Chapter 18 Gwen
GWEN
A COUPLE WEEKS LATER
Sitting in the group room at the rec center, I had to fight the urge to kick my feet like a little girl.
Sebastian; Those jeans you were wearing at the café today. You should wear them more often.
Gwen; Oh, is that right?
His response was instant. As it tended to be in the evening after he’d finished working. Sebastian; Mhmm. Wear them again this weekend?
Cheeks hot, tingles spreading through my lower stomach, I texted back.
Gwen; Only if you wear those gray sweatpants.
And at my side on the floral sofa in the meeting room of the rec center, Simone said, “Bow-chick-a-wow-wow.”
“Shut up.” I shut my phone and slid it into my hoodie pocket.
“Wait, what’s going on?” Delilah dropped onto the sofa on my other side, a plate of cookies from the table by the door in hand. “What did I miss?”
“Sebastian flirting with Gwen.” Simone reached over me and snatched a cookie. “And Gwen blushing like a little girl.”
I shot her a look. “Can you just not?”
“‘Can you just not?’” Simone mocked.
“Aw, what did he say?” Delilah asked, glancing around for my phone.
It dinged again. I fumbled around in my pocket, clicking the switch for silence.
“Ya know, I don’t think that my private text messages are something that I have to share at group therapy.
” I grabbed a cookie off Delilah’s plate.
“But maybe I would if Simone didn’t have to make fun of me every chance she got. ”
“I’m not making fun of you.” Simone waved me off. “It just makes me happy to see you happy.”
Was I happy? With Sebastian, I had no complaints. What I was happiest for was that David was dead, and no one had figured it out yet.
Simone’s face was looking much better. Aside from the ten pounds of makeup she was wearing to hide the bruising, all the swelling had receded.
So far, it looked like mine and Simone’s plan had worked. A week or so after David’s attack, she’d returned to her apartment. Of course there were questions, but everyone believed her story.
“How’s that going, Gwen?” Rhiannon asked, voice carrying from somewhere in the room.
There were a couple dozen of us in here, some sitting, some still standing, waiting for the clock to hit 6:30 and our session to start. She appeared through the crowd, settling into a sofa across from me.
“Seeing someone for the first time after you left, I mean.” Rhiannon took a sip from the steaming tea in her hand. “We haven’t talked much about it.”
“It’s going.” I forced a smile. “How does Sebastian think it’s going?”
“Alright, alright. I won’t pry.” Chuckling, she wagged a finger at me. “But that was a topic I thought we could address tonight.” She gestured around the room and raised her voice over the roaring crowd. “Come on, everybody. Let’s have a seat.”
“What was a topic you thought we could address tonight?” I asked her.
“Dating after what we’ve all been through.” She took another gulp. “But don’t worry. I won’t single you out.”
A shudder coursed through me. Because even if she didn’t directly address me and Sebastian, she would find some way to make this a lecture about me and Sebastian.
The room quieted as everyone found a couch or beanbag. Once everyone was seated, Rhiannon glanced around the room. “How many of us have tried dating after we left?”
She, along with about half of the room, raised their hands.
Reluctantly, I did the same.
“Now, has anyone been in a relationship for longer than six months after leaving their abuser?” Rhiannon asked.
Roughly half the hands went down, mine included.
“Haley,” Rhiannon said to a girl on one of the beanbags. “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?”
“Tyler,” Haley said, chomping into a cookie.
“And how long have you and Tyler been together?”
“Almost two years now.” Squinting, Haley cocked her head to the side. After a second of silence, she laughed. “I didn’t realize it’d been that long.”
Rhiannon propped her chin in her hand, elbow on the arm rest of the sofa. “Where do you see your relationship going at this point?”
“We’re talking about moving in together soon,” she said. “Not gonna lie though, that freaks me the hell out. I told him I can’t yet. Not until I have a decent enough nest egg to fall back on if something goes wrong.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Rhiannon said. “It’s one of the primary objectives of this place, actually. Teaching you girls the importance of independence.”
“I’ll never lose my independence again, that’s for damn sure,” Haley said.
“Anyone who wants you to isn’t someone you should have in your life. How big do you want your nest egg to be?”
“Ten grand. I’ve saved up about seven so far, but I’m not giving up my apartment until I have ten.”
“That’s a good number.” Rhiannon cozied up with a throw blanket from the back of the sofa. “If you’re thinking about moving in together, stands to reason you might be thinking about getting married again.”
