Chapter 22 THEO
THEO
Since that first weekend with Alex, since I found out who she was, I assumed things were bad before she ran away.
I knew she had some trust issues, but I assumed that she would let her guard down and feel how connected we are once we got past them.
It wasn’t supposed to be this hard or take this long, but now I know why she’s a fucking minefield of issues that I have to navigate.
Daniel Murphy is the biggest fucking piece of shit, and I’m going to kill him.
After Alex fell asleep on Saturday and I had a panic attack in the basement, I went into my office and started digging, trying to figure out what the fuck happened in her life to make her so tricky to deal with.
I’d found out enough by the time she woke up to know it was a lot worse than I’d initially thought.
Then she told me how they met, and I had to work ridiculously hard not to freak the fuck out in front of her.
She shared it with me, though. That’s something.
I’ve spent almost every second I’ve been away from her looking into her past. Between my own limited hacking skills, buying more complicated hacking programs off the dark web, and the information available on Daniel and Alex’s social media, I’ve put together a basic timeline and have a rough understanding of what happened, and everything I’ve found makes me want to kill him even more.
Alex’s cell phone number was noted down in the police report.
The phone records aren’t available anymore, but I’d bet money that Daniel started reaching out to her immediately.
She was placed in foster care for a very brief period, and from what I can find, her foster mom is close to one of Daniel’s aunts.
Alex seems to have spent a lot of time around the Murphys right after her parents died, and there are a few photos from that time on his aunt’s Facebook.
Alex looks like she’s not there, and Daniel’s extremely close to her in all the photos, which is very upsetting.
I got into her Facebook and Instagram accounts, and she had a small army of people who had reached out at the time - her friends, her teachers, friends of her parents, people who cared about her and tried to be there for her.
She wasn’t exceptionally responsive, understandably, but she started ignoring all of them about three weeks after her parents died.
Alex’s high school guidance counselor saw her twice a week following her parents’ death and listed concerns that Alex was dissociative and potentially suicidal, but she started refusing all help offered to her with no explanation three weeks after her parents died.
I don’t want to know what happened three weeks after her parents died, but I know.
Alex petitioned the court for legal emancipation a few weeks later.
Because she was a straight-A student who was a few months away from being eighteen and had considerable resources and community support, it was granted.
The “community support” listed on Alex’s emancipation petition seems to have been compromised entirely of her foster parents, the Murphy family, and their church, even though she didn’t seem to know any of these people or go to that church before her parents died.
She moved back into her house after her emancipation was granted, and Daniel moved into Alex’s house, her parents’ house, a week later.
Shortly after that, Alex, a straight-A honors student who co-captained her track and field team, was involved in extracurriculars, and was actively working on college applications, dropped out of high school.
Alex’s parents had money. Not Anderson Timber money, maybe, but both of her parents came from well-off families, did well for themselves, and were smart about managing their assets.
Setting aside their million-dollar house in a nice neighborhood, Alex inherited roughly four and a half million dollars.
Five months after her parents died, Alex got married on her eighteenth birthday with no prenup, and Daniel’s quality of living improved significantly.
Alex’s medical charts have notes about domestic violence concerns for years. She always said everything was fine and turned down any help offered, even when her arm was broken about two years into their marriage.
I don’t understand how this fucking bastard manipulated Alex into any of this, or why it went on so long, but I can make some assumptions.
Alex drinks, dissociates, lies to herself and everyone else, and tries her best to pretend like everything is fine.
If I had to guess, she probably spent her entire marriage trying to avoid conflict that way.
She certainly doesn’t do that with me. We’re always in fucking conflict, and she pushes me hard on everything.
On some level, that means she knows she can trust me.
Even if she doesn’t acknowledge it, I know it’s because she can feel we’re connected.
I know that she wants to be with me, but she’s probably afraid to be happy. Maybe she doesn’t know how.
I’m going to need to work much harder to get her past her trust issues.
I have fucked this up so badly, but I really want to fix it.
I can’t stop thinking of her face as she sat in my kitchen.
