The Best Next Thing

“I’m sorry.”

His softly spoken apology took the wind out of her sails and robbed her of the fuel she needed to stoke her fiery indignation. She sagged and buried her face in her palms taking a moment to compose herself.

He didn’t say another word, merely sat quietly and waited for her to speak.

“No. I’m the one who’s sorry, Miles.” She dropped her hands and met his eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I get a little defensive. My family has been so hurt and confused by all of this. But I find it hard to be around them and their sympathy. They think I’m grieving for him. And how do I explain to them that I would never mourn him, that I don’t miss him, and that I’m so damned grateful to be free of him?”

She made a despairing sound and wiped at her wet eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk about him tonight. I don’t want to talk about him ever.”

He was silent for a long, long moment after her outburst, but when he eventually spoke, the words emerged slowly. As if he were weighing every syllable for fear saying the wrong thing. “I think…and I’m not an expert. And I know it’s none of my business. But I think that perhaps if you did speak of him, to someone—anyone—it would help you find some clarity and possibly some closure. Or at the very least it’ll start the healing process on the still festering wound that was your marriage.”

“Speak to you, you mean?”

“No, sweetheart.” His voice was so painfully gentle it just about broke her heart. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But you do have to tell someone. If not your parents or your sister, then a therapist.”

“I think for me, the worst of it all, was that he stripped me of my self-worth, my self-confidence, my dignity…and I allowed it.”

“Charity you’ve clearly lived through, and survived, hell. I can tell you that I think you’re an amazing woman. The strongest, most capable, and interesting woman I’ve ever met. But until you look in a mirror and believe those things about yourself, my words are meaningless. And because that fucking bastard has controlled your life for so long, I know how hard it must be for you to do so. You’re the only one now who can take that power away from him.”

Tears had been silently streaming from her eyes throughout his little speech. Logically and emotionally, she knew that his words were true. But Blaine had kept her imprisoned in a cage of fear and intimidation for so long, that even now, years after the door had been left open and unlocked, she was too terrified to step foot outside of those familiar confines.

She had fled, sure, but she had taken her cozy cage with her. She had painted it, decorated it, and deceived herself into believing that the bars weren’t there. Fooled herself into thinking that she was free. But she wasn’t. She was still in the cage Blaine had put her in.

And she was only now beginning to recognize that fact.

She had allowed her parents, her sister, the people who loved her, to mourn her abuser. As if he warranted that consideration. As if he was worth a single one of their tears. She had permitted his parents to silence her with their stoic disappointment in her. The oh-so-subtle jabs that perhaps he wouldn’t have killed himself if she had only been a better, more loving wife, had been a different kind of abuse.

He did not deserve to live on fondly in people’s memories.

He deserved to be known as the hideous, repulsive monster who had raped her and beaten her almost daily.

She was shaking. Violently. She became aware of it when she heard her teeth chattering.

“W-why are you so invested in this?” she asked him, her voice unsteady. “This isn’t fun, or flirty or anything close to a holiday romance. You should be running in the opposite direction and avoiding me like the plague after what you’ve learned about my marriage.”

“Give it time.” The words were placid, his smile soothing. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Always tomorrow for what?” she asked blankly.

He responded, still in a ridiculously serene voice. “Running scared and avoiding you like the plague.”

His words coaxed a reluctant laugh from her and he reached for a napkin and gently dabbed the moisture from her face.

She took the napkin from him and gave her nose a good blow before speaking again. “I’m serious, Miles. I’m clearly a mess. This thing between us isn’t developed or strong enough for you to stick around for this crap.”

“Charity, I didn’t come here looking for a holiday romance. I’m here to hide from the world while I recover from a debilitating illness. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

“Of course, you were.”