“Just water, please.” I wait for the bartender to move away before turning on my stool, facing Shawn. “What are you doing here?”
He draws in a deep breath, clearly collecting himself after my surprise appearance. “To talk to you,” he eventually says with the soft voice that used to warm my heart. “I mean, what the hell, Taylor? I woke up on the living room floor and you were gone. I had blood on my knuckles, a broken nose”—from which the black bruises under his eyes tell me he isn’t completely healed yet either—“and my balls felt bashed into my throat. You didn’t leave a note or anything. You just up and left.”
“Well, yeah, I just up and left.” I point
to the bruises on my face. “Because you did this.”
His brows shoot up and he shakes his head, adamant. “No, that’s not possible.”
“It is possible, and you did it,” I disagree.
“Really, I hurt you like that?” I nod, and Shawn rips off his baseball cap and thrusts his hand through his hair. “Shit, man. I don’t remember doing that to you.”
“A bottle of whiskey can do that to someone.” The bartender delivers my water to me, and I smile. “Thanks.” I turn to Shawn again and see the guilt rush across his face. I’m not affected as I once was.
We could delve deeply into Shawn’s alcoholism and his abusing me, but I truly don’t want to talk things out with this guy anymore. Shawn did what he did. And what he did didn’t break me, nor would it ever. But I want him out of my life now. “You need help,” I tell him. “Serious help. You need to stop drinking. It turns you into a really nasty person.”
Which is why this is all so fucked up, because everything that’s happened: his affair with a waitress from our local sports bar, his violence against me, isn’t even the real him.
For a long time after I learned he cheated, I thought he simply didn’t care that I knew. That is, until I realized that he didn’t remember sleeping with anyone else or even telling me about it. And that’s why all this is so hard. Shawn is a guy I could see myself being with forever. He’s kind and sweet and generous. Problem is, he’s only that guy 90 percent of the time. And that other 10 percent of the time is scary.
“Christ, Taylor,” he begins, voice shaking, eyes watering. “You know I’m sorry….”
“Here’s the deal,” I tell him sternly, not allowing him to give me the same excuse he always gives. Now his excuses no longer matter. Apologies don’t count either. You don’t hurt the people you love, and I won’t tolerate being hurt by him any longer. “I’m giving you one day to go home and get into a rehab program. Then you need to complete it. I have the resources here to find out if you do. If you don’t, I’ll press charges against you.” I grab my phone, showing the photos I took of my bruised face. “And I have witnesses who will testify against you. That’s the only choice here.”
Shawn doesn’t even hesitate. “All right. Yeah, okay, I’ll go.”
And I knew he would have no objections. Because this Shawn is a good guy. He always rights a wrong. But Shawn has dark demons that win every time. I thought I could fight against those demons. But they won, and now I don’t have the strength or desire to fight for him. “I’m going to call your mother. If you tell her not to talk to me, then this deal is off. If she tells me you’re drinking again, this deal is off.”
Shawn gives me a quick look of surprise. “You’re going to keep checking in on me?”
I nod. “I don’t love people and leave. That’s not me. I’ll keep checking in for as long as I have to to ensure that you’re doing what you need to do to get better and to make sure that you don’t hurt anyone else.” He bows his head, and I add, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
And I am.
I’m sorry that his hockey coach sexually assaulted him from the ages of seven to ten, until his mother found out and had the man arrested. I’m sorry for his alcoholism. I’m sorry that alcohol makes him violent. I stayed because I knew his pain had a legitimate source. I stayed with him because daily I saw what that abuse did to him. I stayed because I loved him. I understood him and his pain. That was, until I couldn’t understand anymore because that violence touched me. Until Shawn, for whatever reason, began to spiral out of control. “You deserve to be helped. Find a therapist who can help you deal with what you’re going through. But I can’t stand by you anymore.” My voice shakes, eyes water up, too. “I just…can’t.”
“No, no, I know that,” Shawn whispers, staring at the beer bottle on the bar.
One tear slips out because I hope this is his wake-up call. “Do this for you, Shawn,” I tell him. “Not for me. Not because I’m threatening to have you arrested. Do this because you don’t deserve to drown like this anymore.” He’s still looking at the bottle, and then he gives me a little hope when he pushes it away. My heart clenches, hurts for him so deeply. “This can’t happen again.”
“It won’t.”
“Shawn, look at me,” I say, harsher now. He turns, eyes sad, and I add, “You can’t hurt anyone else.”
He gulps. “This won’t happen again,” he says.
I believe him, and I guess that’s a fault of mine. I’m too trusting. I’m so full of love that I’m more accepting and more forgiving than most people would be. I want to give him another chance. And I can only hope he’ll take that chance and do something with it. But at the same time, I need to protect women from him until he gets better. And sadly, I know the threat of jail time will do it.
I stare into his eyes, which are filled with a dark history that no child should endure. And then, right there, I do what I came to do. “Goodbye, Shawn.” I push off the stool.
“Wait.”
I stop and turn back, seeing the sadness in his eyes. “I won’t see you again?”
“No.”
He visibly swallows. “Are you…are you okay?”