Page 64 of Love in Pieces

“What do you mean scare me? What’s on my phone?” The moment realization hits her is evident. “Oh, God.” Her voice cracks, eyes ablaze. She sinks to the floor, landing on her knees. Her hands cover her face as her breathing turns ragged.

I squat in front of her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to see?” I ask although I’m not sure that’s the right option. But I refuse to keep secrets from her. If she’s handled the beatings from him for so long, then she’s likely strong enough to handle this. Unless she’s truly broken, and that’ll push her over the edge.

She nods, tipping her head up. I hand her the phone, and she quickly unlocks it, clicking on the unknown number. Her brows raise and she frowns. “He ... he knows where I am.”

Watching her take it all in is heartbreaking. I swear I can feel her heart breaking again, too.

“I thought ... I hadn’t heard from him in two days. I thought maybe he would drop it.” She shakes her head. “God, I can’t believe I got my hopes up. I don’t know what I was thinking. He’s never going to leave me alone. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. I was getting my hopes up, too. Let myself forget about it all for the day. It was nice. But I don’t want you to think you’re an idiot for getting your hopes up. So much of this, in fact, almost all of it is out of your control. Our control,” I correct.

“What am I supposed to do then?” Tears stream down her face when she holds my gaze.

“I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

She gets up, moving to sit on the couch. “We are not calling the cops. They’ve never done anything for me.”

“Have you ever tried?” I ask, sounding a little harsher than I intended.

Her head whips back to me, brows raised. Her features are hard, lips pursed tightly together. “Tried? Are you kidding me? Of course, I’ve tried. And you know why I stopped trying?” She stands up, fists balled, and storms over to where I stand, stopping a few feet in front of me.

Yeah, I messed up. There were far better things to ask in this situation.

“Because they told me there wasn’t any evidence. The last time I called, after he’d thrown a glass at the wall and it shattered and hit me, and then he backhanded me just light enough that it didn’t leave a mark,” she sticks her right arm out, “the cops took one look at the scratch on my arm and said they couldn’t determine the cause. And Sam? He denied everything. The cops of course believed him. Everyone always believes him, thinks he’s perfect, couldn’t harm a fly.”

She leans her butt against the back of the couch, slumping a little. I don’t dare move from my spot. Not with this anger running through her veins. Not when fear coats her face.

“No one ever dared ask if I was okay. And when they,” she sighs, “when Meredith finally did, I was too scared to say anything anymore. I thought maybe I could change, could become the person he wanted me to be. But the finish line kept moving. Once I started doing the few things he demanded of me, he added to the list. And when I did those things, he added to the list. It started easy, simple things really, that I thought would change everything. Like moving in with him. He offered to let me move in, and when I hesitated, he got a little angry and threatened to break up with me if I didn’t. I loved him, I think I did anyway. So, I agreed to move in, and he finally started gaining control. Finally started getting what he wanted.”

She pauses, staring intently at a spot on the floor. And then she laughs. It takes everything in me to keep the shock off my face. “I’ve kept count, you know. I’ve counted how many times I’ve called. So much so that they threatened to fine me for falsifying information.” She shakes her head slowly, a smile still toying on her lips. “That was when I tried to leave for the last time, when he dragged me back. I shut up after that. Haven’t said a word since. Until thatstupidparty.” She practically spits the word.

“I knew he’d cheated on me once before, but I let myself believe that he was sorry. That he wouldn’t do it again. So, I played nice. Tried to be the perfect girlfriend. Did as I was told. It helped for a while. Things got better for a while. But then they didn’t. Household objects broke first. Then my morals. And now—me. He moved the finish line again, and I had no choice but to move with it. But that night, when I saw him kissing another girl, something in me snapped. I don’t know if it was me or the alcohol, or maybe both, but I decided that was it. I was done playing his perfect trophy girlfriend.”

She stands up, folds her arms across her chest, and faces me, her gaze unwavering. “So, ask me again. Have I ever tried calling the cops?”

“Abby, I ...” I start, but I have no idea where to go from here. I’ve blown past the simple questions. Blown past the harder ones even. I had no idea that would be the question to end all questions.

“Sorry,” she snaps. “The word you’re looking for is sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur in utter defeat. “I had no idea.”

She sits back on the couch, shaking her head as she goes, and carefully unbraids her hair. “That’s the point, right? I did my job well enough that no one knew a thing. Well, almost no one. Meredith had a hunch, but I never said anything damning enough that made her feel the need to press. And then everyone moved on with their lives while I was literally falling apart under his touch.”

I finally move from the doorway, heading to the bathroom for her hairbrush before taking my chances to join her on the couch. She doesn’t move when the cushion sinks beneath me. “Sit on the ottoman,” I say softly, unsure if she’ll listen to me after such a painful question.

To my surprise, she takes her place on the ottoman and faces away from me. I finish undoing her braids and gently brush through her hair, taking my time with each section. As I near the front of her face, she turns her head slightly, giving me just enough of a view of the silent tears tumbling down her cheeks. I kneel in front of her, cup her cheeks in my hands, and gently clear the tears with my thumbs. She leans into my right hand, eyes closing softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, hoping she understands the gravity of my apology.

Her nod is faint, but it’s there. “I know.”

I pull her into a hug, entangling a hand in her smooth black hair. She buries her face in my shoulder. A sharp inhale is followed by a sluggish exhale until she fully relaxes in my grasp.

I’m not sure how long we sat like that. I’m not even sure what time it was when we got home. It’s late, but I can’t let her go to bed like this. Hell, I can’t go to bed like this. My insides are torn between feeling gutted and feeling a rage like none other. I’ve heard bits and pieces of her story, but I’ve never heard it laid out like that. I could boil and crumble at the same time.

I want to have a few choice words with him. A few choice hands with him, too. And I would do just that. That fucker deserves to know what it feels like to hurt like she does. But I know he’ll never feel it to the extent she does. Not that deeply.

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