Bullets & Bonfires

I’m itching to flip on the overhead light so I can take a better look.

“Bree, where are you going?” he asks in a sterner voice.

I don’t like answering to anyone. Not even Liam. No, especially Liam.

“Out.”

He blows out an irritated breath. “The purse. The keys. I get that. Where are you going?”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I watch him stand up.

“Bree?” he prompts again. A little softer this time.

I’m still embarrassed to tell him about the therapist Maggie referred me to.

Straightening my spine, I lift my chin. “If you must know, I have an appointment with a therapist.”

His shoulders drop and he seems to relax. “Do you want me to go with you?” he asks gently.

Hell no. I can’t think of anything I want less.

What a contradiction too. Being with Liam makes me feel safer than I have in a long time. But having him drive me to therapy like I’m a child? Nope. Not happening.

“No. I’ll be fine. The first session is one on one and then there’s a support group I might stick around for.” It’s not easy to tear my gaze away from his beautiful bare chest.

“That’s great. Did Maggie suggest it?” he asks.

“Yes. I guess she works with this therapist and…” My voice trails off as he moves closer, and I struggle not to stare at his boxers, which are ever-so-slightly tented in front.

I can’t meet his eyes or finish my sentence and after a second I think he realizes why. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but a slight flush seems to stain his cheeks.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t leave yet.”

God, why can’t I pretend none of this ever happened? Why in a moment of extreme pain and loneliness did I cave to my brother’s demand that I come home? And why did he have to call Liam to come babysit me?

Logically, I know I have to talk to someone. I’m tired of the fear that cripples me every time I hear a floorboard creak or an unfamiliar car drives by.

The only time I can relax is around Liam.

Unacceptable.

I’m working so hard to be more independent. I can’t throw that away to wind up needing a man to feel safe.

So therapy it is.

Worse, safe isn’t the only thing he makes me feel. For a moment last night, I thought he might admit real feelings for me.

He steps out of the bathroom, pulling a shirt over his head, giving me one last glimpse of abs and skin.

Sigh.

Sharing space with him has me so tied up in knots, I’ll never unwind. But he’s made it clear he’s not interested in me as anything other than a friend. Maybe not even that after I’d been such an ungrateful brat.

“You’re sure you don’t want a ride?” he asks from a few feet away.

“I’ll be fine.”

Having him take me to my therapist? No. That’s a cherry I don’t need topping off the shit-sundae my life has turned into.

The small waiting room looks nothing like I expected.

Diana Ford, LCSW, keeps a homey office with over-stuffed armchairs and a fireplace that give the place a living room feel. Anxious, I pick up a magazine and flip through it. I can’t concentrate on any of the pages, but at least it keeps my fingers busy.

“Brianna?” A soft, feminine voice jolts me from the magazine.

“Yes.” Should I stand or stay put?

“Diana Ford.” She holds out her hand and we shake. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Follow me.”

With an extended arm, she directs me to the largest office at the end of the hall. There’s a desk in the corner with neat stacks of folders and charts, but she takes a seat in one of the comfy chairs and indicates I should do the same.

Deciding between the loveseat or a chair feels like a test I’m not in the mood for. Finally, I pick a chair covered with decorative pillows and sink into it, clutching one of the fringed cushions to my lap.

“Ms. Ford—”

“Please, you can call me Diana.”

“I’m really nervous.”

Sympathy shines in the woman’s eyes, and I think I already like her. I sink farther into the chair while my fingers tug at the lose edges of the pillow clutched to my chest.

“That’s completely normal. Why don’t I tell you what I want to accomplish today, so there are no surprises. Then you can give me your thoughts.”

Not what I expected. “Okay.”

“First, I want to do a general risk assessment. Then I’d like a little more detail and we can go from there.”

I nod. Okay, no different than some of my coursework where I’d drafted these types of questions. Dry air ghosts over my lips, distracting me. Shifting, I pull out a tube of lip balm and smooth some on.

