Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Karen still insists I need to be open and honest with Brody, but I like my plan better. Avoidance is the key to mental health … said no mental health professional ever, but oh well. It’s working.
The last thing I want to do is blurt out “Oh, thought you should know, the reason I’m such a flake is because you kinda remind me of my ex who tried to kill me. And not in the we fought a lot sense, but literally in the charged with attempted murder kinda way.”
When it comes to baggage, airports have nothing on me.
I’ll have to tell him eventually. I don’t think I can avoid it forever, but for right now, we only see each other in passing, and I’m okay with that.
Obviously, he isn’t. Because as I land on the couch at seven, already dressed in workout gear just waiting for Brody to come home, he walks in the door two hours earlier than usual.
While Brody works an insane number of hours, he always manages to walk in at nine o’clock on the dot. He’s gone long before I wake up in the morning, and I swear I heard him up and about at four thirty the other day to get into the office.
Fuck that for a job.
He leaves before me and gets home after me, and I’ve never been more thankful to have a boring nine-to-five job.
Brody looks more dishevelled than usual as he walks through the living room and past me to get to the hall leading to his bedroom. He always looks a little tired when he comes home—goes with the territory of eighty-hour work weeks—but tonight … tonight it’s as if he’s not really here. His head’s held low, his steps are heavy, and everything about him screams exhaustion.
“You’re home early.”
He jumps as if I scared him, and his eyes snap to mine. “Shit. I didn’t even see you there … Uh, hey.” He breaks his gaze with mine, and his jaw seems tense, like he’s mashing his molars together.
“Bad day? You look like shit.”
“Bullshit. I always look hot.” His false front is completely see-through, and I think he knows it too because he immediately deflates. “But yeah, totally shitty day. I can honestly say today was probably the worst day of my entire career so far.”
“What happened?”
He sighs so loud, as if the weight of the world is behind it. “I can’t give a lot of details, but today was one of those days where I found out I have to represent someone who doesn’t deserve it. The piece-of-shit rapist belongs in prison.”
I tense and swallow hard. “He’s guilty?”
Hearing Brody represents people like that makes me queasy. Which is stupid, because I’ve always known he was a defence attorney. I guess knowing it and having to talk about it are two different things.
It makes me sick to my stomach, but I know that’s not Brody’s issue. It’s another one of mine that I have to deal with.
He throws himself on the couch next to me, his presence the butterfly-inducing phenomenon it always is. “I want to recuse myself, but I know that won’t happen. I’m not in a position to pick and choose my cases yet.”
I swallow thickly, as if my tongue’s too big for my mouth, and choke out any rationale I can find. “If every lawyer wanted innocent clients, I don’t think they’d get much work.”
He breaks into a smile. “Right. And I’m sure my dad’s going to say the exact same thing tomorrow.”
This is hitting a little too close to home. Kyle didn’t rape me, but he stole something from me. He stole my right to feel safe. From the many therapy sessions I’ve had with Karen, I’ve learned it’s how a lot of rape victims feel.
It brings back memories of Kyle’s trial. Although trial isn’t really the correct term for it, I guess. Brody would know—he’s the lawyer. Kyle had pleaded not guilty by reason of intoxication. Claimed he was high as a kite. The trial preparations had started, his defence team painted me as the instigator of the altercation, and then when I refused to testify because I couldn’t face being on the stand and reliving the fear, the hurt, the realisation that the man I once loved could break me so easily, the prosecutor offered Kyle a plea deal for the lesser charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. The physical scar isn’t the only thing that lingers from that day. I can no longer trust, no longer relax around people I’m close with. Law and my parents are the only people who I’m still me around, and even then I try to hide my neuroses because I hate when they worry about me.
Six years. Kyle only got six years for slitting my throat and leaving me on the floor of my apartment to bleed to death. Doesn’t seem like a fair trade when five and a half years later, I’m still paying for his actions.