Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eli
In my haste to get to Emily, I didn’t give Leo any idea what was going on, so he had no clue why he was calling the cops.
This meant there was plenty of explaining to do when they arrived.
One of them called an ambulance because Em passed out, which just about finished me, and I was so relieved when they took Gav from under me so I could go to her.
I cooperated with them in every way, to show them I wasn’t the problem here, no matter how much Gav was ranting.
Em came around very quickly, thank god; when I saw what he’d done to her face and her hand, it took Leo, Dean, and Police Constable Tyler to restrain me from ripping his head clean off his body with my bare hands.
He hurt her.
That motherfucker laid his hands on her and burned her face.
I wanted to kill him, and if the three of them hadn’t held me back so well, I probably would have.
At that point, they took him outside to a waiting police car, and I was told to calm down or I’d be arrested, too.
Em’s frantic, terrified response to that threat got me back in the right headspace immediately.
She needed me. So I complied, and I calmed down. Kinda.
Once Emily explained that she’d called me for help when her violent ex showed up, the officer in charge, Sergeant Badimi, agreed that, although I would be required to make a statement and it would need to be investigated thoroughly, it was a clear case of me defending my girlfriend from a violent attack.
After all, I’d held him down and restrained him; I hadn’t beaten him up.
He, on the other hand, had actively attacked her, and what he’d done had constituted what Badimi referred to as ‘actual bodily harm’.
None of us knew what had happened to Gav’s hand. It must have been hurt in the scuffle...
That went without saying. We didn’t even need to glance at each other to know that we weren’t going to grass Dean up.
Once the ambulance showed up, it was clear that Em needed an X-ray, so PC Tyler went with us to the hospital to continue questioning me so I could be with her. I shook their hands in appreciation for that kindness.
Gav had broken two of her fingers. It made rage boil in my gut and throb at my temples to see her hand all strapped up and the dressing under her eye.
They took plenty of photos of both injuries as evidence, because you’d better believe we were pressing charges all the way.
He wasn’t getting away with this, at all.
We were later warned by the victim support team to prepare ourselves for the fact that, as this was Gav’s ‘first offence’, he’d probably get a fine and community service, which is a fucking joke.
But we got a restraining order against him at least. And I’m sure as hell never allowing him the opportunity to violate it.
I’ve barely let her out of my sight in the two weeks since it happened.
And if I’m not with her, either Leo, Sadie, or Dean is. Not negotiable.
It was Dean who remembered seeing the car parked immediately outside Em’s home that day when we first got there. At our approach, it sped away, burning rubber. Gav’s brother punked out on him when he saw us. Gutless shit.
During questioning, Gav denied everything, of course.
He claimed they were just talking, and that I assaulted him unprovoked when I saw them together.
He tried to brush her hand injury off as an accident, which, from the way Emily tells it, it may have technically been.
But the cigarette burn on her face couldn’t be so easily explained, so his story lacked credibility.
And when he accidentally let slip about his brother being there, Rich got hauled in for questioning as well.
There wasn’t enough to charge him with anything as well, but we did manage to secure a second restraining order based on the verbal abuse he emailed to her shortly before the attack.
When Dean stamped on Gav’s hand, I thanked him at the time for doing something I was burning to do when I was too busy holding the bastard down for the police.
Since then, though… I’m keeping my eye on him.
I think he just got mad when he saw his friend’s injuries and lost it for a moment, but…
I don’t know. His mind is a fractured tangle of trauma, and I’m wondering if I should make sure he sees his therapist for a while again.
Violence is not really his style, and though this was heavily provoked, it was out of character.
I’m a weird mix of grateful and concerned.
Both Emily and I had two days off afterwards.
I couldn’t stand to leave her side for a moment, let alone a full shift, and I’d have been worried the entire time that something would happen again.
Leo immediately updated the security cameras in the parlor and added a couple more panic buttons.