Grinning, Haley plucked her cookie in half. “That does stand to reason.”
“I’m sure you’ve already thought about a prenup and all that. But I’m curious what you think of the word interdependence.”
Haley’s tilted head told me she didn’t know what that word meant.
I tucked myself further into the corner of the sofa.
“Interdependence is the goal of a healthy relationship,” Rhiannon explained, stifling a yawn. “By definition, it’s holding onto your identity while still supporting your partner and them supporting you. Would you say that label describes you and Tyler’s relationship?”
“Honestly, yeah.” Haley covered her mouth between nibbles on her cookie. “But I dated a couple of guys before he and I got together, post leaving. And I definitely didn’t feel that way with them.”
“Can you explain that a little bit more?”
“It just came naturally with Tyler. From the get-go, there was no drama. Sure, we had the honeymoon period, but to this day, we’ve never really fought about anything. There’s conflict from time to time, but we just work through it.”
“And it wasn’t like that with those other guys?” Rhiannon asked, chin in her hand again.
“Nah, something always came up early that told me to dip.” Haley wiped her mouth using a balled-up napkin from her lap and went to throw it away.
“First guy sulked when I offered to split the check. Second one lived on bikini feeds.” She veered our way to return to her beanbag, holding a cup of water and a fresh plate of cookies.
“I read a study that says men who do that literally process women like objects. It activates the same brain regions as when they look at power tools. I’m all for women posting whatever they want.
I’m just not dating a guy who treats us like scenery—”
Haley’s foot caught on the area rug at the edge of our sofa.
She dropped forward, paper cup full of water and plate of cookies flying.
Water splashed us all.
I rushed forward to help her up. “Are you okay?”
“Physically, fine.” Laughing as she took my hand, Haley shook her head. “Mentally, mortified.”
More laughter sounded throughout the room. Once Haley was back on her feet, a few other girls came over with napkins, offering them to all four of us.
It didn’t even compute in my brain until Simone said, “Ow.”
Rhiannon’s voice. “What’s…”
I turned around, just in time to see her dab some water from Simone’s face.
Water and makeup? Not a good mix.
A splotch of black and blue took up most of Simone’s chin and spread across her lower lip.
Still standing there, holding the napkin covered in makeup and water, Rhiannon’s mouth fell open. She stared at Simone. Probably waiting for her to say something. For her to explain.
Simone’s eyes were wide, and her breaths came in fast and hard. She glanced at me, then back at Rhiannon, then back to me, then back to Rhiannon.
Rhiannon looked at me too. Her eyes narrowed.
The rest of the room was loud, still joking about Haley’s fall, becoming a background noise to our silent conversation.
It was like being a kid all over again. Mom just walked in on me and my best friend trying the cigarettes she had stolen off her dad. She caught us red-handed, and neither of us could think of how to lie our way out of this.
“Both of you,” Rhiannon said, voice firm. “Legal building. Now.”
When we first got to legal, Simone attempted a quick blanket lie. She fell down the stairs.
Rhiannon cut her off with, “Lie to me again, little girl. I dare you.”
She paced the hardwoods behind the large, cherry desk, hands on her hips. Her eyes flicked between the two of us. They stayed on me a moment too long, and I turned my gaze to the floor.
“What—you’re not gonna ask why you’re here?” Rhiannon snapped. “You knew something happened, and you lied to everybody about it.”
Couldn’t argue with that. Not that I would try to. I had too much respect for Rhiannon to argue with her.
My heart spun in my stomach. Simone and I hadn’t had the chance to work out a plan in case something like this happened. Once the swelling had gone down, we thought we were in the clear.
Of course, we were idiots. After committing murder, you were never in the clear.
Rhiannon reached into her desk drawer and came out with a packet of makeup wipes. She tossed them at Simone. “Take it off.”
Simone looked down at them, then up at Rhiannon. With tears in her eyes, she opened her mouth to speak.
Before she could, Rhiannon gritted her teeth and spoke between them. “No, we’re not playing this game. I need to know how bad it is. Take it off. Now.”
Simone peeled the label back with trembling fingers and pulled out a wipe. As she touched it to her face, tears mixed with the makeup remover. Little by little, she wiped it away, wincing as she uncovered each bruise like an archaeologist dusting off individual artifacts.
Rhiannon watched each swipe, eyes softening with tears. As more of the black and blue became visible, covering almost every inch of Simone’s face, a quiet gasp dropped into Rhiannon’s lungs. So much sympathy, so much pain like she wore each bruise herself.