at the very least.
I did a lot of research at work, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the Carneys’ threats. A crime hasn’t been committed, so I can’t go to the police. They have to wait for me or Benjamin to get hurt before they can follow up.
It’s not a surprise—I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that women often take their fears to the authorities and are met with sympathy, but little else.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to up and leave—first and last month’s rent alone would wipe out my savings, and I’d need to find something Benjamin and I could share. The house is in my father’s name, so even though I cover most of the mortgage I have nothing to show for it.
I could still go to the Globe, and that’s my reserve plan. With the election on Tuesday, it doesn’t make sense to stir the pot. Not yet.
So it’s waiting. And worrying. Which is where the wine comes in. It’s not as good as the glass Finn gave me last night. Jamilah told me that was a two-hundred-dollar glass of wine. I hope Finn appreciated the part of the evening where I chugged it after telling his father to fuck off.
I look at his message again. Do I want to meet him?
A wave of excitement and disgust passes through me. I can’t help but remember coming under him last night, and an echo of that pleasure moves through me. Intellectually my attraction to him is gone, but physically? Still there.
It’s hard to reconcile the pleasure with the pain of his orchestrating that second assault.
Apparently his father caught him up on our morning conversation.
Is this another setup? What’s the smart thing to do here? Even if I do hear him out, how can I believe anything he says? I couldn’t see through his lies, not at all.
I drink another glass of wine, looking around my bedroom. There are still vestiges from when I was a little girl, and it’s depressing what a small life I’m leading. I’m trapped here by my responsibility to others, just like I was trapped in Finn’s apartment. Not directly by him, but by the fear of what would happen to me and the people who rely on me if I left before he was ready for me to go.
Until now, I’d been focused on getting through to the end of the summer, but even if I manage to get Benjamin in school, then what? What’s next for me?
It’s unrealistic to think I could pick up and move to California with Benjamin. We don’t have that kind of money, and even if we did, he needs his own space to grow. As much as I hate to admit it, Finn was spot on about that. He can’t be a man if I don’t get at least partially out of the way.
I turn my phone over in my hands a few times.
Fuck it. What have I got to lose at this point, anyway?
Dunks on the corner of Broadway and Union in Everett. 9:00am. Tomorrow.
It didn’t have to be that early, but it satisfies the petty part of my brain. Finn’s a late riser. Fucking bizarre that I know that about him already.
It means I have to be up super early the next day to get ready, and I am. I can’t face Finn without some kind of armor on. I pull on the skinny jeans and a long-sleeved off-shoulder top. It’s elasticized and clings to my curves. I’m tired of being embarrassed by my body.
Strapless bras will take some getting used to, but the neckline of this shirt dips too low for a regular one.
I walk over to the Dunks, snow crunching under my boots. My ankle is a little wonky, but so much better than a week ago. I still have to cover the bruises on my neck with makeup, but those are fading too.
I get there by 8:57 exactly, buy a coffee, and wait for Finn at a table in the corner. I shrug my coat off.
He comes in the door right on time.
My stomach does little flips when I see him, and I have to force myself to remember why we’re here. The barista does a double take as he passes by. No one that good-looking comes into this Dunkin Donuts. His long strides have him at my table in seconds.
His hair is messy, and his usual five o’clock shadow is a little thicker. I push my