I clutched the fabric of his T-shirt, taking in his pained expression. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” Desperation rose in me, an almost frantic need to convince him. I don’t want to be alone. “I’ve screwed everything up, Jake. With us. Just let me prove to you I’m worth another shot.”
“Naya.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t have to prove anything.” He moved from my waist to cup my cheek, avoiding the tender side of my face. “You’re always scared people will be disappointed. What I texted you? I’m so ashamed I said those things. You didn’t deserve that.”
What he’d said during our last text exchange came back to me. Fifty times, I’d reread the message where he said I was scared. That maybe I was broken.
“Right now, I want to wrap you in my arms and protect you from everything.” His brows dipped. “But you don’t need me or anyone else to do that.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. I opened my mouth but didn’t have the words. He’s right, about all of it.
“I don’t know what that means for us, and I’d never ask you to hash that out after everything that happened today. For now, I just want you to feel safe, and I’m not going anywhere if you want me here.”
I nodded, untangling my fingers from the fabric of his shirt. “Okay,” I said in a voice just above a whisper. “I want you here.”
He nodded and kissed my cheek, a soft peck at my temple, before wrapping me in his arms again.
Forty-three
Four weeks later, I sat in my office on a Thursday afternoon, preparing for classes to begin.
The return of the students would give campus the energy and life that made me excited to be a professor. The summer had been a whirlwind, and there was something to be said for returning to normal. Of course, not everything was normal.
Davis’s assault had dredged up emotions and memories from when we dated. I rarely slept well, but recently I hadn’t been sleeping at all, and every unexpected noise or sudden movement left me quaking, startling awake prepared to fight. Davis had been charged, though the lawyer I spoke with said it would likely be reduced and assisted me with an order of protection. Looking in the mirror, I could see that the large bruise had faded but been replaced by puffy eyes and dark circles. I’d finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t handle it all alone anymore, that maybe I’d never really handled it at all.
To do: Make an appointment with a counselor.
Out the open window, the cool breeze swept through my office, and my phone buzzed on my desk.
Jake: Is there such a thing as a groomzilla?
Naya: Eric?
Jake: Tyson.
Naya: Really?
Jake: He’s in charge of the cake—it’s his one job. Best man = my job, too.
Naya: It doesn’t sound like such a hardship.
Jake: Do you want to do the next four tastings with him? Why are there so many bakeries in this town?
Naya: Enjoy some frosting for me.
Jake had returned to North Carolina two days after the retreat, promising he’d come back anytime I wanted. We’d shared a long embrace, he’d kissed my cheek with soft, promising lips, and then he was gone.
He still loved me. He hadn’t said it, but I could feel it in how he touched me, how he looked at me. I was scared, though, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. The night he left, he’d texted.
Jake: How are you?
Naya: I’m ok. Felicia came over.
Jake: Good.
The next night he’d sent Thinking about you and I’d responded with Good night. Same the next night. Clutching my phone like a teddy bear before bed, I looked forward to the messages, and they came night after night without fail.
Finally, I’d initiated an exchange. Good morning. I’m thinking about you, too. Since then, we’d traded short good morning and good night messages every day, periodically sharing small parts of our day or updates. Things weren’t back to the way they were, but they were within sight of normal.
Before leaving the camp, Jill had approached me, squeezed my shoulder, and we’d exchanged a knowing look. Away from the rush of the moment in the woods, I recognized the flash of shame wash over her expression. It was a look I knew so well, but I’d never looked for it on someone else. I wanted to reach out, to tell her she didn’t have to endure him, that she wasn’t alone, but I didn’t have the words, and people surrounded us. I squeezed her hand, which I hoped conveyed everything I didn’t want to say in such a public space. I hoped she found her strength sooner than I’d found mine. We hadn’t talked yet, but I knew we would.