37. You Make Me Feel Safe, Nick
You Make Me Feel Safe, Nick
Nick
‘Can we talk?’ Missy’s voice is low and timid, and she looks exhausted.
When I heard the knock at my door, I knew it would be her. I could have ignored it. My anger wanted me to, but that nagging lingering voice in the back of my head, the one that heard and held onto her words earlier when she tried to tell me I’d got it all wrong, won’t shut up.
My hurt is yelling at me not to be na?ve and fall for her bullshit, but my feelings for her, for what we had, are louder.
‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about.’
As I move my hand up to grip the door, she slams her hand against it, clearly thinking I was about to shut it in her face, and I see the wash of tears wet her eyes in the bright light of the hallway. I see the way her lips part. I see her wide, panicked eyes .
‘It wasn’t what you think.’ Her voice trembles, and I shake my head. ‘Nick, listen.’ She raises her voice and I feel my eyebrows lower at the desperation I hear. ‘I wasn’t trying to make him jealous. I don’t want him. I never want him anywhere near us. I used you, yes, but…’ she gasps for breath and swipes at the tears tracing paths down her cheeks. My instincts scream at me to reach for her and comfort her, but I can’t, not yet. ‘I reached for you because,’ she inhales shakily and closes her eyes, then reaches for and starts to raise the hem of her shirt, ‘I reached for you because I was afraid.’
She’s raising her shirt. She never raises her shirt.
I drag my gaze from her closed eyes and the tears still escaping them, and lower them to the expanse of bare skin I’ve never seen despite the intimacy we’ve shared. When a loud sob escapes her, and she raises it higher, turning a little to the side, everything makes sense.
BAX.
The roughly shaped scars of the letters burned or sliced into the skin stretched across her ribs, and the tiny circular cigarette burn scars that I recognize, that I have to match, that I covered with tattoos to hide. He fucking branded her.
‘I was afraid.’ She sobs, and my heart breaks .
Reaching out for the shirt clenched tightly in her fist, I pull gently, covering the scars she wasn’t ready to show, and she grabs my wrist.
‘I’m sorry.’
Her voice is barely there as I pull her into my chest and hold her as her tears soak through my shirt. That son of a bitch branded her, and my heart is racing with the urge to put him in the ground.
‘Come on.’ Pulling back from her slowly, I wait for her to raise her gaze to mine, and when she does, I have to fight not to crumble at the defeat I see in her. Her spark is gone, and she looks drained, sad, and afraid. ‘Jonah’s in bed, Miss. Let’s go to your place and talk.’
Inside her apartment, I watch as she pads over to the sofa and slumps down, picking up her water with a shaky hand.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ I say, needing to do something, and she stands.
‘I’m going to check on Jonah.’
I pull out the chamomile tea and two mugs and then brace myself on the countertop, pressing my palms into the cool surface and hanging my head. Rage heats my blood, and the overwhelming need to hurt this prick has me clenching my hands into fists, but I need to calm myself. I’m not like Bax, not like my father. I can control my anger. I won’t let her see that in me.
‘Snoring his little head off,’ she says with a weak smile as she joins me in the kitchen, and I turn to pull her to me once more.
Her arms wrap tightly around my back and mine do the same to her as she presses her cheek against my chest, and I lower my chin to the top of her head. Both of us take deep, steadying breaths, and the sweet scent of her shampoo is like water on the fire blazing in me, putting it out, one breath at a time.
‘Don’t call me Marissa,’ she says softly before pulling back and looking up at me.
‘What do you…’
‘He called me Marissa, always, never Missy. You’ve never called me Marissa before, but you called me that tonight when you were angry with me. Call me anything but that, please.’
‘You got it,’ I agree without hesitation. ‘Go, sit, I’ll bring these over.’
She walks away, and I take another breath before picking up the tea and joining her on the sofa.
We sit in silence for a while, just drinking our tea and letting everything sink in. We’ve hardly talked in weeks, and now, here we are, together.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask gently, and she takes a deep inhale.
