Page 80 of The Dixon Rule

PERCY:

I understand why you’re angry, but I truly am sorry. You pushed me and my reaction was purely instinctual.

PERCY:

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

PERCY:

I don’t hit women.

PERCY:

You know that’s not who I am.

The last message is from me to him. In no uncertain terms, I spell out what’s what.

ME:

You need to leave me alone. If you don’t, I’m going to the police. I’m really fucking serious right now. I’m going to block you now, and I don’t want you in my life anymore. Goodbye, Percy. Have a nice life. Fuck off.

I followed through on the threat and blocked him. I don’t know whether he kept messaging after that. I can only assume he did. But on my end, it’s completely closed off.

Along with the screenshots, I’ve also been monitoring my bruise. I took pictures of it the first night, and every day since. I don’t know why. I don’t plan on pressing charges. I believe him when he says he didn’t mean to do it, yet I can’t erase the memory of his eyes. For one terrifying moment, those brown irises had been downright feral. Although perhaps that only backs up his defense, that it was an animalistic instinct to defend himself because he thought—

What? That you were a threat? You’re 5’1” and 110 pounds! What the hell were you going to do to him?

The incredulous voice in my head is correct, of course. But I still silence it. I don’t want to dwell on this. I don’t want to think about Percy anymore or remember that surreal, foreign sensation of fear clamped around my windpipe.

I force myself to rise from the bench and leave the locker room. I can’t hide in here forever. I can’t hide in my apartment, either, which is what I’ve been doing for days, and as I head down the sidewalk away from the high school, I vow not to let what Percy did turn me into something I’m not. A coward and a shut-in. A basket case.

When my phone rings in my hand, I flinch instinctively. Luckily, Percy hasn’t found a way to contact me. But it is my dad calling, which is probably even worse. I’m expected to put on a brave face when I’m talking to Dad. Or maybe not expected; it’s not something he’s explicitly stated he requires of me. But falling apart in front of my father is not an option. I can’t remember the last time I cried in his presence or showed even a sliver of vulnerability.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says after I answer the call.

“Hey, good timing. I just got out of camp. I’m walking home.”

“Perfect. I wanted to touch base. Make sure the shower temperature is still to your liking.”

“Yep, it’s great.”

“How’s life? Everything good?”

“Everything’s great.”

“You sure?” Concern fills his voice. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

Shit. I paste on a brighter tone, but I’m not the best liar, so I opt for a half-truth.

“Mostly great,” I amend. “Percy is still kind of bugging me.”

“The ex?”

“Yes. He can’t get the hint that I don’t want to get back together.”

Dad chuckles. “Well, I’d offer to beat him up for you, but I know you’re perfectly capable of handling him on your own.”

“You know it.” I laugh weakly. “Don’t worry. I already told him to fuck off.”

---