17. #3
The words hung in the air between us.
Grant didn't speak right away.
His body went very still beneath me, the kind of stillness that comes when someone is forcing themselves not to react too quickly.
I kept my eyes on my hands.
"Sometimes it's just a slap," I added. "Or a punch."
My voice dropped even lower.
"Sometimes it's worse."
Grant's hand moved gently to my wrist then, turning it slightly in his palm. Not restraining—just holding it there, his thumb brushing lightly over the faint marks that hadn't fully faded yet.
"When you say worse," he said quietly, "what does that mean?"
I swallowed.
"It's just worse," I continued. "If he's really upset."
The silence that followed felt heavier than anything that had come before it.
For a moment I wondered if I'd said too much.
Then Grant spoke.
"You don't deserve that."
His voice was calm.
Certain.
Like there wasn't even room for doubt in the statement.
I didn't realize I'd started crying again until Grant shifted beneath me.
"Come here," he murmured gently.
His arms slid more securely around my back, lifting me with him like it was nothing. My hands instinctively tightened around his shoulders while he carried us the few steps across the living room.
He lowered us onto the couch slowly, settling back into the cushions before adjusting me so I was sitting sideways in his lap. One of his hands rested against the middle of my back while the other came up to brush a few loose strands of hair away from my face.
The movement was careful.
Deliberate.
Like he was trying not to startle me.
For a moment neither of us said anything.
The room felt quiet in a way that wasn't uncomfortable, just filled with the weight of everything I'd finally started saying out loud.
Grant's thumb moved slowly along the side of my arm.
"Naomi," he said quietly.
I looked up at him.
"When's the last time he did that to you?"
The question sat between us for a second.
I hesitated.
"A few days ago."
The words came out softer than I intended.
Grant's jaw tightened immediately.
I could see it in the way the muscle along his cheek flexed, the way his eyes shifted briefly toward the floor before coming back to me again.
"What happened?" he asked.
I stared down at the sleeve of my hoodie.
"He has these zip ties," I said slowly. "If he's really upset he'll use them."
Grant didn't interrupt.
"He'll restrain my wrists first," I continued. "Sometimes my ankles too. Then he just... keeps going until he feels better."
The memory made my stomach tighten.
"I never really know what sets him off," I admitted quietly. "Sometimes it's something small. Not smiling enough during a dinner. Saying the wrong thing to someone important."
My voice dropped even lower.
"Other times it's the opposite."
Grant's brows pulled together slightly.
"The opposite?"
I nodded.
"Smiling too much. Talking too long to someone too long or too short. Wearing something he thinks is ill fitting."
A humorless breath slipped out of me.
"But you never know with him. There's not really a right answer. Sometimes he lets things slide and sometimes he doesn't."
Grant was very still beside me now.
The hand resting on my back hadn't stopped moving, though. Slow circles against the fabric of my hoodie like he was grounding himself as much as he was trying to steady me.
"There was this one time," I continued, my voice quieter now, "I didn't fit into a dress he wanted me to wear to an event."
Grant's expression darkened.
"He called me every name he could think of for being too big. I thought that would be the end of it."
My throat tightened slightly.
"But it wasn't."
Grant didn't say anything.
He just waited.
"That was the first time he used the zip ties," I finished softly.
The silence that followed stretched a little longer this time.
Finally Grant spoke again.
"That's why you're so strict about the workouts," he said.
It wasn't really a question.
I nodded slowly.
"He monitors my meals sometimes too," I added. "After that dress incident the chef was told to only make certain things for me."
Grant let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Jesus."
The word came out barely above a whisper.
"He lets me go to workout classes with Reese though," I continued after a moment. "That's probably the most freedom I get."
Grant glanced down at me again. "Reese is your friend though right? Didn't you meet in college?"
I nodded, "She is, but he doesn't let me do them with her just because she's my friend. It's because she's on his team."
I continued, "I trust Reese though. On das where I've missed a class I know she wouldn't say anything or tell him anything I've said in secret."
"Does Reese know about us," he asks.
I shook my head no.
For a moment neither of us spoke again.
The quiet stretched just long enough that my thoughts started spiraling somewhere I didn't want them to go.
He was probably looking at me differently now.
People always did once they knew.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Complicit.
I shifted slightly in his lap, suddenly feeling exposed.
"I should probably go," I murmured.
Grant's hand moved instantly to my waist, stopping me before I could stand.
"Go where?"
I shrugged weakly.
"I don't know. Back to the house."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Why?"
I hesitated.
"I don't know if I should've told you all that," I admitted quietly. "I don't want you looking at me differently."
Grant's expression softened almost immediately.
"Naomi."
My eyes lifted back to his.
"Why would I look at you any differently for trusting me with something?" he said gently.
The words settled over me slowly.
Then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.
It was brief. Like he was asking permission more than anything.
His mouth brushed mine once.
Then he kissed the side of my neck.
Then my lips again.
My breath caught slightly.
"I just feel like I don't really have anyone," I admitted quietly.
Grant reached for my hands, threading his fingers through mine.
"You have me," he said.
Then he lifted my hand and pressed a kiss against the back of it.
And for the first time in days, the tight knot in my chest loosened just a little.
For a while we stayed like that.
My hand still resting in his.
His thumb moving slowly across my knuckles.
Outside the windows the last light of evening had faded into full night, the house settling into that soft stillness that comes when the day finally ends.
I hadn't realized how exhausted I was until the adrenaline started wearing off.
My shoulders sagged slightly.
Grant slipped his fingers out of mine before speaking again.
"You're tired."