Page 3 of If Our Hearts Collide

He is evil.

He is poison.

He is hatred.

He is permanent…a constant source of anxiety in a life full of variables. Yet he still finds a way to persevere through all of my happier moments, tainting all the goodness that I strive to achieve.

Mark doesn’t need bars to keep himself from me—he already has me. He finds me in my nightmares. He finds me in my reflection in the mirror. And he finds me when I’m trying to start up a relationship that goes beyond the boundaries of friendship.

He finds me.

Every look at me is a power play.

I shouldn’t have come here. I should have realized that nothing productive could come from facing the demon who has wreaked havoc in my head.

Mark may not have raped my body, but he raped my mind. He took more from me that day I was drugged than just my freedom and my memory.

He stole my trust in men.

And he stole my trust in myself.

“I may be in here while I await trial, Penny,” Mark chants in a singsong voice, “but there are other boogeymen out there in the big, bad world. And they make me look civilized and tame in my sexual preferences. So sleep with one eye open or”—he makeshis hands gopoof—“you may get taken in the darkness as a favor owed to me. And I always collect my debts.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You hate yourself.”

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” I snarl.

Mark shrugs. “I’m legally innocent until proven guilty. Wouldn’t it be absolutely mind-blowing if I was foundnotguilty?”

“You’re going to rot in here.”

“I can’t wait to see you break down in court. How fun to be reunited again. My lawyers are going to rip you to shreds, and I can’t wait for my heyday.”

“You’re delusional.”

Mark’s bottom lip gets sucked into his mouth and pops out. “You think I don’t have puppets on the outside—just waiting for my silent command? Because, Penny, there’s not a Hoffman on this planet that can keep me from gaining back everything I’ve lost. So be fucking careful. This is just intermission. The main event hasn’t even started yet.”

Without another word, I slam the phone down and stand up. My legs struggle to hold my weight, but I keep my head up as I walk out of the room. Every step seems unsteady, like I’m going to crumble into a million tiny pieces if I stay still.

So I keep walking.

One foot in front of the other…

And I never look back.

A worker checks me out on the computer, retrieves my personal belongings that I brought, and then I’m released.

When the fresh air hits my face, I’m made aware that I am crying. And like a dam breaking, I let the flood cleanse me of my bad choice in coming here.

Mark is messing with me. He’s trying to get under my skin, and I am letting him have that level of control.

I made it easy for him by coming here.

But I am not that broken girl anymore.

And I can prove it.

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