“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 shit 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.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs. “I never told you about the real reason I moved to L.A., did I?”
I shake my head.
“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.”
“How long?”
“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.”
“Oh my God…”
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.”
“How?”
“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 fucked 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.”
“And you believed him?”
“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?”