Break Me

“How many times has this happened?” Dr. Bennett whispers.

“It’s the first time since college.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, concerned.

I nod. “Yes.”

“I’d love to have you back. We miss you. Rochelle and Ryan miss you. They’re both home for a week, and I know—”

“I’m really fine,” I say quickly. He looks upset. “I am stronger now. I am—”

“Sweetheart, I know how strong you are.” He places his hand on my wrist. “But I know, once in a while, all of us need someone. You have the four of us, Lorraine. Anytime.” The Bennetts have always been my safe haven. After talking to the police, I couldn’t think of anyone to call but Dr. Bennett’s son, Ryan, since they were . . . together. I went home with him and stayed until I could sort out my life.

“I know, and I hope you know how much I appreciate it,” I whisper, hoping Jason doesn’t hear. I don’t want him to know anymore than he already does.

“Have you thought anymore about putting the house up for sale?” Dr. Bennett asks, and I shake my head. “I think you should.”

“I feel close to them,” I whisper.

“It’s been five years.” His tone is sad.

“I know.”

“Have you let anyone inside? Have you had company?”

I start to answer, but Jason walks in. “I’ve been to her house.”

Dr. Bennett looks shocked then confused. He looks at me. “Okay, then.” He stands up. “We miss you, sweetheart.”

I’m not sure if I am imagining it, but I think Jason growls. I look at Sam, but he apparently didn’t hear anything.

“I promise I’ll visit. I miss you all, too.” What I tell him is a lie. I see him all the time, even Sarah, his wife. But his children, I avoid them. I have to.

“Use the back exit. Then the entire ER staff won’t bombard you.”

“Thank you.” I nod. “Thank you so much.”

Jason opens the door to his car, and I slide in. I have no choice. Something tells me he knows my secrets. Of course he does. He has been in my house.

He gets in without saying a word and starts up the car before quickly pulling out of the parking lot.

“A left at the light,” I say, trying to sound strong.

“I know,” he grumbles.

The rest of the ride is silent. I watch out the window as we pass the streetlights, counting them as we go by, trying desperately to take my mind off the awkwardness of the situation.

As soon as we pull onto my street, I grab the passenger-side handle, fear gripping me like a hand around my throat.

He pulls into the driveway and immediately gets out. Before I can pry my hand off the door handle, he is opening it, but I can’t move.

“Let’s go,” he sneers.

I feel the tremble start in my hands. Then my body shakes.

“We need to pull into the garage,” I manage to say before I feel dizzy. I know I’m going to pass out again, but then he dips down and scoops me up. “I can’t!”

“The fuck you can’t,” he says with a fieriness I wish I could borrow. I desperately wish I could borrow it right now.

He marches to the front door and opens it.

“It wasn’t locked!” I gasp.

He doesn’t answer as he walks in and kicks the door shut behind him. He tries to sit me down, but my arms automatically wrap around his neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, holding me more securely. “You’ve gotta stop shaking.”

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I whisper to myself, but apparently, it’s out loud.

“I’m not taking you back to that hospital, so you better fucking not,” he says softly as he leans against the closed door then slides down until he sits on the floor with me in his lap. Then he clears his throat and adds in a much harsher tone, “You’ve got some explaining to do, Lorraine Bosch.”

I look up at him when he says my full name.

His eyebrows slowly creep up. “When I walked in here tonight to save your ass,” he says snidely, “I saw the blocked-off stairway, the empty rooms. I mean, fucking empty. How the fuck do you live here? It’s like the fucking Bates Motel. As a matter of fact, a shit-bag motel is more comfortable than this place.” He shakes his head, and I start to look away, but he stops me by lifting my chin. “Where do your eyes belong?”

Shock overtakes me, and I gasp.

“I’m so fucking confused by you right now.” He leans down and kisses me harshly on the mouth. I try to pull away, but he grips the back of my neck, stopping me. “You fucking kiss me now.”

“I’m not. I’m—”

“Is it the doctor?”

I start to respond, but he shakes his head.

“He’s fucking old enough to be your father.” He stops and looks at me, almost like he fears he has offended me . . . almost. “He’s too fucking old for you.”