Page 54 of A Winter in New York

“Nothing. Honestly, it’s fine,” she whispers. “You can go.”

“Give her her phone back and get lost,” I hiss. “Or I’ll call the police. You choose.” I pull my cellphone from my back pocket. “You’ve got exactly ten seconds.”

He stares at me, desperate not to do as he’s told by a woman twice his age and a good foot shorter, but I don’t flinch a muscle.I’ve dealt with worse than you, shithead,I think, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Seven. Eight.” I tap my phone screen into life and stare him down.

He all but growls as he bares his teeth and chucks the girl’s phone on the ground as he shoulders past me.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, right down my ear.

“Eat glass,” I spit back, watching him leave.

I push my cellphone back into my pocket and turn to the girl. “Jade, right?” I pick up her phone and wipe it on my jeans before handing it back to her.

“Thanks,” she says. “I was all right, you didn’t need to do that.”

“Oh, I really did,” I say, matter-of-fact. She passes her hand down her face and I see she’s shaking. My heart rages.

“Let’s sit for a minute, give him time to bugger off.” I nod toward a couple of concrete steps leading to the side entrance of one of the stores.

“Can I tell you something?” I say, sitting alongside her.

She shrugs, hunched forward, hands clasped around her phone.

“Is it to dump him?”

“Oh God, yes. Drop him like a stone,” I say, no hesitation. “Because he won’t change. He’ll only get worse, and you’ll get more and more isolated.”

She takes a slow breath. “He doesn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I nod. “My ex didn’t hit me either. Violence isn’t the only form of abuse. How long have you been together?”

She sits back and sighs, resting her head against the door. “Seven months. Maybe eight.” She slants a look at me. “He isn’t like that with anyone else.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “Everyone thinks he’s a right laugh.”

She nods.

“And he doesn’t like your friends, so it’s easier to just not see them.” I don’t phrase it as a question, saving her the bother of trying to defend the indefensible.

“My ex took everything from me. For the last year wewere together I didn’t have a cellphone, or a bank card, or a door key. He dismantled my entire life, made me doubt myself, and I blamed myself for the way he treated me. He called me his little mouse, because I spent my days and my nights scurrying around the place trying not to do or say the wrong thing, desperate not to make him angry.”

Jade finally looks at me properly, and I can see she’s listening and, in parts, relating. Hopefully she’s too young to have gone too far down this black hole, and maybe she’s also too young to hear some of my unvarnished truths, but I can see her teetering on the edge of real trouble and I feel like it’s my job to stand guard.

“Jade, this will not get better,” I say. “I stayed with my ex for two years, and the truth is I’m still looking over my shoulder. I finally left him on Christmas Day, threw all my most precious belongings into a suitcase while he was passed out from vodka.”

“And you’re all right now?”

I lift one shoulder. “I’m working on it. Challenging assholes in alleyways, that sort of thing.”

She rolls her eyes. “You made a good Marvel superhero.”

I suppose I did, looking back. “Next time you see him, look him square in the eye and tell him—”

“To eat glass?” she cuts across me, wide-eyed, and half laughs.

“Schitt’s Creekinspired,” I say.

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