Chapter 9
Jay
Ireturned from Florida feeling a quiet confidence, something I haven’t experienced in years. I’ve pushed back on filming new content, especially anything involving sex, even though Ray keeps pressuring me.
He’s pissed about it, but I think he knows he’s skating on thin ice. For now, he’s recycling old clips and waiting for the Florida footage, as if that’s going to save us.
On the flight home, while Ray snored beside me, I kept sneaking glances at Aiden’s number on my phone. Since Ray tried to make me delete it, I couldn’t shake the fear that he’d go through my phone and erase it.
I can’t risk losing Aiden again, so I memorized the digits.
My mom and Heather are still on their Caribbean cruise, so I haven’t had the chance to tell Heather that I want out. In the meantime, I’ve been doing my homework.
The house is mine, legally and financially; I bought it before I met Ray. I’ve made the payments and covered the bills. I’m documenting everything, laying out the facts he can’t dispute.
We share bank accounts and credit cards, but my savings and investments are in my name only. I won’t leave him destitute, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him drain what I’ve worked for.
The past week has flown by. Work has been nonstop since my team’s year-long project is nearly finished, and I’ve been working ten-hour days to get it done.
I finally shut my laptop after a long day, feeling tense in my shoulders and tired in my eyes.
That’s when I hear Ray’s voice, sharp and raw, echoing down the hallway. He’s raging.
The hairs on my arms stand up as I push away from my desk, bracing for what I’ll find at the end of the hall. I know, even before I see him, that he’s snapped.
Reaching the living room, I find him pacing like a caged animal, his face beet red, and his eyes wild. When he spots me in the doorway, he explodes.
“What. The. Fuck. Did. I. Just. See?”
My body tenses. “What are you talking about?”
Spit sprays from his mouth, his voice quivering with rage. He jabs a finger at the laptop screen. “The footage from your little orgy. You lied. You said every guy fucked you. That’s bullshit. It was the Aiden and Jay show, fucking each other’s brains out in the corner.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His face twists, almost primal.
Oh, God. So it really shows everything?
“It was intense, Ray,” I say, my voice thin and my hands trembling. “You know what we meant to each other. Things just… happened.”
“I’ll say things happened,“ he scoffs, venom in his voice. “You let him have his way with you like a bitch in heat.”
My whole body is rigid, unsure how this is going to go.
“I told you…it was intense. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and then we were in that room together, and I just…”
I keep rambling, knowing I should shut my mouth, but powerless to stop it.
“Did it mean something to you?” His voice shifts, almost breaking on the word something, but rage still coils beneath it.
“Yes,” I blurt out too fast. “Of course it did.”
His face curdles, almost unrecognizable, and before I can move—before I can even think—a sharp crack explodes through my skull.
My head snaps back, and pain detonates across my face as his fist slams into my nose.
Warm blood gushes instantly, choking me.
Another blow hammers my eye, and my vision bursts white, then black.
“You fucking whore!” He roars.
Another hit knocks me off balance, and I fall over the end table. Losing my grip on it, my phone crashes to the floor.
A kick slams into my ribs, my breath exploding out of me in a ragged wheeze.
I curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my head for protection, but he keeps coming.
“You humiliated me.”
Kick.
“You cheated on me.”
Kick.
“You’re getting what you fucking deserve.”
Kick.
The world around me is only sound and pain—his rage, his fists, his boots, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue.
Then everything stops.
He stands over me, chest heaving.
“You worthless piece of shit,” he growls, spit spewing from his mouth.
He lingers over me for a moment, his rage now quiet but still heavy in the air.
Then, he’s gone.
His heavy footsteps echo across the hardwood floor as he stomps away.
Carefully lifting my head from my defensive stance, I glimpse him grabbing my phone from the floor.
He snatches his laptop and keys before the garage door slams like a gunshot, tires screech down the driveway, and the house falls silent.
I stay curled on the floor, my whole body shaking, blood dripping from my nose.
My face throbs with every heartbeat, my ribs screaming with each shallow breath, while tears cut through the blood on my cheeks.
How did I let it get this bad?
I’m a broken heap in my living room, wrecked by a man I should have left years ago.
I don’t know how long he’ll be gone—maybe a few minutes, an hour if I’m lucky. I need to get out of here before he comes back.
Every movement hurts as I struggle to stand, one hand pressed against the wall for support, while I stagger down the hall.
