billie stared down at the floor, her nostrils flaring. “Her name was Janet.”
Debra hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until her chest started to ache. She sat as still as she possibly could, her whisky untouched on the table, every instinct screaming not to interrupt, or move, or doanythingthat could shatter the fragile steadiness Billie had forced herself into. Debra knew instantly that whatever followed wouldnotbe small.
“I was twenty-four when we met. She was charismatic and confident. She knewexactlywho she was, and…I didn’t. That should have been my first warning.”
Debra’s body reacted before her mind could catch up. That painful ache in her throat as the nausea crept in. Her hands curled into the fabric of her jeans, her nails pressing hard enough to leave marks. She may not have much of a history with Billie, but Debraloathedanyone who could put someone they supposedly loved through pain and turmoil.
“We were together for about two and a half years.”
Two and a half years…
Debra tried to comprehend the length of it. The seasons passing, birthdays and anniversaries, even the ordinary mornings. Billie had carried the pain of it all silently.
“For the first six months, everything was perfect. I thought I’d found someone who cared about me.” Her voice faltered. “And then I realised I was in love with her.”
Debra placed a gentle hand on Billie’s knee in support.
“That was when things really changed between us.”
Debra imagined Billie at twenty-four. Bright and unsure of the world but wanting to be chosen. And then she imagined Janet recognising Billie’s vulnerability immediately, knowing exactly how to shape it into obedience.
“She told me she was dominant,” Billie said. “That it was her lifestyle. She always spoke about it like I was lucky she wanted me.”
Debra’s stomach roiled.
“The whipping came first,” Billie continued. “She said it was about trust.”
The words whipping and trust should never have existed in the same sentence, not when the woman doing said whipping was a complete animal. Still, Debra would keep her opinions on Billie’s ex to herself. A long time had passed from what she could gather, and Billie had been terribly young to enter into such a relationship.
Debra glanced at Billie’s hands. They were steady now, but she still remembered those same hands trembling on her doorstep, her knuckles white as she asked for permission to stand. The more Billie said, the quicker the pieces slid together withsickeningclarity.
“She’d tie me to the bed sometimes,” Billie said, toying with the frayed knee of her jeans. “And then she’d leave for hours. Not as a game, just…because she could.”
Debra’s thoughts started to stutter. She had to anchor herself to the present; she had to remind herself that Billie was here, and she was breathing, and she was alive. Because the image her mind conjured up made her chest constrict so suddenly that she wasn’t sure what she was capable of if she ever came face to face with Janet.
“When she drank,” Billie paused and cleared her throat. “She stopped pretending it was about control. She didn’t bother with rules or consent then. She just…hit me.”
Debra’s breath caught, audibly this time.
“Afterwards, she’d tell me it was my fault. That I’d pushed her. That if I’d behaved as she’d expected of me, none of it would have happened.”
A cold fury ignited beneath Debra’s horror, contained only by the fact that Janet was nowhere near her.
“She made me kneel,” Billie whispered. “Every single time.”
Debra’s vision blurred. How could anyone treat another human being that way? How could anyone inflict hurt on someone they ‘loved’, and then blame them for it happening?
“She’d leave me there until my knees were bruised and I couldn’t kneel any longer,” Billie added. “I stayed still because I thought that was how you made someone stop hurting you.”
“Hey, you don’t have to say anything else.” Debra squeezed her knee gently and dipped her head. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hear anything more. “You’ve said enough for me to understand everything.”
Billie nodded slowly, and the silence settled back in again. Only then did Debra realise that tears were sliding down her own face. She brushed them away in anger, ashamed of crying when Billie had been the one to endure it.
She slowly moved closer, giving Billie every chance to pull away. She knelt in front of her, thankfully by choice, and took both of Billie’s hands in her own. “Listen to me,” Debra said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to steady it. “None of that happens here.Ever.”
Billie’s breath hitched.
