Provoke

It had been two years since we’d last spoken. The man my parents thought was utterly perfect. I laughed. If only they knew. That dude was all kinds of fucked up.

If anyone knew the how to find out what I needed to know, it would be him. His obsession with porn had become scary. Even scarier was the role-playing he had insisted we act out. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Ben was into this kind of shit too.

In the beginning, he had been the perfect boyfriend: sweet, caring, and everyone loved him. He won my parents over easily. It seemed like there wasn’t a single thing the guy could do wrong.

About six months into our relationship, he proposed. I said yes. No hesitation. He was perfect for me. We were great together.

Things started unravelling shortly after. He had served in Iraq for a few months, and when he came back he was a totally different person. The loveable, fun guy had been replaced with a dark, empty, spiteful shell.

His paranoia was the worst. He’d been convinced I was cheating on him. On several occasions he went as far as almost physically harming me. I swore to him then that if he laid so much as a finger on me, I’d be gone, and he would never see me again. He promised he’d get help. And he did. Things improved from there.

It took all of a month for shit to get really bad. By that stage, he no longer worked. He spent his days surfing the Internet, watching porn, sleeping, and drinking. Then he began to get really violent. Sexually violent. He would choke me during sex, among other things. He had gone from a gentle, intimate lover to a violent creep who got off on causing me pain.

Telling Mom and Dad that I’d broken things off with their dream boyfriend had been fun. I’d seriously thought Dad was going to start crying. Then the lectures began—about how insensitive I was for breaking up with a man who was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

The thing was, he didn’t want my help. Over and over I tried to help him, but he kept pushing me away. What else was I supposed to do? I was a twenty-year-old girl who was too afraid to sleep in the same bed as her fiancé in case he went too far.

I was living a nightmare, waiting for the day when I’d wake up with his hands around my neck. The fact that I could even think he was capable of that had been a wake up call to get the hell out of that relationship.

So I had. And I vowed never to put myself in that kind of situation again.

I sure knew how to pick them.

#

Now for the fun part.

Tracking Ben down would be no problem: he was a decorated army officer who had worked with my father for years—hence Dad’s love for the guy. Tracking down email addresses of current army officers was surprisingly easy. Which had always struck me as weird, considering the whole protecting-the-nation thing.

I grabbed my laptop and navigated to trusty Google. It took all of five minutes for me to be staring at his email address. Did I really want to do this?

Where Mace was scary and short-tempered, Ben had been the complete opposite. Way too calm and collected. His ‘interests’ had scared the fuck out of me—enough for me to get the hell out of that relationship.

But I didn’t see another way. As much as our relationship had gone downhill fast, in an odd way, Ben was the only person I felt I could trust—probably because I could ruin his reputation in half a second if I wanted to. Having that kind of power over someone made them a very trustworthy confidante.

Okay, do this before you change your mind, Leets.

Ben,

Long time, huh? Hope you are well. You’re probably wondering why the hell I’m contacting you after so long, and well, I need a favour. A big one. Get back to me. My number is still the same.

Leeta

Short and sweet.

There was no point going into detail without knowing if he was willing to help me or not. Sighing, I closed the laptop and put it on charge. I needed sleep. I was so past tired, it wasn’t even funny.

I changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed, exhausted. Fumbling through my bedside table, I found my stash of Valium. I rarely used sleeping aids, but I had so much crammed into my head right then that sleep felt impossible without assistance.

I lay there waiting for the tablet to take effect. It didn’t take long for me start to feel woozy. I closed my eyes and tried to force all the negative thoughts out of my head.

All this, I’d deal with tomorrow. Right then, nothing seemed as important as getting some sleep.

Chapter Ten

Mace

She knows.