“He wasn’t always horrible.” My throat tightens. The words taste like old betrayal: bitter and heavy.
CJ shifts toward me immediately, taking my hand without a word. Waiting. Letting me choose the pace.
“Adrian,” I clarify quietly. “There were good times. He was charming when he wanted to be. He could walk into a room and have everyone liking him in five minutes.”
The words taste bitter, like something spoiled I swallowed anyway. CJ stays quiet, and I’m grateful for it, because what comes next is harder. My eyes start to burn. His grip tightens slightly: anchoring, not pushing.
A tremor runs through my fingers. The burn behind my eyes spreads down my throat, thick and suffocating.
“It started small,” I say, my voice slipping into memories of him. “Who are you texting? Why are you wearing that? Why didn’t you answer when I called?” A humorless breath leaves me, almost a laugh. “I thought he cared.”
The first tear drops, and my chest caves inward. Each tear feels like something breaking loose that I’ve held too tightly for too long. They land on our joined hands resting on my knee. CJ doesn’t move to wipe them away; he just lets them land.
I drag my sleeve across my face, then rest my hand over his.
“Then everything changed,” the words scrape out of me. “Everyone I loved was gone. My friends, gone. My family was already gone; they died when I was thirteen. I stayed in touch with one foster family, but they’ve too. Gone.”
A shaky inhale breaks halfway through my chest.
“My hobbies, gone. My confidence, gone.”
I finally look at CJ. My vision blurs. “Adrian convinced me I was lucky he loved me.” My voice fractures. “And I was stupid enough to believe him.”
The shame rises fast and choking, and I break.
The room tilts. I cling to CJ’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
CJ doesn’t let go. He pulls me in tighter instead, as if he can physically hold the world back.
“You’re safe, Baby Boy,” he murmurs against my hair. “Go on.”
He anchors me there, holds me through it, then shifts me carefully into his lap, rocking me like something fragile that still deserves to be held.
My breath stutters. The gentleness feels overwhelming, like my body doesn’t know how to accept it without breaking.
Eventually, I lean back just enough to speak.
“The first time he hit me…” My throat locks. I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs. “Dinner was late. Ten minutes. That was all it took. Afterward, he cried. He apologized. Then he brought me flowers.”
My stomach twists violently. The memory feels like a blade pressed against old wounds.
“The crazy thing is, CJ…” I swallow hard. “I comforted him. I told him it was okay. I said I was sorry.”
CJ’s body goes rigid with rage he doesn’t release. Heat radiates off him, his jaw tightening as the air shifts, heavy with something protective and dangerous.
I touch his cheek gently, grounding him back to me. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
I press a soft, calming kiss to his lips. His breath slows under my touch, and the tension in his shoulders eases just enough for me to breathe again.
“Then it got worse. Little things. He decided I was cheating. He decided I was lying. Then, he decided I didn’t love him enough.”
Silence presses in on the room, thick and suffocating. Even Cheap goes still.
When I speak again, my voice is barely a whisper. “Then… he…” The words stick in my throat. “… raped me.”
My chest constricts painfully. The words feel like they tear something open inside me all over again. The air changes, the sentence hanging there: undeniable, immovable.
“I never told Marge or Ree, not fully. Not until the end. Adrian used to say I was weak. That men are supposed to fight back, supposed to stop things like that. That I was nothing because I didn’t.”
