21. Benji
Benji
My body feels like it’s been set aflame and promptly doused.
I’m not sure what to do with this girl that’s sitting in front of me except force her hand.
Because fuck, I want everything she has to offer, but it’s clear we’re not going to truly get anywhere until this bridge is crossed.
And I can’t go any further until she’s shared her truth with me.
I don’t want to accidentally do anything else that harms her.
I’m questioning my logic as she sits in front of me now, though.
Her bottom lip trembles as she wrings her blanket in her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists.
I move off the couch to join her on the floor in front of the fireplace, being sure to move slowly.
There’s still distance between us, but as I reach around her to grab another blanket, I can see the way she stiffens, and hear the way the breath catches in her throat.
“Which do you want?” I ask softly. “Do you want me to leave?”
She shakes her head and then tilts it up, clearly trying to force her emotions back down.
Despite her attempt, the tears I saw in her eyes earlier spill over, leaving a trail across her cheeks.
My fingers twitch, aching to wipe her tears away, but I busy my hands with my blanket instead, waiting for her answer.
I need her to tell me where this will go.
Her mouth opens and closes as she fights for words that won’t come out and in a way, I can relate.
The words that spilled past my lips earlier, about my brother, were ones that I didn’t think I would say out loud again.
Telling my team had been an experience I never wanted to relive.
Aside from my sister, Jordie is the only one I talk to these days about Jake, and those days are few and far between.
But something told me I needed to be the first to open up to Lisa – Alyssa, though I know now it was a mistake to call her that – and show her she could trust me.
The deepest scars aren’t the ones you can see.
So it stands to reason that one of the hardest things a person can do is willingly share those wounds with someone else.
But with her, sharing my past wasn’t quite as difficult as I thought it would be. She clearly understands hurt, and she knows how to handle what I shared with her. I study her now, wondering if she will understand that and allow the same of me.
She meets my gaze, looks away, and sniffs. Finally, she lets out a shaky exhale. “Everyone always said that they never had to worry about me being abused, because I was so strong. They couldn't have been more wrong. Just because I was strong with most things didn't mean I saw that value in myself.”
A cold wave hits me as I realize she’s choosing to give me the truth. Abused. The word tells me what’s coming, something I already suspected, but that I had somehow convinced myself couldn’t be the reality. I remain stock-still, barely daring to breathe as she continues.
“I kept telling myself that I could change enough, be enough to make him stop.
I thought that I kept deserving it with something I did, that I had to stop doing the things that triggered him, but…
it didn't make it hurt any less. All those years, I cared more about making him happy than my own happiness.
Especially once I lost my mom, and I had no one left to turn to.
I told myself I'd figure out how to be okay, as long as it was making him happy.”
The truth might be worse than never knowing at all, but now that it’s started, I’m desperate for answers. “Who was he to you?” I manage.
She picks at her blanket, feigning intense interest in the fabric. Then she swallows. “Austin.” The word is barely more than a breath. It leaves her lips hoarsely, like a warning. “My ex.”
I inhale deeply, then ask the question I’m dreading the most. “And what did he do to you?”
Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine, and instead of tears, what I see there is much worse. It’s cold, distant, emotionless. “I think you already know.”
I grind my teeth so hard I can hear the sound, a muscle popping in my jaw from the force of it. But I say nothing, allowing her the space to tell me more if she wants to. It seems like the right thing to do.
After a brief moment of silence, she continues. Her voice remains quiet and detached, but it’s as though the gates have opened. Her words come quicker as she recounts her memories, her fingers moving over her body while she speaks.
“It started with him hitting walls. Smashing bottles. I stopped going out, stopped talking to people, just to keep him from getting angry. But it only progressed from there.” She runs her fingers over her arms, almost absently.
“Anything could set him off. He would grab and shake me. And then he slapped me. When he started choking me, though… that’s when I really got scared. ”
Her fingers drift over her neck, and bile coats my throat, burning just as hot as the anger that courses through my veins.
I swallow it down forcefully and watch as she buries her hands in her blanket for a long moment, as though she’s gathering the courage for what’s next. But what could possibly be next?
“But it wasn’t until he b-broke my rib that I realized how much danger I was in.
