Page 84 of Stay Away from Him

I was home with the girls the next day—yesterday, the day before I’m writing this. Thomas had gone into the officefor something or other. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, with nothing in particular to do. I was thinking about a glass of wine when a loud knock came at the door. I went to answer it.

I’d only opened it a crack when it came flying back toward me, pushed by some incredible force. The edge of it caught me on the forehead and I staggered back. As the door flew open, Derek Gordon came rushing in, huge and red-faced with fury.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said. “Don’t you dare call my work and report me.”

“I asked you to leave me alone,” I said. My voice sounded quavery and fearful in my own ears, and I hated it—hated my weakness. “You weren’t listening. I had to do something.” I put my hand against my head where the door had hit me. It came away wet and bloody.

“I was trying to help you, you understand that?” Derek yelled, his voice growing, ballooning.

“Keep your voice down,” I pleaded. The girls were in the house somewhere, and I knew they were listening. Hearing everything.

“If you don’t want my help, then you can fucking die in this house for all I care,” Derek said. “But don’t you dare try to make me out to be the bad guy here. I had to beg the person who took your report to take my name off it. I could get in a lot of trouble for that if anyone found out. Don’t do it again. Or I’ll kill you.”

Then he turned and left, leaving the door wide open, still swinging on its hinges.

***

I knew I was in trouble as soon as Thomas got home. He went upstairs, and right away I heard the girls’ footsteps, coming out of their rooms to intercept him. Muffled voices through the floor.

Then Thomas came down, met me in the kitchen, where I was sitting with a glass of wine. Trying to calm my nerves. There was a bandage on my forehead—the wound from the door hadn’t turned out to be big, and the bleeding had stopped.

“The girls tell me a man came by today,” Thomas said. “They say he shouted at you. Is that true?”

“It is,” I said, bracing myself for what I knew was coming.

“Rhiannon said it’s not the first time she saw him. She said he talked to you at the grocery store last weekend.”

“He did.”

“And that she also saw him coming out of our house a week before that. She said she saw him kiss you. Is that right?”

“It is.”

“Did you have sex with him?”

Something broke in me then. I felt a fullness at the back of my throat as I spoke. “I’m so sorry, Thomas. But I did.”

“In our bed?”

I dropped my gaze as I nodded, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

He was quiet for a long time after that, long enough that the silence was hard to bear, that I almost begged him to say something, yell at me—anything. But I kept my tongue and simply listened to him breathe, the air rushing in and out of his nostrils.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so betrayed by you before. Sohurt. So angry with you. And I don’t think I’ve ever hated you more than I do in this exact moment.”

The calmness with which he said it hurt more than anything. I’d have preferred it if he raised his voice, if he screamed at me, if he grabbed a plate from the cupboard and smashed it against the wall.

“I know,” I said. “I know I messed up.”

“I need…” he began, then trailed off and let out a breath. “I don’t know. I need to leave the house for a bit. I need to not be in the same room as you. Before I do something I regret.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

He walked away in silence. I winced as the door slammed behind him, as the car squealed away on a cloud of tire rubber.

***

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