“When I broke into the house, I heard her begging him to stop. He made her call him daddy. I yanked him off her and dragged him outside. Then I beat the shit out of him until Jack and Gunner pulled me off.” I met her eyes, unflinching. “That’s what happened.”
“And how do you feel about what you did?”
“I feel like I did exactly what needed to be done.”
Her pen stopped tapping. “No guilt? No remorse?
“For protecting a fourteen-year-old girl from a predator?” I leaned back against the couch and looked her in the eye, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that made grown men take a step back. “Not a fucking ounce.”
Haizley set her pen down carefully. Too carefully. Like she was handling something volatile. “Derek, we’ve spent months working on your anger management. On controlling your violent impulses. On—”
“This wasn’t a fucking impulse.” The words came out sharp, cutting through whatever therapeutic bullshit she was about to feed me. “This was a choice. A conscious, deliberate fucking choice to stop a man from sexually assaulting a child.”
“By nearly killing him.”
“By making sure he could never fucking do it again.” I held her gaze, refusing to back down. “You want me to sit here and tell you I’m sorry? That I wish I’d handled it differently? Called the cops and let him finish what he was doing while we waited for them to show up?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” I demanded. “Because it sounds like you’re telling me I should feel guilty for protecting an innocent kid from a fucking monster.”
Haizley exhaled slowly, and I recognized that breath. It was the one she took when she was recalibrating her approach. “I’m saying that you lost control. You’ve told me yourself that losing control is your greatest fear. That becoming your father—”
“She thanked me, Haizley.” The words came out like a growl, low and lethal. “She fucking thanked me for doing what no one else did. What her fucking mother didn’t do. My father beat my mother because she burned dinner. Because she spoke to another man. Because he was drunk and bored, and she was there. He hurt people because he enjoyed it.”
I stood up, unable to sit still anymore. The energy coursing through me needed an outlet, and pacing was better than putting my fist through her wall.
“What I did wasn’t about enjoyment,” I snapped. “Don’t get me wrong, I fucking enjoyed every minute. But it wasn’t about power or control or getting off on someone else’s pain.” I turned to face her, my hands clenched at my sides. “It was about protection. It was about teaching that motherfucker a lesson he’ll never forget.”
“And if you’d killed him?”
“Then those girls would be safe. Frankie would be safe.” I said it without hesitation. Without doubt.
Haizley’s expression shifted, not quite approval, but something close to understanding. “You know I can’t condone that.”
“I’m not asking you to condone it. I’m asking you to understand why I had to do it.” I resumed pacing, my boots heavy against her wooden floor. “You want me to dig deep and find some guilt? Some remorse? It’s not there. I’d do it again. Right now. Without thinking twice.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
I stopped mid-stride and looked at her. “Why? Because I’m willing to protect the people I love?”
“Because you’re willing to cross lines you swore you’d never cross again.” She leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Derek, you came to me because you were terrified of your own capacity for violence. You told me you never wanted to lose control like that again. That you never wanted to become the man your father was.”
“This is different.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head, studying me. “Or is that what you’re telling yourself to justify what you did?”
The question hit harder than I expected. I sank back onto the couch, my jaw clenched so tight I could feel my teeth grinding together.
“It is different,” I said finally, my voice quieter but no less intense. “When I lost control, when I hurt Sam, it was about me. My pain. My rage. My inability to handle my own shit.” I looked down at my bruised knuckles, remembering the satisfying crunch of Richard’s bones breaking under my fists. “This wasn’t about me. It was about that girl. About stopping something that never should have happened to my kid. To any kid.”
“And you don’t see how those two things might be connected?” Haizley asked. “How your past trauma might have intensified your response?”
“Of course it did.” I met her eyes again. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand that hearing her beg him to stop triggered every fucking nightmare I’ve ever had about my own childhood?” I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration bleeding into my words. “But that doesn’t change the fact that what I did was necessary. That someone needed to stop him, and I was there.”
Haizley was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was measured. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have intervened. I’m saying the level of violence you used—”
“Was exactly what he fucking deserved.”