She looked so genuinely miserable, and I hated it, hated that she wasn’t happy, hated the idea that maybe I was a small part of why she felt that way.
This is not what I thought this relationship would be like, but she’s mine and I want to take care of her.
I just don’t know how to do that yet.
***
“Theodore, this is very concerning to me. Do you know why?”
“Because her ex is a fuck and now she’s got all these issues that she shouldn’t have to deal with?” I don’t want to talk to Dr. Mills about this, but I need a little bit of advice on how to take better care of Alex, and she’ll have to do.
“Yes,” she says patiently, “but I’m mostly concerned that you’ve found yourself in a relationship with a very recent survivor of domestic abuse. I think you, specifically, might trigger a lot of her trauma by accident.” I shoot her a dirty look and cross my arms.
“What are you talking about? I don’t hit women.” Dr. Mills gives me a serious, considering look.
“Maybe not, but stalking is a form of domestic violence.”
“I’m not stalking her, I’m dating her.” I’m doing both, technically, but it’s different with Alex. She’s mine, so it’s okay.
“You’ve stalked women in the past.”
I roll my eyes at her. “One woman.” Technically. “I’ve taken accountability for that, I’ve apologized, and I’ve worked on myself a lot since then. I’m fine now.” Dr. Mills blinks and purses her lips as she scrutinizes me.
“Theodore, please consider this seriously: you’ve spent nine years completing whatever therapy you’ve been required to participate in, but you’ve had very little ability to test your skills in the real world and no ability to test them in regards to romantic relationships before this point.
"You’ve discontinued your medication, you’ve barely reintegrated into society, you have no family relationships, no friends to speak of, and no involvement in any sort of community.
You have, essentially, isolated yourself and fixated on finding a partner.
That’s concerning enough to me for your sake.
On top of that, you’ve now found yourself in a relationship with a vulnerable, traumatized young woman who has only just left an abusive situation and has not, it sounds like, begun to seriously process or move past her trauma.
"What’s concerning to me, for Alex’s sake, is that you’ve found boundaries specifically challenging in the past. I’d guess that she might find being pushed on any of her boundaries, spoken or unspoken, exceedingly difficult to handle.
Do you see why I’m concerned for both of you?
” Her words skip over my brain, making shallow waves that ripple out.
I’m sure that would be concerning if that’s what was happening here, but she’s way off base. This woman barely knows me, she doesn’t know Alex at all, and she’s missing a lot of context, like the fact that Alex and I are connected.
That context is critical.
“I can understand where you’re coming from.” She gives me a sharp look.
“Okay, let me ask you this: do you think that sounds like a good situation for Alex?” Anger flares in my chest, and I force myself to keep my face neutral.
I’m making it a good situation for Alex.
I might have gotten this wrong at the start, but I’m recalibrating.
I’m taking her past into account now and adjusting everything to suit her better.
I can make her happy. I can make this work for her. We work. We fit.
“I think Alex can decide if it’s a good situation. I trust her judgment.” I will, anyway. She’s very confused right now, but I trust that she’ll see that this is good for her soon.
“I’m concerned that she may not be in a place right now to judge what’s best for her.” My knee starts bouncing, and I give Dr. Mills a tight smile. I really fucking dislike her.
“Your concern is misplaced.” She blinks and purses her lips.
***
All I want to do after therapy is spend time with Alex and reassure myself that Dr. Mills is wrong, but my stomach sinks as I watch Alex open the door and sigh in defeat when she sees me.
She drops her bag and coat on the floor and beelines for the cabinet where she keeps her wine, pouring herself a glass almost to the brim.
I force a smile as she comes into the living room, sipping her wine quickly and not looking at me as she curls up on the couch as far away from me as she can get.
This is off to such a bad start.
She’s been subdued and kind of depressed since Saturday, and I know it’s because I fucked up and lost my temper and went a little too far. I could tell she enjoyed it, though. I think it was fine until the misunderstanding about the apology thing. I think that’s where it all went wrong.