‘No,’ she smiles, ‘but I should. I never have.’
‘Tell me as much or as little as you want, honey. I’m here for whatever you need.’
I stretch my arm out toward her and hold out my hand, palm up, for hers. She scoots toward me on the sofa, ignoring the offered hand and instead, tucking herself in against my side as I bring my arm up to drape across her shoulders.
‘Is this okay?’ she asks turning her face up to me and I nod, yes, this is more than okay. Swallowing, she nods and exhales through O-shaped lips. ‘You make me feel safe, Nick. I always knew I was safe with you.’
I swallow now, wanting to tell her she always will be, but it’s not the time for promises.
‘He was nice at first, and I fell for it. I think I was so desperate for love and connection after losing pretty much my whole family that I wanted to trust it was real.’ She speaks slowly, softly, and my arm wraps around her shoulders, holding her to me. ‘At first, it was control, telling me what to wear, how to style my hair, who I could talk to, checking my phone. Then it was a push here, a shove there. He was always sorry in the beginning — he loved me so much he got overwhelmed, was scared of losing me, and he lost his temper out of fear.’
My eyes close at decades of memories of my parents — was he ever sorry? Did he ever tell my mom he loved her? If he did, I don’t remember it. I don’t think my dad cared enough even to gaslight my mom the way Bax did to Missy.
‘I know now he took advantage of my abandonment issues. He knew I would never leave him, no matter what, because I was so scared of being alone. So, he escalated, each time it was a little more, a hair pull while I was asleep, waking me up with the sharp pain to see how I’d react, pushing me into the wall or the table, and then he slapped me and so on.’
I grind my teeth and feel my nostrils flare. Did my dad slowly escalate, testing the waters each time, or was he just a violent asshole from the start?
‘By the time I got pregnant, he had it down to a fine art. He wouldn’t hurt me anywhere that people would see, so never my face, and if he marked my arms or legs, he made me wear long sleeves or trousers. I never wanted to take any time off work because if he knew I wouldn’t be seen, he would bust up my lip or give me a shiner just so he could enjoy looking at his handiwork for a few days.’
‘And when you got pregnant?’ My voice is low, hoarse, and controlled, and I feel her tense, so I force myself to soften and lean in to press a kiss to her temple. ‘Sorry. ’
Her shoulders rise with a steadying breath, and she goes on.
‘He stopped, mostly. He stopped hitting me but took his frustration out in other ways.’
My eyes close now, and I push back the images, push back the screams and the sound of my father dragging my mom into the bedroom and slamming the door. Push back the memories of Clint dragging me away as I tried to bust down the door.
‘And after?’ I force it out to stop my train of thought. Mom, Missy — both of them abused in every way by the men who should have kissed the fucking ground they walked on.
‘It was better, mostly because he was out all the time. He couldn’t stand the sound of Jonah crying, so he would go out, fuck around, come home wasted, and crash out on the sofa. It was bearable.’
‘The um, the scars.’ It sticks in my throat, and I can’t fully form the question.
‘I can’t, not yet.’ Her voice is quieter now, and I know that memory is a tough one for her to relive, so I don’t try to force it. I wait quietly, considering my next question.
‘Miss,’ I have to know. ‘Did you think I would hurt you like that?’
She pulls away and turns to face me, taking my hand into both of hers.
‘No. I really didn’t ever think that, but I was also terrified to take the risk.’
I take a deep breath and blow it out. ‘You saw it in my dad, didn't you?’
‘Yeah,' she nods, 'I saw it in him when I heard it in you.’
‘He hit me, my mom too, still does with her.’
‘She won’t leave?’
I shake my head, no. ‘She never will.’ I meet her gaze once more. ‘How did you get out?’
‘Jonah.’ She smiles just a little. ‘Bax refused to look at him or talk to him, and one day, I just had enough. I just reached my limit and decided, no, he’s not growing up with this poor excuse for a man, so I kicked him out.’
‘And he actually left?’ I’m shocked that a man so twisted, so desperate for control, would let her make that decision.
