Chapter 31
Oliver
Before the start of group, Talia and I tucked ourselves into our usual corner.
She launched straight into a breathless update about her latest cosplay invention for a con coming up in a few weeks.
“So I’ve decided to go full armor build this time.
Not foam, actual thermoplastic. I’m talking heated, molded, layered, and painted.
Spiked pauldrons the size of knives. This is going to be my magnum opus, Lady Thornstrike from Blightstrom Requiem.
I’ve already started distressing the underlayers so they have a battle-worn effect. ”
“I have no doubt it’ll be epic.”
“I actually know one of the guys who worked on Blightstrom Requiem.”
“What!? No way! Who?”
“Micah Rourke, the—”
“Composer!” she burst, nearly toppling her chair over from excitement.
“The composer, Oliver! That score is fire for an indie game, and he built the entire orchestra and choral work himself using software. Layered every instrument, every note, until it sounded like it had been recorded in some famous symphony hall with an entire orchestra and choir. It’s so cinematic it gives you goosebumps. How do you know him?”
“He’s Luke’s best friend’s boyfriend.”
“And you’ve been sitting on this information?”
“I guess it never came up.”
“Okay, okay, start from the top. Is he one of those enigmatic brooding creative types, or gregarious and friendly or eccentric and quirky? Does he call it composing or sound design? Do you know what he’s working on right now?
Do you ever get to hear demos of his work?
Do you think he would sign my vinyl copy of his score? ”
“You want me to answer these in order or pick one at random?” I snarked.
“Drat! Elijah looks like he’s about to start group, but you’re going to tell me everything over smoothies!” Talia said.
“Hey everyone, welcome,” Elijah said, signaling the start of group. Everyone meandered over to the group circle and took their seats.
“As ever,” Elijah continued. “I’m so glad each of you are here.
Tonight we’ll be doing things a little differently than we’re used to.
We’ve been working hard behind the scenes to expand the resources we can offer you all, and one of the things many of you have expressed interest in is legal counsel.
I’m pleased to announce we’ve recently partnered with a local law firm to offer free legal services to anyone who might need or want them.
Tonight, we’re joined by an attorney who has generously volunteered his time to be here to listen, to answer questions, to provide support and guidance, completely pro bono. ”
Someone whispered, “That’s amazing,” across the circle. Another gave a quiet hum of agreement.
I thought of the young mother in our group who spoke of wanting full custody of her four-year-old son, but didn’t know where to begin and felt swallowed by the system.
And Heather, the first woman to speak the night I’d joined, had wanted to apply for a restraining order but couldn’t afford a lawyer at standard rate.
I thought of what this might mean for them.
It struck me, as it often did, how extraordinary this place was.
How the center never stopped trying to find ways to expand the circle of safety and support around us.
Elijah turned to the door. “Please join me in welcoming . . .”
No. No. No.
It couldn’t be. This couldn’t happen. Yet it could and it was, worse than any nightmare because I remained awake while the horror arrived.
Vincent, in a pristine, ultra-expensive, custom-fitted suit, walked through the doorway. Vincent, the reason I sat in this room at all. His gaze swept the room once before locking onto mine.
My breath vanished, the air around me instantly thinning. My fingers clenched at the arms of the folding chair, trying to anchor myself to something, anything.
How? How had this happened? How had my abuser been allowed through those doors?
It occurred to me then, I had never spoken his name aloud in this group.
Not once. Not in my stories. Not even in private conversations after group.
He had only ever been my ex, the man I left, the reason I ran.
I had scrubbed him clean of name and profession, because stripping him of every identifier might reduce his power, make him a little less real.
Disassociating myself from him and omitting his name denied him presence, or so I had told myself.
In trying to erase him from my narrative, I’d unknowingly left a door unlocked. One I never imagined needed locking. Of all the harrowing ways I’d feared encountering him again, in this safe place, in my circle of healing, had never crossed my mind.