“Do you want some water?” Diana asks.

“No. I just want to get started.”

She gives me a slight nod and picks up a folder full of forms. “On the phone you indicated that you just separated from your boyfriend?”

“Chad. Yes.” I can’t stand having him referred to as my boyfriend.

“What prompted the separation?”

I take a deep breath and meet her gaze. My bruises are still visible. I didn’t bother wearing makeup today. “He’s very controlling. I had a light bulb moment at the end of the semester that I needed to get out.”

“And?” she prompts.

“I packed up my stuff first. I planned to leave him a note and take off, because I knew he’d lose his shit. But he came home early. Flipped out when he saw the boxes. He went after me…” Good God, how many times am I going to have to tell this story? “Thankfully our neighbors heard and I guess someone called the police. I blacked out during the…and I woke up in the hospital.”

Diana doesn’t blink. “This wasn’t the first time, then?”

“No.”

“Was it the first time you had to go to the hospital?”

The muscles in my throat constrict. “Once,” I whisper. After a few heartbeats, I find my voice and continue. “When we were first dating, he smashed my hand in the car door after he saw me talking to a male friend on campus. He swore it was an accident, and at the time I believed him.”

“It could have been an accident. Did you see a doctor?”

“Yes. The ring and pinky fingers on my right hand were broken.” Wiggling the fingers brings on the faint, familiar ache. “I had to be creative that semester.”

“When was the next time he hurt you?”

“The night we moved into our apartment. My brother helped us move in and he expressed some disapproval. After he left, Chad and I got into a fight. I thought we resolved it, but later he wanted to have sex. I was exhausted and he got pissed. He slapped my face, but claimed it was an accident in his sleep.”

“Lot of accidents?”

I let out a snort. “No. That was the last one. Every time after that was deliberate. I used to think that he finally had me where he wanted me, locked into a lease, all my stuff in that apartment, financially dependent on him, my family an hour away so I couldn’t easily leave him.”

“Are your parents supportive?”

“They’re both dead.”

My bluntness leaves Diana staring at me for a second. She recovers quickly, though.

“So just your brother? And you said he didn’t get along with Chad?”

“Not so much.”

My brother called him a pretty boy. Not to Chad’s face, but on the phone with me. So are you and pretty boy coming home for Christmas?

The answer, of course, was always not this year, because Chad expected me to spend Christmas with his family. He and his well-mannered family reeked of money. For a girl who’d grown

up in a run-down house and frequently wore her brother’s hand-me-downs, Chad impressed me. He seemed safe.

“What about friends?”

“They think he’s wonderful. He comes from a wealthy, well-respected family. He’s exceptional at playing the loving boyfriend. But over time, he tried to restrict my contact with my closest friends.”

“Did he succeed?”

“In some ways, yes.” Eventually they got tired of my excuses and stopped inviting me places. “I found ways around his restrictions until it got too complicated.”

Diana nods knowingly. “You’re a very strong-willed woman.”

I swear there’s a touch of admiration in the woman’s voice. My vision blurs with unshed tears. “I don’t feel very strong.”

“Well, you’re away from him. You’re here. It takes strength to do both.”

When I don’t answer, she continues her questions.

“Is there a current Order of Protection?”

“Yes. He’s still in jail too.”

Diana raises an eyebrow. “That’s excellent. Has bail been set?”

“No. The judge took one look at my face and heard the threats Chad made to me after his arrest and said no.”

“Is there a chance that could change?”

I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug, but inside my heart’s pounding. “His parents were mortified. It was in the papers, so I think they’re trying to distance themselves.”

She seems to be going through a standard checklist of questions. Oddly, that seems to relax me. “Have they contacted you?”

“No. Well, just his brother. He’s been relentless.”

“Have you reported it to the police?”

Does Liam count? “Not yet.”

“Where are you staying now?”

“At my brother’s house.”

“Good. You should be with family. Is he supportive?”