Page 167 of Unhinged

My mouth is so fucking dry. “I wanted to be an advocate for victimized kids, especially those assaulted like me. Though I was legally an adult but barely eighteen, I was still a teenager. I wanted to seek justice for them. I still do…”

Simone bites her lip. “I’m confused. How could you do that?”

I inhale a deep breath. “By becoming a juvenile prosecuting attorney.”

Her hand slackens in mine. “Oh. Holy shit.”

I rush with, “I know it’s shocking. It’ll take years to finish law school and pass the bar exam, but if I can help just one kid like me get the justice I never sought, it’d be all worth it.”

She’s quiet, and my heart thumps in my head, ears, and eyes. Now nervous, I rasp, “What’s your take?”

“You wouldn’t leave me because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life yet?”

My eyebrows jerk together, confused. “Why would I leave you?”

“Because I’m not as smart as you. It’s like you’ll be a rock star, and I’ll be clambering to get your attention with the rest of your groupies.”

I laugh. “That’s far from fucking reality. You always would be the only person I’d want to see for any reason. When not in court, I’d be doing a shit ton of paperwork and in constant meetings. Not glamorous.”

I play with her wedding ring as she mutters, “Law school is not cheap.”

I inhale and roll my eyes. “I know. But if I kiss Amos’s ass for the rest of eternity, then I won’t have to pay much at all.”

“What school?”

“That’s up to you.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you want to stay here or go back to Richmond, Dover, or somewhere new? Didn’t you want to go for your master’s degree?”

“Yes, but I can go anywhere. This is all you. You’d move to Dover?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

“Where would you rather be?”

“Don’t care. You’re my priority, but I can’t do this without my wife. That’s a fact, buttercup.” When Simone is quiet, I squeeze her hand and glance at her. “Say something. If you don’t want me to, I…”

“You will, no matter what I think.”

“I want your blessing. This affects your life too.”

“So you want to work with traumatized kids?”

“I wish there weren’t any, but…yeah.”

Simone is quiet until she shakes her head. “You’re not ready. I don’t support this. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?”

“Because of what happened in the shower. We cannot glaze past that. You are in no position to advocate for damaged kids when you won’t address your own trauma.”

Exasperated, I sigh before arguing, “I don’t want the whole fucking bar knowing what happened to me!”

“Maybe they should. If you’re open and honest with people, they’ll respect you more and maybe even ask for your help.”

“Jesus Christ, Simone.” I try to let go of her hand, but she clamps her fingers.

---