If he was as surprised to see me as I was him, he didn’t show it.
The smile stayed fixed on his face, but it shifted from something affable and rehearsed to something calculating.
His lips stretched wider, baring a flash of gleaming white teeth, while his eyes narrowed full of malicious intent.
I heard everything he told me through that sinister grin.
I see you. You can’t stop me. Look what I can still do to you, all without so much as lifting a finger.
“Oliver?”
Talia’s voice pierced through the fog. I didn’t know how many times she’d whispered my name before I managed to turn toward her, but from the furrow between her brows, the deep concern carved into her features, it had been more than once.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” she whispered.
No. I wasn’t okay. I stood as far from okay as possible.
A monster occupied the room, wrapped in the costume of a benevolent man, and everyone welcomed him with open arms. How could that bastard stand here under the guise of aiding victims of domestic violence when he had engineered my own private hell?
The sight of him mocked everything this space was meant to be.
It turned help into parody, justice into farce.
I should rise. I should speak. I should shout that this man had no right to be here, no right to help anyone. He was the reason I sat in this chair at all.
But like the coward Vincent had always accused me of being, I stayed silent.
After all this time, after all the work, I still shrank beneath his presence.
What could I even say? I had no photographs.
No documented injuries. No reports to legal authorities.
Only a handful of bruises long faded and a minefield of memories I carried alone, memories with no timestamp, no witness, no proof.
It would become my word against his, and Vincent’s word came with credentials, power, and connections.
All I had was a story, but no way to verify it had ever happened.
My silence, the one I had once used as protection, had turned into a muzzle.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I whispered back.
The lie came out pitiful, and I knew she didn’t buy it. Talia’s eyes stayed on me, narrowed with worry, but she didn’t have time to press before Vincent turned to address the group.
“Thank you, Elijah. I’m honored to be here. My name is Vincent Langley. I’m a partner at Garner and Croft and it’s my pleasure to offer any support I can to this incredible group.”
Nearly six months had passed since I’d heard his voice, yet it still had the power to unmoor me. I’d fooled myself into believing I had changed, that I’d taken back control. But when the moment came to prove it, I shrank. Just like I always had. Just like I feared I always would.
“Ironically,” Vincent continued. “Oliver and I had the pleasure of working together a few years back.”
Fuck.
The gleam in his eyes told me he was baiting me, enjoying it, daring me to speak or act. We both knew I wouldn’t.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, forcing my voice into something conversational. “Vincent was the assigned prosecutor in my dad’s DUI trial.”
“And coincidentally, Oliver is now pursuing a case against his father through our firm. In fact, he’s scheduled to meet with me directly after this session. Isn’t that right?”
That look. That cold, commanding stare. I knew what it meant. Resistance wouldn’t be tolerated. “No” would not be allowed in my vocabulary.
“Yes.” I forced the quiver out of my words. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What a small world,” Elijah said with a chuckle, unaware of my inner turmoil.
Small didn’t begin to cover it. My world had collapsed inward, crushed into a cage I thought I’d escaped. It shrank to the circumference of one room, one chair, one man’s shadow stretching across my soul.
The conversation continued around me but I didn’t comprehend any of it. My mind had become a whirlpool, sucking every thought into a singular vortex of dread. The hour-long meeting managed to be both excruciatingly slow and cruelly swift.
“I’ll be staying after group in case any of you wish to speak to me individually,” Vincent announced at the group’s official close.
“Oliver, can I borrow you first? There are a few preliminary things I want to review with you ahead of our meeting if you don’t mind,” Vincent said his voice all faux warmth and calm.
Trapped in a spider’s web, all I could do was nod.
“I guess we aren’t doing smoothies today, huh?” Talia asked as I gathered my things and got up from the chair.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, Talia. I completely forgot about the appointment.”
“No worries. If you wanted, we could get together tomorrow and do something?”
