He wasn’t wrong. As soon as I found out he’d kept my earring, my thoughts instantly went to something controlling and possessive.
“So why did you keep the earring?”
“I don’t know why I saved it. I’ve dated plenty of women over the years, but none of them ever felt right. The only explanation I can think of for holding on to your earring is that it reminded me of our very first conversation. It probably sounds nuts, but whenever I looked at it, it reminded me to hold out for that one person I could one day cherish.” He paused, took my hand, and looked meaningfully at me. “I know we haven’t been together long, but things feel different with you. I can’t stop wondering if you’re the person I was waiting for this whole time.”
“Derek…”
“Talk to me, Sparky. If we want to have any shot at a true relationship, I need to know what happened to you so we can move forward. I don’t know what triggered you earlier tonight. I only know I don’t want risk doing something that might upset or hurt you in any way again.”
“Damn it.” I knew he had valid reasons for wanting to know what happened, but this wasn’t only about building trust between the two of us—it was also about me. If I truly wanted to move on from Ethan, I had to admit certain things to myself. My group therapy leader at Stone’s Hope told me it might help if I confided in someone I trusted.
Did I trust Derek enough to share my story with him?
I studied his features, memorizing every line, so I would be able to see how much my truth might forever scar him. I wasn’t sure if I could summon the strength to give it to him. Pulling my hand from his, I stood and began to pace the room again. It was time to choose my path—either hide the scars that made up who I was or own them.
“You’re right, I have to tell you. No… that’s wrong. I don’t have to tell you anything, but I want to trust you with this. I just need you to know it was a complicated situation. I’m not weak. Part of the reason I hesitated to tell you was I didn’t want you to see me as the victim. I’m not the victim, Derek. I got away. Changing my name just allowed me to survive. I’m still me.”
“I know that.”
“I know I can seem closed off, untrusting even, but it’s not what it seems like. That’s just my way of making sure I can keep my independence and never lose myself to a man again.”
He came to me and placed his hands on my hips, effectively stopping me from pacing.
“I know that, too,” he said, reaching up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear. When his finger softly stroked the side of my cheek, I leaned into his touch. For some reason, it gave me the courage to continue.
“You see, for years, I had nothing to call my own. Ethan saw to that. Everything my husband ever gave me was meant as a way to control me,” I explained gravely.
Derek stopped stroking my cheek and leaned back to look at me.
“Have I ever done anything that made you feel like I was trying to control you?” he asked, his expression showing genuine concern.
I contemplated his words, then slowly shook my head.
“No, you haven’t. You’ve actually done the complete opposite. You encourage me to just be me.”
Seemingly satisfied I was speaking the truth, he nodded.
“Go on then,” he encouraged patiently.
“Ethan was extremely controlling—that’s putting it mildly—but I was partly to blame because I easily gave in to him right from the beginning. He was mentally and physically abusive, just not at first. It was a gradual thing that became worse over time. About two years into our marriage, I found out he had a mistress. Not realizing what Ethan was truly capable of, I confronted him about the affair. We argued. One thing led to another…” I paused, not wanting to relive the details of the first time Ethan beat me and the subsequent miscarriage. “You want to talk about Sleeping with the Enemy? Well, I lived it.”
“What exactly did he do?”
I took a shaky breath, trying to gather enough courage to dispel my apprehension.
“Derek, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you know how hard this is for me to talk about.”
“Just take it one step at a time.”
“And say what? That I stuck around for years and let him beat me? Do you want me to tell you about all the bruises and broken bones? How about the pain in my ankle that hurts every day because of a fracture that never healed properly? Or about how…” I stopped and swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to find the courage to continue. “The details about what he did to me that day are irrelevant now, just as the many days like it that followed.”
His face paled, and I could see disbelief begin to set in.
“Christ, what the fuck did he do to you?”
“At some point over the years, I completely lost myself. It got to a point where I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror.” As much as I didn’t want to cry, I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Hastily wiping it away, I was annoyed at showing signs of weakness. Derek wrapped an arm around my shoulder and tried to pull me close. I shook my head and stepped away. I didn’t want to be held at that moment. I found it easier to talk while I paced. Taking my cue for needed space, he stepped back and returned to his seat on the sofa.
“You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to,” he stated. His voice wavered uncharacteristically, almost as if he was afraid to hear the rest.
“No, I have to get this out. For me,” I told him. He nodded once, accepting my need to finish. For some reason, I was awash with humiliation. I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of, yet I was unable to meet his eyes while I told the ending of my tale. “It wasn’t uncommon for Ethan to force himself on me.”
“Are you saying he raped you? On multiple occasions?” His hand was clenched into a fist on his knee. If he wasn’t sitting down, I was fairly positive he would have punched something.
“I didn’t constitute it as rape at the time. In my mind, he was my husband, and I hadn’t actually said no. Looking back on it now, I didn’t say no because I was too afraid. After a beating, he’d feel bad about what he’d done. He’d say he wanted to make it up to me—to love me. I would cry the entire time, but I never once said no.”
“Jesus Christ,” Derek hissed. He ran his hands through his hair in a display of obvious frustration.
“There’s more.”
I paused, swallowed, and took a shaky breath.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I didn’t even notice I’d stopped pacing until I felt Derek’s hand on my cheek. Using his thumb, he brushed away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“I want to kill that mother fucker for hurting you,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry, Sparky. You don’t have to continue. I don’t need to know all the details—I only wanted to know what not to do so I didn’t mistakenly trigger a bad memory.”
I looked up into his eyes, so full of patience and understanding. A weaker version of myself might have folded right then and there, seeking the solitude of my mind to protect myself from the rest of the world, but I wasn’t that person anymore—I couldn’t afford to be that person anymore. I’d come too far to go back. Determination settled in my bones with a renewed confidence that turned my spine to steel.