‘Weirdly, yes. I think maybe he was looking for an out. He was as done with me as I was with him, but his parents made him stay and take care of his responsibilities.’ She laughs now, lightly, but it’s still beautiful. ‘The ass never lifted a finger to help or gave me a dime, but his mother gave her adult son an allowance to take care of his baby. She has no idea he drank and smoked and fucked it away.’
‘Does she know how he treated you?’
‘Yep, she helped me ice wounds more than once, but she made excuses for her golden boy every time. He’s tired, he’s stressed , blah fuckin’ blah.’
I hear my mom’s voice in her words. She defends my father in the same way, and I wonder if Bax grew up the way I did, with a dad who modeled the behavior he carried forward. Then I realize that I don’t give a shit how he grew up. I don’t give a shit if he dies a slow, painful death.
‘Did he ever hurt Jonah?’ The idea has my jaw tight and my fists clenched.
‘No, not in any way. He was a baby when I kicked him out. I was an idiot, and I took him back for a short period about a year and a half ago.’ I feel my eyebrows lower as I meet her gaze. ‘Nick, please don’t look at me that way.’ She hangs her head, and I look away, hating myself for my judgment.
‘Sorry, I just…’
‘I had nobody. All my friends left me when I got pregnant with his baby, and my grandpa was taking care of Roberta after she got sick. I was in a dip of loneliness, and he showed me the guy I first met. He was so sorry, he was working on himself, and, yeah, I was an idiot to believe that would last. He didn’t even make it a month, but this time, he wasn’t going to get a chance to do it again. He was out once and for all, and I really haven’t seen or heard much from him in that time.’
‘He doesn’t see Jonah?’
‘Hasn’t for months. For a while, his parents would come and pick Jonah up, and I think Bax would see him. Every time he asked to see him, we’d arrange something, and he wouldn’t show, so I stopped trying, and so did he.’
‘Why did you try?’
She pushes up off the sofa and stands, pacing away from me.
‘His parents have money. They said they would fight for custody of Jonah if I ever tried to stop them or Bax from seeing him. So, I tried to make it work to keep him with me. They don’t try to see him often and him even less, so it’s been okay.’
‘So that’s how he knew where you were?’
‘I gave them my address so they could send Jonah’s Christmas gifts.’
‘So, what now? What happens this weekend?’
I’ll be here, by her side, ready. That motherfucker isn’t haven’t a second alone within a twenty-foot radius of Missy or Jonah.
‘I doubt he’ll be back. Tonight was a display of control for him. He heard where I was and needed to see that fear in my eyes to fill up his cup. He got what he wanted. Jonah isn’t it.’
‘But if he does…’
‘I don’t know, Nick.’ She shrugs, and I hold out my hands, encouraging her back to the sofa. ‘Bree has a friend in family law. I know she was helping Doug out when Jessie was causing him trouble with Bo. I can try and talk to her.’
‘Are you going to tell the girls everything you just told me?’
‘Yeah, it’s time.’
I take a breath and notice how exhausted she looks. I hold out my hand to her and she takes it and moves back to the sofa. We lay down together, and I cradle her in my arms, her head on my chest. Raising up my phone, I connect to her speakers and put on some music, quietly, just enough to change the atmosphere in the room, then I just hold her.
As her cheek warms my chest and her body molds to my side, I hear her breathing slow down and feel her tension ease until I know she’s asleep.
I want this. I want this with her every goddam day of my life, but I’m not going to push. It has to be on her terms.
After a while, I manage to extricate myself from her koala hold, and I stand, turning to look down at her. She’s beautiful, even like this, asleep on her sofa, a frown tightening her expression. I consider carrying her to bed, but I don’t want to disturb her at all now that she’s finally asleep. Instead, I grab Jonah’s Frozen blanket from his chair and lay it over her, then walk away. I won’t sleep tonight, listening for any sign of that son of a bitch coming back, but she needs to, and tomorrow, we’ll make sure one way or another, he isn’t a problem anymore.