Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Beckett
I can’t believe it’s been two years since I started coming here.
I spot Mila across the room, her eyes scanning the crowd as she picks her usual seat in the circle of chairs set up in the center of the room. She’s a lone wolf, that one. Keeps to herself mostly, but I see her. How could I not?
We’re both here at this Sexual Abuse Survivors support group, but our stories couldn’t be more different. I moved to New York to escape my past, leaving my father and the memories behind. I’ve found a way to make a life for myself here.
Mila, though, she runs.
She’s always ready to bolt since that is what her experiences have taught her to do. She runs from her demons and tries to outpace them. I respect that. We all deal with our trauma in our own ways, and I would never judge her.
I’ve never intruded on her space, but I have to admit I’ve wanted to.
I would be lying if I said there weren’t several times my hand reached out towards her to lend a comforting touch before I clenched my fist and collected myself.
Maybe it’s how she holds herself or the fire I see burning in her eyes despite how tired she appears. Whatever it is, I know better than to push. We’re both damaged goods, after all. Sometimes, I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is. Not just physically, but the way she carries herself.
The way she survives.
“You okay, Beckett?” Dr. Wilson asks, snapping me back to the present.
I nod, feeling my face grow warm. I run a calloused hand through my short chestnut hair before responding, “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
The group starts, and we share our stories one by one. Mila speaks, and her voice is steady, but her hands are shaking. She tells of her marriage, of the man who was supposed to love her but instead used her past against her. He took advantage of her love, her body, and her mind.
My heart aches for her, but I don’t show it. I know that’s not what she wants.
Mila doesn’t want pity.
She wants understanding. We all do.
I share my story next of my father and the control he tried to exert over my life. I don’t actually tell the group that it’s my father. I just say a “man I was close to” and no one pushes me to explain further. It’s hard enough to talk about those times, anyway. When I didn’t listen to his insane demands, I was punished with beatings and sexual assault so bad that I couldn’t attend school for weeks at a time. My father didn’t give a shit about me but fuck , if his reputation wasn’t prioritized. The moment I turned 18, I was out of his home and in the city.
It’s a story I’ve told before, but it still stings.
Mila listens, her dark eyes telling me without words that she cares. She gives me a slight nod when I finish, and I know she gets it. She understands the need to escape, to start over.
As the group wraps up, Mila catches me staring at her. Again.
Fuck. I gotta get a handle on myself.
She gives me a small smile, and I feel a connection form between us. It’s not romantic—it’s something more. It’s a recognition of shared pain and trauma-based acceptance.
For now, that’s enough.
That has to be enough.
Before, I would get tangled up in relationships, using them to distract myself. But since joining the group, I’ve stayed clear of romantic entanglements. I needed to work on myself, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I know Mila is doing the same.
It’s paid off, too; my career has taken off. I’m the highest-paid worker in my shop now and have a reputation for being the best. Being a steelworker in New York is rough, but I wouldn’t trade the experience I gained for anything. Especially when they let me in at just 18 working the crane in order to survive on my own when I got here. I owe that company my life, because where would I have ended up without it?
But as much as I try to ignore it, something about Mila pulls at me. It’s not just her looks although she is absolutely stunning with her dark skin and raven hair. Men would start wars over those full lips if we were from a different time.
Even as I try to tell myself not to speak with her, I find myself rushing out to do just that when the meeting is over.
I catch up to her as she’s leaving the building and heading towards the subway. I spot her jeans and black jacket as her tall boots hurry her across the pavement.
“Mila, hold on a minute.”
She turns, slightly frowning, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I notice her entire frame is tense before she sees it’s me. But then her expression softens, and she waits for me to catch my breath as I step before her.
“Hey,” she says, her voice cautious.
“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” she says defensively. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to follow me out.”
I let out a dark chuckle. “Following you is hardly what I was doing. I tried to catch you after the meeting, but you’re quick for someone so short.“
She rolls her eyes at my joke. “Not all of us can be giants like you.”
I glance down at my body, pretending to notice it for the first time. I have on black jeans, a cream sweater, and a brown leather jacket. My father always wore black leather, and I’m careful not to keep it in my wardrobe. Mila has on black leather, but she’s the only one who wears it that doesn’t bother me. I hold my hand up to my chest and pretend to measure her height against mine, then look at her.
“I think I’m the perfect size for you.”
I watch a pretty blush take over her face and smile at her in return.
Mila plays with the hem of her jacket and eyes me warily. “So, what did you want?”
I take a deep breath and rub my hand on the back of my neck to calm my nerves. “I’m curious if you’d like to grab something to eat tonight if you’re not busy.”
I don’t know what expression I anticipate her to have, but sadness isn’t one of them.
Mila’s eyes close tightly before looking back up at me and I take note of how she looks at the scar along my jaw. “I’m sorry, Beckett. I’m not really ready for that yet.” She pauses as she lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve got plans tonight, anyway.”
I feel my face fall, but I try to hide it. “Oh, no problem. I understand. I really didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Just thought it would be nice to talk about something else with someone else. Some other time, maybe.”
“Yeah, some other time.”
She backs away with a wave and then turns to continue down the street.
I stand there for a moment, watching her go. Part of me wants to call out to her to try again. But I respect her too much for that. I know she struggles with getting close to people, and I won’t push.
Besides , I tell myself, there’s always next time.
So, can someone explain to me why I actually did start to follow her?
I don’t know what possessed me to jump in the subway car connected to hers, but I’m here now.
The ride is long, and I almost lose her a few times when she gets off the N train. I tail her from a distance as she walks through the station and up to the street.
Astoria. Huh. I guess it’s safe as far as neighborhoods go around here. Definitely full of actors and struggling artists.
I follow her down the street, keeping to the crowds. She walks with purpose, her head down, hands in her pockets. Mila said she had plans tonight, which I never expected her to say. Part of me feels she might just be making it up so that I will leave her alone.
I mean, I just followed her home. Based on recent events, if her spidey senses were telling her I was a creep, I would have to agree.
As I close the distance between us, I bump into a group of college students complaining about their professor, and I spot her entering a beautiful old building. It’s one of those pre-war apartments with high ceilings and intricate moldings.
Well, she definitely has some money.
I hang back, not wanting to be seen, and watch as she lets herself in. It’s a spring night, so I grab a coffee and a pastry from the Greek bakery across the street. I’m unsure what to expect, but I’m determined to find out where she goes. She’s mentioned a few times that she’s a hermit, so where is she going?
Time ticks by, and I finish my coffee, but there’s no sign of her.
Maybe she’s not coming back out, and I contemplate leaving.
Definitely think I’m a creep.
But just as I’m about to give up, I see her emerge from the front doors. She looks different—her hair is up, and she’s changed into a simple black dress with her jacket over her shoulders. It clings to her curves in all the right ways, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
She walks as quickly as her red heels will let her, and I step behind her, keeping my distance. She heads down towards the old subway station, and my curiosity grows. There aren’t many places down here—just a few old warehouses and...
That’s when it clicks into place.
I know where she’s going. There’s a sex club down here, hidden away. I’ve heard about it from the guys at work but had never been. Mila mentioned it once, a while back but I didn’t think too much of it at the time. She said it was a safe place to be herself without judgment. I assumed it was something she did once or twice.
My heart races as I realize what I’ve stumbled upon.
I stop following her, letting her disappear into the unmarked door under the single red light above it. I don’t need to see any more.
Besides, I have a good idea of where this night is headed for her.
And if this is where she feels comfortable, I’m getting a membership.