Page 37 of Blitz
Maybe the worst thing wasn’t being queer. Maybe the worst thing was pretending not to be. Emotion surged, threatening to break through the fragile dam I’d built inside myself—but I couldn’t let that happen. Not here. Not now. I didn’t want Tom to wake and see me coming apart, didn’t want him to think I was having second thoughts or losing my grip. What would he even see? Shame? Regret? A man unraveling because, for the first time, I was thinking I could be honest enough to want what I wanted? To be who I was?
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded to the kitchen. Coffee was essential before I could process any of this. As the machine gurgled to life, I leaned into the counter, staring blankly at the wall.
I’d let wild, wonderful, sexy Tom in. Not just into my apartment, but into parts of myself I’d kept locked away for years. And it terrified me.
My phone buzzed on the counter—Rebecca—and I smiled at the thought I could talk to her, but as I opened the message, I nearly dropped my phone.
Rebecca: I got a cease and desist. I thought you should know. The Ministry of Fucked Up, aka CH2 doesn’t want me to contact you.
I typed a message, then backspaced, not knowing where to start. In the end, it was easier to talk directly. I waited a few minutes to calm down, then called her.
“Hey, big brother,” Rebecca said.
“Hey.” I kept my voice low, glancing back toward the bedroom. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just freaked out. I knew he was monitoring you, but this was fast.”
I closed my eyes, resting my butt on the kitchen counter. “How did he even know about our meeting?”
“No idea. The letter came yesterday, but I only opened it this morning. Law firm in Atlanta. Very official, very threatening.”
My stomach knotted. “What does it say?”
“The usual legal bullshit. That I’m violating a binding agreement, that I’m to cease all contact with you immediately, blah blah blah. There’s a reminder about the million dollars and how I forfeit it by contacting you.”
“Fuck,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, Rebecca.”
“Don’t be.”
“You should take it,” I insisted. “A million dollars would set you up for life.”
“And bind me to his rules forever? No thanks.” Rebecca’s voice was firm. “Look, I’m not freaking out about the money. I’m worried about you.”
I glanced toward the bedroom again. “Me?”
“Yes, you. If he’s watching this closely, what else does he know?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. What if he knew about Tom? About last night? My blood ran cold.
“I can protect myself,” I said, not entirely convinced.
“Can you? Because it sounds like he’s got you locked in a golden cage—on the surface, everything looks perfect, but inside, it’s control and fear and no room to breathe. It sounds like he’s convinced you that this is the only life you deserve, and that’s not love, Trick. That’s a prison.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s abuse,” she countered. “Financial. Emotional. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Rebecca—”
“No, listen to me, Trick.” Rebecca’s voice grew more insistent. “This is exactly what he wants. For us to be scared, tostay away from each other. He’s counting on your fear. And I want to be your sister. I want to be in your life.”
I ran a hand through my hair, glancing anxiously toward the bedroom again. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is with abusers,” she said quietly. “But you’ve got options. You’ve got me. And whoever else is in your corner. That is, if you want me in your life. I get it if you don’t want?—”
“Of course I want you in my life, I never had a sister, and I… Jesus, Rebecca… I want you in my life.”
“This is serious. He’s tracking you, monitoring who you talk to. That’s not normal.” Rebecca’s voice had that fierce quality I was starting to recognize—she wasn’t backing down. “What happens when he finds out about something bigger than a half-sister?”