He can’t do enough for her. He even talked about hiring a temporary security guard during opening hours, but Em put her foot down and told him no.
But he’s working on her. None of us close our studio doors anymore, and we all check on her regularly, and hang out in the front with her if we don’t have clients.
Leo, Sadie, and Dean have really stepped up, and I don’t have the words to thank them.
They’re the best family in the world.
Emily
They’re treating me like glass.
Don’t get me wrong; I know why they’re doing it, and I really appreciate being so loved, but it’s been two weeks and they’re still babysitting me and handling me with kid gloves. It needs to stop now.
I am by no means ungrateful for their thoughtfulness, but nor am I a victim. Not anymore. I refuse to be. I got out of Gav’s house when I moved to Foxton; I won’t live my life like I’m still locked inside it.
I’m not going to pretend that the attack didn’t shake me up pretty hard.
It did. I’m still jumpy, and I don’t think I’d want to be on my own in my flat (not that I’ve had the opportunity).
But I’ve also thought long and hard about this, and the thing is, the worst happened.
The thing I dreaded so much, even worse than I ever dreamed it could be.
That was Gav’s worst shot. And I survived.
My fingers were clean breaks and it’s anticipated they will heal perfectly well.
My facial scar from the cigarette burn can be lessened with plastic surgery sometime, if I want.
I probably will. And I have a wonderful group of people in my life who have my back.
Gav has a brother who ditched him. I’m not naive; a lot of survivors will tell you that restraining orders are often ignored by their subject, and aren’t worth the paper they are written on, but the reality is, Rich took one look at Eli and Dean and backed off.
So much for the big bad wolf. And Gav had his arse handed to him.
On balance, I think they’re both self-interested enough to never darken my doorstep ever again. Like all bullies, they are cowards.
I heard from Kayleigh. She sent me a panic-stricken apology message, explaining that she told Gav I was back on social media because she knew he had been ‘struggling to cope’ without me, and she was trying to be a good friend to him.
She didn’t mean any harm, and she didn’t realise he’d gone berserk.
She just thought he and I could talk and then work things out.
He made a fake Instagram, found out from Kayleigh where I was listed as working on Facebook, and that’s how he tracked me down, waiting around until he could follow me home.
The woman who asked about nearby parking, earlier in the month, was actually him with his fake account.
As were the dropped telephone calls that I mistook for a nervous client.
Kayleigh apologised to me profusely, saying she didn’t know what he was really like, and I believe her.
He always used to put on an amazing act around his friends.
It’s why I never told any of them what was going on; they would never have believed it of their mate Gav.
Even now, I’m sure many of them are going to back him up, say it was a misunderstanding that I blew out of proportion, but I think some of them will think again.
You can’t easily excuse burning someone’s face with a cigarette.
I don’t really care about their opinions anymore, though.
I told her I understood, and didn’t bear her any grudge.
Truth be told, I don’t want anything to do with my previous life anymore, so I think that’s the last time she and I will ever be in touch.
I just want things to be the way they were before he attacked me. That was my new normal, and I loved it, and I want it back.
I just need to convince them all - especially Eli - that this is the right thing. No more talk of security guards. No more wrapping me up in cotton wool.
Eli is the worst culprit for that, of course.
He’s so anxious about hurting me that, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m absolutely gagging for him to throw me down and make mad, crazy, so-passionate-I-can’t-see-straight love to me without holding anything back, I’d find it adorable.
It took days for anything more than the gentlest of kisses.
In the days after the attack, it was all painkillers and ice cream and hot water bottles and cuddles on the sofa, which was lovely and I’m not complaining.
But since I’ve recovered enough, we’ve only had slow, careful sex, with him asking me every five seconds if I’m comfortable and if he’s hurting my hand and if I want him to stop.
I know it’s the sweetest, most thoughtful, considerate thing, and it makes my heart melt, but I just want him to pound me into next week like the dirty girl I am.
And I have a plan to make it happen.