In the bathroom, I grip the counter and force myself to look.
The face in the mirror isn’t mine.
Blood is pouring from my nose, with red streaks across my mouth and chin. My right eye is already swelling shut, as red veins burst, erasing the white. My shirt is soaked, and my chest heaves as if I just ran a marathon.
Splashing water on my face, I gag at the taste of iron as blood hits my tongue.
Tissues jammed into my nose do little to stop the flow, and my ribs scream as I peel off my ruined shirt.
The skin along my side is red and mottled, and the outline of his boot print is already darkening and blooming.
But I can’t linger.
As I bend over to get a duffel bag from the closet, I hiss in pain. My chest burns with every shallow breath as I frantically gather clothes and toiletries, dressing in a fresh shirt and pants.
In my office, I fumble for the tote to carry my laptop and work files. My hands are shaking so badly that I nearly drop it.
Each time I take a trip to the car, I expect to hear his engine roaring up the driveway. My pulse pounds so loudly in my ears that it drowns out everything else.
He took my phone because, of course, he did. The first thing I’ll need is a new one.
I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, hit the button on the garage remote, and back out before the door is even all the way up.
At a nearby strip mall, I slide the cash I have across the counter to buy a cheap prepaid phone. My voice trembles as I tell the clerk I don’t need a bag. He doesn’t even look at me or notice the fresh bruises on my face.
It’s nearly seven; the sky burns with streaks of orange as the sun sinks below the horizon. It’s usually something I’d stop to admire, but I can’t stop now. And I can’t be somewhere he’d expect to find me.
My mom’s house is out; it’s too obvious.
I need a hotel, paid in cash. Using a credit card is out of the question; he could check with the bank and see the charges.
Stopping at an ATM, I yank out the bills, my hands still shaking.
I keep looking over my shoulder, convinced he’s going to appear behind me. Every set of headlights makes me think it’s him looking for me.
I don’t know where I’m headed, but I know I can’t go back.
In a fog, I barely remember how I got here, only that I’m standing in the harsh fluorescent glow of a hotel lobby, with the smell of stale coffee surrounding me.
My wallet feels unfamiliar in my hands as I fumble to count out the cash. The front desk clerk takes it quietly, her eyes flicking to the swelling on my face, then away again. Her single glance feels like pity, sympathy, and maybe even judgment.
She passes me a key card, and I mumble a thank you.
The elevator ride feels like a blur. My reflection in the chrome doors looks worse than I thought: blotchy skin, tear streaks down my cheeks, and the beginning of bruises forming.
The hotel door clicks shut behind me, and I collapse onto the king-size bed.
The adrenaline crash hits all at once, leaving me trembling so hard I can’t catch my breath.
My chest heaves, tears blur my vision, and the pounding in my face and ribs spikes with every heartbeat.
I press a pillow against my face, muffling the sob that escapes from me.
My body no longer feels like mine—it’s a jumble of sharp aches and raw nerves, all tied together with fear. My mind feels worse, as if it’s shattering into jagged pieces.
I never thought I’d be here.
Not me.
I used to believe that abuse only happened to other people, people who were weak or blind. But here I am, swallowing Ray’s venom day after day, nodding as if I deserve it.
Even when his hand struck my face, or his shove knocked the breath out of me, I convinced myself it wasn’t that bad, that it was just normal.
I fumble for the cheap burner phone. The glow of the screen burns my swollen eyes as I search for signs of an abusive relationship.
The words hit like fresh blows, red flags so obvious even a kindergartner could see them—humiliation, control, manipulation, physical violence.
Every line feels like a mirror. I’m the frog in boiling water, sitting in the pot, convincing myself it wasn’t hot.
Feeling so lost and alone, I scramble to think clearly, but my thoughts spin like tires in mud.
I need someone—just one person.
My mom and Heather are still gone. My work friends are only that—work friends. And everyone else, anywhere close to a friend, belongs to Ray, not me.
But one name continues to stand out amid the chaos.
Aiden.
I try to shove it down, telling myself it’s a bad idea and that he’s better off not being dragged into this mess. But lying here in the dimly lit hotel room, staring at the ceiling with blood dried under my nose and pain piercing through my ribs, all I want is to hear his voice.
My fingers tremble so much that I nearly drop the phone again as I type his number from memory.
Jay: Hey Aiden, it’s Jay. I had to get a new number. Are you free to talk?