” She trips over the words and twists her arms around her middle, as though she can wrap herself in bubble wrap.
I want nothing more than to do the same.
“I realized I might end up alone, but at least I would be alive. And if something was going to kill me, I want to fight for it to be something in my control. I mean… I know that’s not guaranteed, but I’d rather be doing something that matters.
Be living a life that matters. Have it be something that at least makes me feel alive. ”
Hearing her talk about life and death in such a matter-of-fact, detached way, is astounding. How could someone beat her down to such a point? Who could possibly lay hands on her in such a way in the first place? My muscles are shaking from the force of being tensed for so long.
“And he’s still around?” I ask, my voice hushed and vibrating with anger. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” she whispers. “Probably still at the home we lived in.”
“He didn’t go to jail?” I growl. How could this fucker get away with breaking someone’s bones and not get jail time?
She shakes her head and stares furiously into the fireplace. “I never asked them to arrest him, so they didn’t. I just got a civil order of protection.”
I’m silent for a long moment, digesting the information. As though she can sense the questions burning off of me, she adds softly, “My lawyer told me going for jail time with assault charges in criminal court just tends to make them more violent.”
Them. Abusers. People who choose to beat their partners into submission, rather than foster an equal partnership.
People who would rather enjoy the shadow of a person than everything that makes them whole, unique, and perfect.
She tosses the word out like they’re a general population, rather than the stain on earth that they are.
And her defeated, accepting tone splits my chest in two.
I clench my fists and mutter, “How long does your civil order last?”
“Six months.”
I curse. “And that’s why you left. Because changing your name and starting over was more protection than the court could give you.”
She winces. “Yeah. And that’s why I…don’t like having my throat touched,” she says, “or fighting.”
I nod slowly as the pieces finally click into place. She’s gazing at me, clutching the blanket against her like a barrier, as though the information is a live grenade that she’s just thrown down in front of me.
And well, fuck, it kind of is, but not in the way she’s thinking. I scooch closer to her, closing the gap that she’s slowly been creating between us, and reach my hand out. My fingertips brush against her arm, and she squeezes her eyes shut, but I can’t tell if it’s from relief or apprehension.
“How many months?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“How many months has it been since the order was put in place?”
She hesitates. “It’s been four months. A little more. I didn’t get everything in place to move until about halfway through the order.”
I release a slow breath, considering. “And you think he’ll come looking for you when the order is lifted?”
She glances back at me, and then quickly back at the fireplace. She shifts the blanket around herself to tuck her knees up into her chest, folding herself into them before she responds.
“I’m sure he will. He thinks of me as his property. This is just a minor setback for him. It probably made him so much angrier that I disappeared.” Her bottom lip starts trembling again, her composure shattering in front of my eyes. “At the end of the day, I’m still his.”
Like hell she is. I clear my throat at her words, wanting to argue.
She draws in a sharp, ragged breath and looks back up at me, her eyes swimming with tears once more. “I am so, so sorry for dragging you into this. You deserve so much more than this. Than me. Please. You need to leave before things get any messier.”
Screw that. I’m not leaving her. Even before hearing all of this, my draw to her was inevitable. I’m definitely not abandoning her now, knowing how hurt she’s been, and the possible danger she’s still in.
I reach for her, gently drawing her into me. She folds into me, and I’m flooded with relief at how easily she molds against my body. The blanket is draped over her, leaving only her fuzzy pink socks poking out and fuck me, I’m a goner. There’s nothing I won’t do to protect this girl.
“I’m not leaving you. You hear me?” I murmur into her hair. “And don’t think for one second you deserve what he let you believe. You are not what he told you you are. You are so, so much more.”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Benji.” She twists to stare up at me, those bright blue eyes wide as saucers. “I’m working every day at it, but I… I still don’t know if I’m strong enough to leave my past behind.”
“Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who just make it through the next day.” I smile down at her. “I call you my little fighter for more than one reason, you know.”
She lets out another shaky exhale. “I'm so scared.”
“Don’t be. Please? Not anymore. I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.” I kiss the top of her head and run my hands down her arms. If wishes could turn back time, she’d never have known an unpleasant touch. “As long as you're here with me, everything will be okay. You'll be okay.”