Page 24 of Undeniably Enemies

It took me a long time after him to seek anything beyond a meaningless fling. A very long time. Then I met Theo. He was a fellow medical student, and I liked him instantly. He had no idea what being a Fritz meant. He was from a small town in the South and had family money of his own, and he wanted me. No lies. No manipulation. No regret or rejection.

He asked me out, and that was that.

For a year, everything was amazing. We moved in together, and my friends loved him. Even Owen and my dad loved him, which is saying something considering how overprotective they can be.

Then, little by little, things started to change. Unravel. He wasn’t doing well in school, and I was. He didn’t like me going out with my friends if he wasn’t around and often accused me of cheating or flirting with other guys. I even found him checking my call and text logs to try to prove this. A month or two after things started getting bad, his dad died unexpectedly, and he refused to go to the funeral, claiming he couldn’t missclass. He’d grow angry and defensive anytime I asked about it, even to the point where he pushed me into a wall and yelled before he stormed out.

That’s when I had Vander start to do some digging for me.

It turned out his father had left everything to his brother and sister and nothing to him. I discovered he hadn’t spoken to his parents in over three years, and they had disowned him after a violent incident with his little sister that nearly cost her her life. He had no money and was surviving on student loans, credit cards, and some money he had stolen from his family before he left and never looked back.

I packed up my belongings and ended things with him that night. He didn’t do well with that and would call and text me at all hours of the day and night, and even though he stopped going to classes, he’d still show up outside of them to try to talk to me. That went on for a few weeks until I threatened to go to the police and get a restraining order if he didn’t back off.

He did, and I thought the nightmare with him was over.

For two months, I didn’t hear anything from him, and as far as I knew from Vander, he’d left Boston and moved to New York. I was out jogging along the Charles River one evening when someone jumped me at knifepoint. He dragged me over to a set of bushes, knocked me to the ground, forced his weight on me from behind, and locked my wrists above my head to hold me in place. Things got worse from there, but I fought and fought and fought.

But despite my best efforts, he had me until I managed to free my keys and sound my panic button on my keychain. An off-duty cop happened to be nearby jogging and saved me. I spent two days in the hospital and swore my family and the people who knew to secrecy. I didn’t want it on the news. I didn’t want it to spread to my ten thousand uncles, aunts, and cousins. And definitely not to my grandparents, Boston’s reigning king and queen.

I survived, but more than that, I became a survivor.

One with the peace of mind of knowing I no longer have to worry about my attacker and that he can’t hurt me again.

Still, I learned that no matter how good of a person I thought I was, no matter how hard I tried to be the person I wanted everyone to see me as, no matter how many stories I fed everyone, my internal compass was broken. It wasn’t leading me true north. I was askew and off-kilter, often feeling like a ghost in a crowded room. Learning to trust ourselves and simply be after a trauma might be the hardest thing in the world. But it’s also the most important.

That and not blaming ourselves for the actions of others.

Therapy started me off, but when therapy wasn’t helping anymore, or maybe just not enough, I started these classes and never looked back. It’s been life-changing and transformative. It’s given me a sense of control and empowered me not to live in fear. Do I have setbacks? Absolutely. Do I have a touch of OCD? Yep, but that’s also part of my control factor, and I don’t hate it. Have I had healthy sex or a relationship since? Nope, but I’m not there yet. And I think that’s okay. I think everyone heals and does things in their own time and way. I don’t have time for a relationship right now anyway, nor do I want one.

So for now, it works.

I hop out of my car, toss my cup in a nearby trashcan, and head into the gym.

The smell of rubber mats, bleach, and sweat hits me, and I smile the same smile I do every time I walk in here and go to the back where the private studios are.

“Hey, Wren,” Margot, the head nurse from the ER, greets me. She’s the one who turned me on to this class and is a survivor herself. I was brought to the ER at MGH that night, and Margot was there along with Callan and Layla. They saved me. They protected my privacy. It’s why MGH was my first choice of hospitals and trauma centers. Being there on theother side and able to save people the way I was saved is all I’ve wanted.

Now I’m not sure what to do with that, but that’s a thought for another day.

“Hey!” I come over to where she’s standing with a few other women we’re in this class with. For a few minutes, we do a check-in. It’s our way of talking about anything that’s plaguing us or anything we want to work through with people who get it. It’s a support network we all share, but then our sensei arrives.

“Are we ready, ladies?”

After that, it’s all work and no chat for a solid hour. By the time I leave the gym, I’m sore, sweaty, and exhausted but feel like a million bucks. That is until I make the grave mistake of deciding to pick up dinner from a salad and bowl place around the corner for a change instead of making dinner at home tonight. I get in line along with the rush hour crew and stare up at the menu that’s displayed on a large flatscreen high above the counter.

“The tuna poke bowl is very good, as is the autumn harvest bowl, but I’d get that one without beets.”

His breath brushes against the back of my exposed neck, and immediately my eyes close and my breath stalls in my chest. I shudder ever so slightly, but it’s not in fear or revulsion despite the fact that he’s behind me. Maybe it’s because he smells so freaking good or because he’s not actually touching me.

“Why no beets?” I ask, refusing to turn around.

“Do you like beets?”

“I’m indifferent.”

“They taste like dirt.”

My lips twitch. “So? What’s your objection to dirt?”

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