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She nods, turning her face away. I hit play with the speakerphone on. She starts sobbing halfway through his tirade.
Fiery rage tears through me as I listen to his drunken rampage. That motherfucker. I’m going to rip his goddamn head off. I look down to find my hands fisted, ready to beat the shit out of him. It’s all I can do not to storm out and find his sorry ass.
Then I glance at the shattered woman beside me, crying her eyes out. I pull her onto my lap and cradle her against my chest.
“Ignore him,” I growl. “He’s just mouthing off because his pride is wounded.”
“He didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
I turn her tearstained face to mine. “Listen to me,” I say firmly. “He’s just an angry drunk running his mouth. He’s not used to being put in his place. Blake’s a player. He’s the one who walks away from a woman, not the other way around. His ego couldn’t handle being called out this morning. He’s hurting you to make himself feel better. None of that bullshit he said is true, Charlie, not one word.”
But she’s too drunk to listen to reason.
She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face as she stumbles over her words. “I’ll always be alone. He’s right. I’m too fucked up. Scars on my body. Scars in my mind. A scarred monster. I don’t get a happily-ever-after.”
I want to find Blake, rip his spine out, and beat him to a pulp with it. Instead, I nestle Charlie deeper into my chest and stroke her hair. “You’re wrong, Baby Girl. He’s the monster.” She turns her face into my shoulder, crying until she falls asleep.
When she wakes several hours later, it’s dark. She’s still on my lap, though I’ve shifted her so her head’s on a throw pillow with her legs curled next to me. Without warning, she claps her hand over her mouth and bolts for the bathroom across the hall, barely making it in time to throw up everything she’s eaten today and then some.
I join her a moment later, dropping my crutches and leaning against the sink for balance as I pull her hair back and secure it with a hair tie lying on the counter. I grab a clean face cloth, soaking it with cool water and wringing it out before draping it across the back of her neck. I rub her shoulders while she kneels there, her stomach still heaving, but nothing left to throw up.
Eventually her stomach settles and she sits back on the floor, closing the toilet lid and resting her head against it after flushing. She takes the washcloth from her neck and wipes her face.
“How do you feel?”
Her voice is hoarse. “Like there’s an army of jackhammers in my head.”
“How’s your stomach?”
“Empty, so we’re safe.” She slides back to lean against the wall. “Sit,” she says, gesturing to the closed toilet.
I balance against the sink and sit down. “When you’re feeling better, we need to get some water into you, and maybe some food. Later,” I add when she raises an eyebrow.
She pulls up her knees and lays her head on them, her face turned away. “You wanna hear something stupid?” Her tone is subdued. “I felt bad for Blake after he left this morning.”
I scowl. “Why?”
“I felt like I’d been too harsh. I thought maybe he didn’t realize calling me a victim was insulting, or that emphasizing that he still saw me as beautiful –” her voice breaks “– that he didn’t mean it to be condescending or patronizing. I thought maybe it was an extension of last night, like he still didn’t know what to say and he was grasping at straws. Even so, I was proud of myself for standing up for what I deserved.”
“You should be proud. You were right.”
She shakes her head. “I’d like to think I deserve a happily-ever-after, but there’s a lot of truth in his words, even if I don’t want to admit it.”
I shake my head fiercely. “No, there’s not. He’s a mean drunk who lashed out like a little bitch when you injured his pride. He’s a life coach, okay? A control freak. He’s used to telling people what to do and having them do exactly what he says. He sat outside last night planning how this was going to go. When you didn’t fall in line with his expectations, it pissed him off, and he showed his true colors. He’s an asshole, Charlie. Don’t let him get inside your head.”
She lifts her head, and her bleak expression makes my heart ache. “He didn’t say anything I haven’t believed for a long time.”
“Just because you feel something's true doesn't mean it is, Charlie. You’re wrong about yourself.”
This isn’t a battle I’m going to win tonight. It’s going to take a lot more than one conversation in a half bathroom to show Charlie her value. I study her carefully. “So what happens now?”
Green eyes hold mine for a split second before her expression fades. “Nothing. I move on.”
I recognize the emotional detachment in her eyes. It’s the coping mechanism she always turns to when things are painful. She tells herself it doesn’t matter and buries her hurt. Eventually, the pain resurfaces and has to be dealt with. I don’t push the issue, though. She’s not up to it tonight.
I plant my left leg firmly and brace my left hand against the wall, then reach my right one out to her. “Let me help you up.” She grips my hand and I hoist her to her feet. She leans down and collects my crutches, then waits while I stand.
