The only thing I know is, I don’t deserve Zeb’s friendship. I know he wanted more.
Past tense; wanted rather than wants. How could he want me after I dismissed him? But he’s here and he wants to help. My problem is I don’t know how to ask for help.
What Scott does isn’t okay. I don’t disagree with that statement. He’s sadistic and cruel, escalating day by day. He’s dangerous and revels in my pain and the control he exerts when I cave into his demands. But that’s the price I pay to keep my friends safe.
Zeb doesn’t know what Scott said he’d do if I didn’t go back to him. What he’ll do if I don’t let him do what he wants with me.
No one does.
“Kaye…” Zeb’s voice breaks my trance. “No matter what’s going on between you and Scott—what you may or may not have agreed to—it’s not okay for him to do this without your consent,” Zeb speaks softly. “This is against your consent, isn’t it?” He pulls back, brow arched in question.
Again, without judgment.
We’re both aware of how some couples enjoy consensual power exchange, bondage, discipline, and sadomasochism. He steps lightly around the issue. Again, without judgment. Without shame. But he remains firm.
He knows none of this is with my consent.
But isn’t it? Isn’t this the price I agreed to pay in order to appease Scott and keep him from hurting my friends?
That’s not consent! My inner voice—the one that’s been screaming at me for weeks—chimes in, agreeing with the assumptions Zeb makes.
He squeezes my hands, with reassurance, before continuing. “I can’t help unless you let me. We can get help from the authorities. We can report this to the dean at UCSF. Or, we can take care of things off the books, but I need you to tell me what you want me to do.” He leans in, placing his forehead against my own. “I need you to let me in.”
My breath hitches. It’s one thing to endure this abuse myself, but quite another knowing others will be made aware of it too.
“P-pl-please, don’t tell the others.” I don’t have the courage to face my friends.
My fear is too deep, but what if Zeb can help?
I don’t want to involve him in a situation of my making. I don’t want to endanger him like I endangered Barbi, Carmen, and Rosalie. But I need help. He’s right. Scott’s taken things too far. He almost killed me.
“You can’t keep this from them. They’re going to find out.” Zeb looks earnestly into my eyes. “And I don’t know if I can step aside and do nothing. It goes against who I am at my core. I respect you, and I’ll respect your decisions, but I’m struggling not to march over there and make this right.”
“Please.” I grip his shirt and beg. “Don’t do that.”
“What hold does he have over you?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
“As long as I let him…” My throat closes up, making it impossible to speak.
“If you let him do what?”
“You know what.”
“I don’t like to assume, but this is where I am right now. The bruises on your wrists tell me he restrains you—or that you let him restrain you—the marks on your throat, however, tell me he does something far more dangerous. You’re capable of making your own decisions, but if he’s threatening you, and forcing you to do something you haven’t consented to, this has to stop. If he’s choking you, you’re in serious danger. Life-threatening danger. I’m not going to be able to walk away from that.”
“No.”
“What do you mean by No?”
“I let him… It’s my choice.”
“Coercion is not a choice. It’s not consent.” He drags his hand down his face, pausing to collect his thoughts, then he fixes me with his piercing gaze. “I’m going to speak clearly, and I do this as someone who considers myself a dominant male. I know many couples with very healthy relationships who are in stable, consensual dynamics. Consent forms the foundation for any power exchange. Safety is paramount. It’s non-negotiable. Risk is assessed and consent given free from coercion.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Luv, I know more about what’s happening than you know. Just answer one question. Will you do that for me?”
“I can’t promise when I don’t know if I can answer honestly.”
“Fair enough, and thank you. Honesty is crucial to trust and I want you to trust me as much as I want to trust you.”
I sniff and feel my heart rate dropping. With Zeb, I feel safe. I don’t feel this way with Scott.
“Here’s my question. Be as honest as you can. All this time, when you said you were going to the library to study, were you at the library?”
I can’t look at him. I can’t admit the truth.
“Okay. Let me ask a different question. Were you with him?” Zeb refuses to accept my silence.
“Yes.”
“Will you answer a few more questions? You don’t have to, but I really hope you do.”
“I don’t know if I can.” I feel so incredibly defeated, but I don’t want to disappoint Zeb.
“Fair enough. Did you go back because of his threats?”
“Yes.” My response is barely audible. Spoken so low, I’m not sure if I said it, or thought it.
“Against you?”
“Yes.” This time, my voice is firmer and a bit louder, and I really hope he stops here.
“Did he threaten anyone else?”
Damn.
I close my eyes because this is the one question I don’t want to answer. It’s the one that makes me sick to my stomach and makes me want to curl into a tiny ball until I disappear.
His brows tug together with thought, but the moment he figures it out his entire body completely relaxes. It’s terrifying watching the change overcome him. Voice deadly calm, and absent of any emotion, his words send a chill rushing through me.
“He threatened your roommates.”
“Yes.” There’s no way to deny it.
He already knows.
“Please, you can’t tell them.” My voice breaks and cracks. “Don’t tell them what he’s done.” I wring my hands, and tuck my chin to my chest. A wave of heat and shame rushes through me.
“When?”
“The day after we met.”
“How?”
“I went to the library. That wasn’t a lie. He tracked my phone and met me outside.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, not with shame, but with the memory of the bone-chilling fear I felt when Scott accosted me. “He grabbed my arm and shook me like a rag doll. He told me we were going to sit down and talk about what happened.” My hand drifts up to my arm where he bruised me that day.
“And where did you talk? At the library?”
“He took me to his house. Ordered me down to the basement, where…” I turn my head and close my eyes as the terrifying memory rushes through me. I smell the musty dampness of the basement. I feel the terrifying chill creeping in from the cement floor. I taste bile and fear.
“What did he do?” Zeb brings me back with the calming tone of his words.