Chapter 22 Episode 22

“Maybe some coffee. Black, please.” I’m going to need some caffeine if I have any hope of making it through this day. She gives me a thumbs up and puts on a fresh pot to brew. When it’s burbling away, she turns back to me, leans against the counter, and grins mischievously. “Uh-oh,” I say. “I don’t think I like that look you’re giving me.” Her grin widens. “Sooo… does this distraction of yours have anything to do with the stud muffin I saw leaving your apartment last night?” Her smile gets wider. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, girl! I saw the guy. He was yummy. And that’s putting it lightly.” I cringe, my eyes falling down. “It’s not what you think.” “It was, like, midnight,” she points out. “I think it was exactly what I think.” She frowns. “Oh, come on, Jessa. It’s not like you’re involved with anyone, right? You’re a newly single woman and he’s a gorgeous man. Did you bang or did you not?” The question comes out a little sharp to my ears. Or maybe I’m just carrying the guilt of my complete lack of willpower where Anton Stepanov is concerned. “No, we did not ‘bang.’ It’s not like that.” But the moment I say it, I remember the way he kissed me last night. A power play, of course. But for a moment, I thought it was more. Pathetic, I know. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. I feel my shame compound as the coffee pot sings. “Freya,” I say, “you might want to take that off.” She yelps, then turns around to grab the pot and pour out black coffee into a shallow mug. “Here,” she says, thrusting it into my hands. “Now, back to the good stuff. Where did you meet him?” I curse myself for being so damn transparent. If I’d played this off better, she might have never suspected anything. But now, she’s looking at me with concern. “He isn’t a gigolo, is he?” “W-what?” I blurt, gaping at her. “Of course not!” She smiles. “Because no judgment, okay? A girl’s gotta get some, and that’s a real easy way to do it.” “Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “He’s not a prostitute. Actually, I kinda wish he was. That would make things so much simpler.” Freya’s eyes hit the roof and again, I curse myself for being so stupidly obvious today. But since the damage is already done, I decide to level with her. “Trust me, Freya. I don’t want to get you involved in this mess. You’re better off not knowing.” Her grin falters. “You’re starting to scare me, girl.” “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I tell her. “It’s just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anton. That’s his name. I’m in the process of ending things.” She looks confused now. “So you are involved with him?” “Sort of, but not romantically.” “Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not following me. “I can’t really talk about it.” “Jessa,” she says, grabbing my hand suddenly, “is he dangerous?” Her gaze is direct, piercing. And I’m a s**t liar. So I sigh and say, “I think so, yeah.” Somehow, this information doesn’t frazzle her the way it’s been frazzling me. She looks calmer and more determined than ever. Even her voice cools and hardens into steel. “It may surprise you to know that I’ve known men like him my whole life.” She sighs. “I never told you about the real reason I moved to L.A., did I?” “I was involved with a man,” she shares. “I believed for a long time that he was in love with me. I’d like to think I’m a smart woman, but the truth is, it took me a long time to figure out that real love doesn’t involve beatings and abuse and constant fighting.” Horror washes over me. “Oh my God, Freya…” My hand reaches for hers instinctively. She’s cold to the touch, like the memory itself is sucking the life out of her. She gives me a melancholy smile. “I stayed with him way longer than I should have.” “Two years,” she admits. “The first six months were more or less perfect. And then it started. He was controlling, possessive. At the time, I was stupid enough to justify his behavior by claiming he just loved me so much he didn’t know how to handle it. Then it got to a point where I couldn’t justify it anymore. If you love a person, how could you hit them? Scream at them? Tell them they’re worthless?” I squeeze her hand as dread does the same to my heart. “He did all that to you?” “That, and worse,” Freya says, her eyes dipping low for a moment. “Sometimes he used to hold me down just so he could watch me struggle. When he was really pissed, he’d choke me.” A shiver runs through her. “Every time I made up my mind that I was going to leave him, he’d convince me to stay.” “Sometimes, it would be as simple as a gesture. He’d come home with flowers. Red roses, because he knew they were my favorite. I’d tell myself that he’d only made a silly mistake. It wouldn’t happen again. But when he really f****d up, it was different. The first time he beat me, I had bruises up and down my stomach. That was the first night I packed my bags. It wasn’t the last.” “He convinced you to stay,” I guess. She nods as she bites her lip to keep the tears from spilling over. “He got down on his knees in front of me and begged me to stay. He pleaded for my forgiveness. He promised he would never do it again as long as he lived.” “A part of me did,” she says softly. “But I’ll be honest: I knew deep down that he would never stop. If you hit a woman once, you’ll do it again. If you’re capable of doing it at all, you’re capable of everything.” I find myself staring at Freya, marveling at how put together she is considering what she’s been through. She looks strong and capable and far from intimidated. She takes a deep breath. “He was so beautiful,” she whispers. “Dark hair and the most intense eyes I’ve ever seen. It was stupid, but I used to think, ‘He’s too beautiful to do such ugly things.’ But I was wrong. About that and so much else.” “Did you ever go to anyone for help?” “The thing about men like that is that they isolate you,” she explains. “He made me feel guilty about hanging out with my friends. Sometimes, he would pick a fight right after I came home from a night out with the girls. It got to the point when it was just easier for me to avoid going out. I’d stay at home and take care of him because that made him happy. I didn’t even realize what he was doing. At the time, it just felt like… love.” “That’s not love,” I say, shaking my head in disgust. “That’s abuse.” “I get that now.” She shrugs painfully. “Back then, though, it felt like he loved me so much that he couldn’t bear to be away from me. I thought about all my girlfriends who complained that their boyfriends never spent quality time with them. I just figured I was one of the lucky ones—I had a partner who wanted me around all the time. By the time I realized what he’d done, I’d drifted apart from most of my core friend group.” “What about your parents?” I ask. “Your family?” She nods. “He was rich and charming and my parents loved him. They saw only the charm and the wit and the good looks. If I so much as voiced one word of complaint, both of them would tell me to be grateful for landing a man like him. Which is why I never told them. They would’ve just taken his side.” “You don’t understand, Jessa,” she says, cutting me off. “I was terrified that they would believe him and not me. I didn’t think I could handle that. So I just… left. And now, I’m here.” She blushes. “I didn’t really ask, per se. Didn’t really tell him, you know? I left him a note. Said it was over and that I was leaving him for a fresh start somewhere else. I implied it was in England. And then I booked a flight to Los Angeles.” She gives me a shaky laugh. “I never expected to tell that story so soon. Especially not to someone I just met.” “You can trust me,” I say firmly. She nods. “I know I can. And I hope you can trust me, too, Jessa. I don’t know what exactly you’ve got going on with that man, but no matter how beautiful he is—trust me, it’s not worth it.” It’s got the ring of truth to it. If only I could remember that piece of advice the next time Anton’s hand is snaking up my thigh, his breath heating my lips, his— I shake off the image immediately. There won’t be a next time. I’ll never let him get that close again. It’s a promise I make to myself, but even as I make it, I feel doubt follow like a shadow. Making a promise is one thing. Keeping it is a whole ‘nother ball game.