He held me tighter, though—of course he noticed.
“Sometimes he hit me and . . . other stuff; it was a long time ago.”
Jake looked away from my face, a muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hands had balled into fists at my sides as he seemed to struggle with what to say.
My stomach knotted with his reaction. The last thing I could handle was pity on his face or confusion about why I’d stayed with Davis so long. I didn’t know the answers. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t abuse. I was educated, and I thought I knew better, so what was happening was something else. I’d thought it would get better, and when it didn’t, it was too late. I’d started to believe his lies, that I needed him. By the time I stopped believing the lies, I believed the threats.
“I finally ended it. I was terrified, but we were in a public space, and I just said I was done.” I didn’t tell Jake how I’d been so anxious beforehand I’d been sick in the bathroom and almost chickened out, that when I actually said the words, that I was leaving, my voice had been broken and shaky and I’d braced for him to strike.
“What happened?” Jake asked the question like he didn’t want to know the answer, voice thick and gruff.
“He told me he’d hurt me, humiliate me, and that I’d regret it. I thought he meant physically. Somehow, he knew killing my career would hurt me more than anything he could do to my body. So, that’s what he did.”
Jake nodded more emphatically, his gaze returning to my face. “That’s why you’re so concerned about your reputation at work.”
I nodded, deciding not to tell him about the texts. The photos and messages were too real a reminder of what I’d been through. “He took every opportunity to use the power he had to make sure people thought the worst of me. He shared my phone number and photo on some website for people looking for kinky sex. These guys kept harassing me, and I had to change my number. I’m pretty sure some of my students found out.” I rubbed my hands over my upper arms. “It was bad. He left campus a year later, but the damage was done. I was a joke . . . and I was always looking over my shoulder. It was like he was still controlling me without touching me.”
I locked eyes with Jake, and he nodded, urging me to continue, his fingers lacing with mine. I took a deep breath, pushing myself to say the thing I’d feared all those years, to show vulnerability. “When you look at me like that, I feel like you can see . . .” I gulped in a series of shallow breaths, glanced down at our hands, and then looked back to his face. “Like you can see everything, and . . . I’m ashamed.”
Jake pulled our linked hands to his face and slowly kissed each of my knuckles. Finally, his voice cut into the tension. “It’s not your fault. Please don’t feel ashamed. I don’t know if I see everything, but when I look at you, I see so much. If it’s in my power, you’ll never feel helpless like that again.”
Those memories had been replaying in my head for so many years, I couldn’t imagine forgetting that helpless feeling. I knew if I told Jake that Davis was on the committee, Jake would try to fix the problem, and there was no way for him to do that without everything becoming more complicated. I worried I’d already said too much and he’d figure out it was Davis. When he didn’t ask, though, I didn’t say a word, instead choosing to let that part of the story remain untold. I would tell him eventually.
Thirty-six
Curry Palace is up the street, or we could go Italian if you want.”
The next evening, we were sprawled on my couch trying to decide what to do for dinner. My feet were resting in Jake’s lap while we watched a rerun of Law and Order. All of it felt so incredibly couply and domestic, part of me wanted to snap a selfie to remember the moment.
I should have.
“I could go for some lamb vindaloo. That would mean we’d have to get up from the couch, though.” Jake rubbed his thumb over the arch of my foot, and I let out a low moan.
“Good thing they deliver.”
“Clever girl,” he said with a wink. Just then, his phone buzzed on the coffee table and he glanced down. His expression lost its playfulness. “Sorry, it’s Carlton. Let me take this real quick.” He slipped onto the balcony.
As the glass door slid closed, I got up to find the menu in a kitchen drawer, where I thumbed through the embarrassingly large stack of carryout menus. My kitchen was pitifully underutilized, and I couldn’t claim skill with anything beyond boiling water and toasting bread. It might be nice to be able to spend time in the kitchen, versus always going out or digging through takeout menus. To do: Learn to cook. I smiled, imagining his surprise if I whipped out an apron. To do: Learn to cook Jake’s favorite meal.