Page 8 of CurVy Forever

I feel his eyes on me when I turn into the hallway, and then I grab my phone from my bedside table and head straight to the isolation of the bathroom.

Closing the door and switching the shower on high, I lift the phone just in time. “Hello?”

“Vallie!” I hear Oliver’s voice through the spitting shower. “You. Whore. I’m going to lock that dipshit away.”

My stomach churns.

I lower myself to the edge of the bathtub.

Sitting, I inhale hard and blink at the closed door, finding comfort and strength in knowing Tyler is close. I can call out to him. I shouldn’t. He’s not meant to be here. “I don’t think we should talk, Oliver.”

“Yeah?” he slurs, sounding half-conscious. Maybe from hospital-grade drugs or a concussion? “You too busy letting some lunatic fuck your fat arse, Valentina!”

The shower creates a wash of noise around me. The word I most hate—fat—scores a path through my self-worth. That word has power. He knows it, too. When I hear it, I’m silenced, and it’s all I become. Fat. It delivers a punch like no other. Literally knocks the breath from me.

“You’re an arsehole,” I whisper.

“You’re a slut. Who is going to be with you now? No one. The cops will catch him. You’re alone. I nearly died, and you did nothing. You did nothing, Vallie! How could you?”

I’m confused.

He is a victim.

I did do nothing?

Then I remember the bruise. “You hit me!”

“You broke my heart!”

“The cops have already been here. Now, I want you to leave me the hell alone, Oliver. For the last time, it’s over.”

“You’ll never get rid of me.”

My body shakes with rage, hurt, and, I think, fear. But, I refuse to be afraid of him! I hang up the phone, engulf my face with my hands, and scream silently into them until I need air.

I hate him!

CHAPTER 4

VALLIE

Four days later

A knock at the door causes me to roll my eyes so hard I practically look behind me.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I know it’s not Oliver at the door because he’s still mumbling incoherently in the hospital. As soon as I can, I’m getting a restraining order.

But the police have been at my front door three times in the past four days, so it’s safe to assume it’s them. A routine check, they say. But I think they suspect me.

They are all too eager to peer past me and into the hallway, looking for Donnie or lies or clues.

But they have no evidence to arrest me or attain a warrant to search the house, so I’ve been playing my part and acting the nervous victim, but it’s wearing on me. I’ve never been very good at playing victim even when I was… even when I was Donnie’s victim.

Glancing over my shoulder, I check that my bedroom door is still closed—Tyler’s asleep in my bed. An ache moves through me, a protectiveness I’ve never had for another human before making itself known.

Sighing, accepting that I care deeply for him. I walk to the front door, plastering on my figurative ‘victim-face’, ready to go round four with the crew in blue.

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