Page 39 of Hold Me Before You Go

A single tear fell down Monica’s cheek as she tried to keep her composure. “Fuck you, Brandon.”

He slowly twisted his neck to look at her once more, scratching his belly with his meaty hand. “Go somewhere so I can get on with this,” he clipped, the friendly tone vanishing from his voice completely.

I silently cursed. My plan worked…to an extent.

Monica shot a look to me before she sneered. “He hated touching you.”

I said nothing.

“He hatedfuckingyou.”

Again, I said nothing, staring at her.

She let out a growl of frustration and surged forward, getting in my face. “He couldn’t stand you. He hated your fucking hair. He hated the way you looked. You were always too fat for him,” she hissed before yanking up her shirt to show her mid-section.

My heart stopped at the sight of it. Her ribs were showing, as well as her hip bones. It felt almost as if I was staring in the mirror, the old version of me crying out for mercy.

My eyes flicked up to hers, feeling sorry for her, even more so at the pride sparkling in her eyes.

“This is what a real woman is supposed to look like. You could never achieve this,” she boasted, trying to taunt me.

All at once, Brandon faded from the room, and it was just her and me. I didn’t care about getting answers out of him, not anymore. I didn’t care if he was losing patience. I didn’t even care if he was in the room at this point. Before I could stop it, the heavy question fell from my lips.

“Is the pain worse in the mornings or at night?” I whispered.

She jerked back, her shirt falling again as that sparkle of pride in her eyes died, leaving behind the usual pain and hatred. I continued, “For me, it was in the mornings. I didn’t need an alarm clock; the hunger pains usually woke me up. I couldn’t wait for Robert to make me my daily breakfast.”

“Stop,” she breathed, shaking her head.

“Two egg whites and a single piece of buttered toast,” I whispered, a lump growing in my throat. “Some days, took thirty minutes just to eat the meal so I would feel fuller longer.”

“You don’t—”

“Of course, this was after my morning workout.” My eyes scanned her face as I added quietly, “Did he make you workout too?”

She was stunned, her face twisting in denial. In her eyes, I could never understand her, but I did. She had to be better than me; if not, then what else did she have to hold on to? Robert was gone, and she had nothing, while I moved on and foundeverything.

“How old were you when he decided your natural body—yourhealthybody wasn’t good enough for him, Monica? Thirteen? Fourteen?” I pressed, my voice soft.

She may hate me, but we were the same.

We were both victims of Robert Hale.

The only difference?

She actually received his love, while I received his anger.

“When did you start smoking?” I asked. “You know, I contemplated it for a long time, smoking. I’d read in a woman’s magazine it could curb your appetite, but I was too scared that the smell would upset Robert.”

I leaned forward as much as I could after she took another step back, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. For the first time since seeing her, she looked alive—seen.

“When was the last time you had a decent meal, Monica?”

She looked at Brandon for help, but he would never understand. He couldn’t understand.

My curls fell over my shoulders now, hanging down in tangles, my face and body aching as I gave her the final blow. “Robert’s gone,” I whispered. “You don’t have to keep starving yourself. His approval doesn’t mean shit from the grave.”

Before I knew it, she was in front of me again, her palm connecting with the aching side of my face. My head snapped to the side as burning pain spread throughout my cheek and up my temple, leaving behind an intense throb. I kept my head to the side, clenching my jaw as she leaned in, hissing in my ear. “You knownothing.” Then, she was gone, the hotel door slamming behind her.

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