“Um, yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”
She seemed unconvinced, but with Vincent’s watchful eyes on me, and standing within earshot’s distance away, I didn’t dare risk saying more. I followed him to the small table set up in the corner.
“Of all the places I thought I’d find you this certainly wasn’t one of them.
A DV group, Oliver, really? I never hurt you,” he said, his voice slipping into the tone that always made me question what I knew to be true.
“Not in any way that mattered. You were always so sensitive. Always twisting things in your head until they sounded worse than they were.”
I stared down at the floor, my eyes fixed on a faded scuff mark on the tile. Each breath became a quiet negotiation with my body to remain steady as panic and despair tried to take over.
“I maybe got a little forceful at times, but I never laid a hand on you without reason. You needed discipline. Direction. And who could blame you, after everything you went through with your father.”
I didn’t want to listen, but his little barbs pricked deep into my skin, and the old scars reopened, the old pain, the old doubt began to bleed fresh.
“Now, there are some files I need to transfer to you before our meeting. Please give me your phone. It’s more secure than email, which can be a risk. This way, the files will have time to transfer ahead of our discussion.”
He held out his hand. Everything in his demeanor, from his posture to his plastered expression, ostensibly read professional.
But I knew better. The quirk of his eyebrow told me not to defy him.
The twitch in his jaw informed me of the consequences if I didn’t comply.
The glare in his eyes warned me not to make a scene.
With resigned reluctance I slid my phone across the table, watching my only plan to wrestle my way out of this—texting Luke while Vincent was occupied—slip right out of my fingers and straight into his controlling hands.
The grin that spread across his face radiated obscene satisfaction, like the Grinch who stole my freedom and reveled in the theft.
Vincent straightened, turning toward the room. “Okay, thank you for your patience, everyone. Does anyone wish to speak with me?”
Talia rose before anyone else, moving toward us with determined strides. “I would, Mr. Langley.”
“Please, call me Vincent,” he said, flashing his winningest smile.
“Vincent, I would like to see what my options are about filing a civil suit against my abuser. It’s something I’ve been sitting on for a while, and I didn’t think I’d ever have access to someone like you, and if Oliver is using your firm’s services and now you’ve partnered with the community center it must be kismet. ”
“Kismet indeed,” Vincent murmured, his gaze sliding to mine carrying a gleam that twisted my stomach into knots. “I’m happy to help however I can. Can you tell me a little bit about your circumstances?”
I began to walk away to give them privacy, to grant myself a reprieve, but Talia grabbed my hand.
“Stay. You’ve heard all this before anyway, I don’t mind.”
Always so admirably fierce, Talia looked at me with imploring eyes.
For all her brashness, I understood how difficult this was for her.
I wouldn’t be a good friend if I walked away, especially not when, in her own way, she was asking me to stay.
So I sat beside her and forced myself to stay present as she spoke with Vincent.
“You have a strong case,” he told her. “If you’re interested, I can connect you with one of our top civil litigators. She specializes in domestic abuse cases. She’s brilliant.”
Talia’s face lit up. She had mentioned wanting to take her ex to court on more than one occasion, to make her abuser pay, but had never believed she had the resources. And now they were being offered to her.
I couldn’t rip this chance out from beneath her feet because the man offering it was the same one who had stolen my hope, and he knew it, because as he peered over Talia’s head, looking directly at me, his expression brimmed with smug triumph.
Vincent closed the folder he’d been jotting notes into and handed Talia a business card. “Call this number anytime. Tell them I sent you, and they’ll prioritize your consultation. I promise.”
“Thank you so much!” She turned to me. “Can you believe it? I’m going to do this. I won’t have just gotten away but he won’t get away with it.”
I forced a smile that hurt to hold. “That’s incredible, Talia. You deserve this.”
Talia did deserve justice, and so did anyone else in this group. That more than anything kept me silent while others approached, dreading when everyone had their questions answered and I would be forced to leave with Vincent.