15. Eli
Eli
We arrive at the apartment, and I don’t miss the fact that CJ called it home earlier. I didn’t want to admit it, but the word landed well. Home. I haven’t had one in a long time. A tight warmth spreads through my chest, fragile and unfamiliar.
The apartment is quiet as we take off our jackets. CJ’s canary, Cheap, starts singing the second he sees us. Cheap is named Cheap because he was free; that’s what CJ told me when I asked about it. The neighbor next door moved overseas and couldn’t take him, so CJ brought him in and renamed him.
We hang our jackets and gloves on the hooks by the door and kick off our boots. My shoulders loosen without permission. The quiet doesn’t feel like danger anymore. It feels like breathing.
I know comfort is dangerous. It makes you careless. It makes you forget you’re supposed to be watching your back, waiting for the next thing to hurt you. Lately, I’ve started to forget.
But today, Adrian made me remember.
My stomach twists sharply. The memory drags a cold ache through me, sharp enough to make my breath catch.
Behind me, CJ sets the containers of food we picked up on the way home onto the coffee table.
Thai again, my favorite. CJ figured that out quickly.
Because it’s my favorite, he always orders too much.
His excuse is that if there’s extra, I can reheat it later, but I think it’s just another way he makes sure I eat.
The smell fills the apartment as he opens the containers: coconut, chili, lime, garlic, comfort.
I glance over my shoulder and laugh softly. “Why did you order enough food for twelve people?”
CJ looks up. “I’m hungry.”
I look at the spread. “You literally ordered six mains, CJ.”
He nods, completely serious. “I stand by my choices.”
My laugh feels lighter than I expect. It settles somewhere warm, somewhere I didn’t think I’d ever get back.
I’m exhausted after the panic attack and the hospital visit. My hands shake slightly as I eat, but hunger feels like proof that I’m still here, still fighting my way back into myself.
We eat on the couch, picking from the containers scattered across the coffee table.
By ten, we’re sitting cross-legged among empty boxes and half-finished drinks.
The TV hums in the background, ignored. The apartment settles into that late-night softness, the kind where conversation usually comes easily.
When I speak, I don’t look at CJ.
“He wasn’t always horrible.” My throat tightens. The words taste like old betrayal: bitter and heavy.
CJ shifts toward me immediately, taking my hand without a word. Waiting. Letting me choose the pace.
“Adrian,” I clarify quietly. “There were good times. He was charming when he wanted to be. He could walk into a room and have everyone liking him in five minutes.”
The words taste bitter, like something spoiled I swallowed anyway. CJ stays quiet, and I’m grateful for it, because what comes next is harder. My eyes start to burn. His grip tightens slightly: anchoring, not pushing.
A tremor runs through my fingers. The burn behind my eyes spreads down my throat, thick and suffocating.
“It started small,” I say, my voice slipping into memories of him. “Who are you texting? Why are you wearing that? Why didn’t you answer when I called?” A humorless breath leaves me, almost a laugh. “I thought he cared.”
The first tear drops, and my chest caves inward. Each tear feels like something breaking loose that I’ve held too tightly for too long. They land on our joined hands resting on my knee. CJ doesn’t move to wipe them away; he just lets them land.
I drag my sleeve across my face, then rest my hand over his.
“Then everything changed,” the words scrape out of me. “Everyone I loved was gone. My friends, gone. My family was already gone; they died when I was thirteen. I stayed in touch with one foster family, but they’ve too. Gone.”
A shaky inhale breaks halfway through my chest.
“My hobbies, gone. My confidence, gone.”
I finally look at CJ. My vision blurs. “Adrian convinced me I was lucky he loved me.” My voice fractures. “And I was stupid enough to believe him.”
The shame rises fast and choking, and I break.
The room tilts. I cling to CJ’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
CJ doesn’t let go. He pulls me in tighter instead, as if he can physically hold the world back.
“You’re safe, Baby Boy,” he murmurs against my hair. “Go on.”
He anchors me there, holds me through it, then shifts me carefully into his lap, rocking me like something fragile that still deserves to be held.
My breath stutters. The gentleness feels overwhelming, like my body doesn’t know how to accept it without breaking.
Eventually, I lean back just enough to speak.
“The first time he hit me…” My throat locks. I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs. “Dinner was late. Ten minutes. That was all it took. Afterward, he cried. He apologized. Then he brought me flowers.”
