“What trial?” I blurt out.
Kevin’s eyes widen as if the realization didn’t just smack him; it stabbed him in the gut. “I—”
“He nearly killed a girl. His girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend.” She sits back with a smug look on her face, as if she just threw another dog into the fight.
I snap my attention to Kevin, pulling my hand away from him.
“That’s not exactly what happened,” he says with his hands up in defense.
Darkness closes around my vision until I feel as if I’m looking down a tunnel. I stand and try to back away, tripping on the chair and hitting my back on the corner of the wall.
“Skye, let me explain!”
I run. I run as fast as I can out the door and toward the car. I slip behind it, slide to the ground, and lean my back against the bumper. The distant sound of Kevin’s voice tries to break through the ringing in my ears, and I clutch them with my hands as I bury my head against my knees. There are no rational thoughts in my head. Only fear and anxiety. I can feel the betrayal, but I can’t confront it. I can’t confront him.
Images of my father and uncle flash in my mind. The scenes play out like some fucked-up movie, and I’m the star. I feel things I haven’t in years. I see things I tucked into the recesses of my mind. I’m suffocating. Hands circle around my throat, and I’m unable to fight them away. I’m too frozen with fear. I’m panicking.
Kevin’s words grow louder and echo in my ears. His cold hands grab at my arms and morph into the pale, wrinkled skin of someone else. Warmth presses against me, and his words pierce through me, drawing me away from the scene in my mind. He cuts the film. The blurred darkness recedes, and my vision clears. Instead of feeling relief, the sight of his face makes me scoot away from him.
“Hey, stop.” His voice is calm but firm. “You need to get in the car.”
“I won’t,” I say with a shake of my head.
“She’ll call the police, Skye. I need you to trust me and get in the car.”
I swallow hard and look back at the house. His mother stands behind the screen door with a phone in her hand. I crawl to my tired knees, force myself into the backseat of the car, and collapse against the rough fabric with heaving breaths.
“Just go,” I tell him.
He puts the car in drive and circles back to the narrow driveway. He heads toward the road, and cars whiz past us.
“Skye.”
“Fuck you.” I snarl my words at him. Fuck you, Kevin.
“Please let me explain.” He sounds more desperate now.
I don’t respond.
“My PTSD got really bad when I was with my ex. I wasn’t sleeping for days on end. During a nightmare, I choked her. I didn’t know what was happening or what I was doing. I thought I was somewhere else.”
I still don’t speak.
“I’ve never laid a hand on you. I’d never hurt you.”
“I’m sure you said that to her, too.”
“What she and I had is not this. It’s not what we have.”
“Lucky me.”
“Please, stop. You’ve seen my panic attacks. I’ve been angry around you. I’ve been sleepless around you. But I’ve only wanted to protect you.”
My memories wander to his outbursts. He’d sling words he didn’t mean and throw glasses to vent his anger. I now see these situations in a whole new light. Or maybe it’s in a whole new darkness. I’m afraid of him. I’ve spent my whole life being hurt, and I thought I finally found safety. But he’s not safe. I’m not safe.
“I want you to take me home,” I command.
“We are going home.”
“No, I mean to my parents. I want to go home.”
“Skye, I’m not letting you—”
“You don’t have a choice.”
I take back my words. I can’t love an abuser.