Page 106 of Deliverance

An invisible fist punches me in my stomach. “A hearing?”

Miranda nods. “You need to have a full court hearing in order for a judge to grant you a restraining order that can last up to five years. Or longer if necessary.”

I sink into my chair even deeper. “This isn’t what I expected.”

“I’m sorry, Drew, but that’s my recommendation. I really think you should move forward with the restraining order. If your husband decides to contest before the judge issues a default order for the divorce, at the very least, we’ll have some leverage.”

My brain hurts from all the legal lingo. I’m starting to feel dizzy. “And if he does contest?”

“Then we go to court.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can.” Miranda gives me a small smile. “From a legal standpoint, your husband hasn’t done anything wrong yet, but I’ve worked with a lot of cases that involve domestic violence, and in my experience—” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Filing a restraining order is the best course of action.”

Ten minutes later, I leave Miranda’s office even more confused than before I stepped foot in the building this morning. Everything she said I should do makes total sense, but my mind can’t seem to get past an invisible barrier.

Filing a restraining order against Rhys means letting the world know I’m a victim.

And I don’t want to be a victim.

I don’t want to be just another statistic.

My phone vibrates in my purse as I slip into the back of an Uber. The message is from Santiago.

Bae: Just saw this on TMZ.

Attached is a link that I click so fast, I’m startled by my reaction.

The page takes a few seconds to load, and when it does, crazed panic surges through me. I read the headline over and over again, my hands trembling.

Local Artist Secretly Visits The Deviant’s Drummer in a Los Angeles Hospital after He Crashes His Lamborghini

There it is. The beginning of the end.

Below it, there’s a grainy shot of me leaving the medical center. I don’t know who took it. I don’t remember anyone photographing me at all, but then again, by the time Zander and I said our goodbyes, the area outside looked like Dodgers Stadium’s parking lot an hour before the game.

I close my messages and dial Santiago’s number.

“Girlfriend, I predict you’ll be trending on Twitter in thirty minutes,” he yells over the hip hop song playing in the background.

“Seriously?” I’m already thinking of mean names I’ll program into my phone instead ofBae.

“Come on.” He keeps his tone light. “You knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Maybe it's a sign from above.”

“How is it a sign from above?” I grit my teeth and attempt to stay as calm as possible for the sake of the poor Uber driver, who’s looking even more rattled than me as we merge with the traffic.

“Maybe no matter how hard you try to keep your life contained, it’s not meant to be contained. Maybe your whole purpose is to shine.”

“Are you high?” I laugh.

“Don’t insult me, babe. You know I don’t do that shit.”

“You sound too preachy.”

“I’ve been on TV, remember?”

“How’s that going, by the way?” With everything happening, I totally forgot about Jean-Luc.

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