My stomach twists violently. The memory feels like a blade pressed against old wounds.
“The crazy thing is, CJ…” I swallow hard. “I comforted him. I told him it was okay. I said I was sorry.”
CJ’s body goes rigid with rage he doesn’t release. Heat radiates off him, his jaw tightening as the air shifts, heavy with something protective and dangerous.
I touch his cheek gently, grounding him back to me. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
I press a soft, calming kiss to his lips. His breath slows under my touch, and the tension in his shoulders eases just enough for me to breathe again.
“Then it got worse. Little things. He decided I was cheating. He decided I was lying. Then, he decided I didn’t love him enough.”
Silence presses in on the room, thick and suffocating. Even Cheap goes still.
When I speak again, my voice is barely a whisper. “Then… he…” The words stick in my throat. “… raped me.”
My chest constricts painfully. The words feel like they tear something open inside me all over again. The air changes, the sentence hanging there: undeniable, immovable.
“I never told Marge or Ree, not fully. Not until the end. Adrian used to say I was weak. That men are supposed to fight back, supposed to stop things like that. That I was nothing because I didn’t.”
CJ doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away; he just holds on harder. His grasp is the only thing keeping me here.
“He made everything my fault,” I whisper. “Everything. I started believing him. The assaults, all of it.”
My body shakes so hard I can’t control it anymore. My teeth chatter. My fingers curl into CJ’s shirt, desperate for something solid.
He kisses my face: forehead, cheek, temple, like he’s trying to keep me anchored through touch alone.
“I thought I deserved it,” I choke out. The shame burns hot under my skin, thick enough to blur my vision. I can’t breathe around the words anymore; I have to escape the memory, just for a second.
“I felt free on my bike,” I say quickly, staring at the floor. “It was the only place he couldn’t reach me, couldn’t control me.” The memory feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I think it scared him, that he couldn’t touch that part of me.”
CJ pulls back just enough to press his forehead to mine. The contact steadies me, my breath syncing with his.
“Adrian took everything,” I whisper, “but he couldn’t take my bike. Or Ree and Marge.”
I look up at him. “When they saw the bruises, the bite marks… Ree had to patch me up. I couldn’t deny it anymore. They helped me escape.”
The guilt surges hard.
“They risked everything for me,” I choke out. “I should’ve…”
“No.”
The word cuts clean through me. I look up. CJ is steady, controlled, absolute.
“No,” he repeats, firmer this time. “None of this belongs to you, Baby Boy.”
My head shakes instinctively. “CJ, I stayed. I should’ve run sooner. I shouldn’t have put Ree or Marge in that position.”
“No, Eli.” His voice drops lower, heavier. “You survived. You survived something most people wouldn’t. You did what you had to do at the time.”
The words hit deep, heavy and sharp. My chest tightens around them like they’re too big to hold.
“You lived,” he says softly. “You’re a survivor. Ree and Marge wouldn’t want you carrying that guilt. They helped save you, but you saved yourself, too.”
He breathes in shakily, lifting my face carefully and holding me still in his hands.
“Eli, look at me. You chose to save yourself. Do you understand me? You got out. And that is the strongest thing you will ever do.”
Something inside me collapses completely, and I let it. My breath breaks, and I fall into him like gravity finally wins.
Years of fear. Years of silence. Years of smiling through damage.
I cry into his chest while he holds every piece of me together without asking me to be whole. Eventually, exhaustion takes over in slow waves. I end up curled against him on the couch, my head over his heartbeat, his arms locked around my waist like he refuses to let go.
I look up at him, my eyes swollen and raw.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“About what?”
“That he’ll never find me.”
CJ’s arms tighten instantly. “Eli,” he says, steady as stone, “you’re safe.”
I want to believe it.
“If Adrian ever comes near you,” CJ’s voice changes, something colder and sharper underneath it, “he’ll have to come through me first.”
A cold shiver runs through me, not from fear, but from the certainty in his voice. The promise lands deep.
“And baby,” his thumb brushes my cheek, “that’s not a place he’ll want to be. I swear to you, I’ll protect you with my life.”
I close my eyes because I believe him.
The last thing I feel is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear, the warmth of his arms holding me in place, and a single word I almost miss, but don’t:
“Mine.”