Page 4 of Client Privilege

I trailed off, swallowing hard. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Take your time,” Natalie said softly.

“This wasn’t the first time,” I continued. “But it was the worst. Usually, he was… careful. Nothing that would show. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away.”

I tugged at my sleeve, revealing the cigarette burn scars dotting my forearm. “He’d say it was an accident. That I moved at the wrong moment. That I should be more careful.”

Natalie’s pen moved steadily across her legal pad, her expression professionally neutral. But I caught the tightness around her eyes, the subtle clench of her jaw.

“That night, though—he was different. Out of control. He found my sketchbook and saw I’d been outside without permission.” I laughed, a brittle sound that hurt my throat. “Imagine needing permission to sit on a park bench at twenty-four years old.”

I took another sip of water.

“He… hurt me. In ways he knew would…” I felt my face flush with shame. “He knew what would break me the most.”

Natalie nodded slightly, understanding what I couldn’t bring myself to say explicitly. She didn’t push, just waited.

“When I woke up in the hospital, a nurse helped me. She kept Marcus away that night, gave me time to think. I knew if I saw him, if he apologized and promised it would never happen again—like all the times before—I’d believe him. I always did.”

My fingers traced invisible patterns on the table.

“I left as soon as I could through a service entrance in borrowed scrubs. No discharge papers, no follow-up appointment. Just… gone.”

“Where did you go?” Natalie asked.

“I called my former art professor from Montreal—Claude Mercier,” I said, the memory still raw. “He was the only person I could think of who Marcus might not immediately suspect. Marcus had sent him a cease and desist letter years ago when Claude tried to check on me after I dropped out of art school. He thought Claude would never risk his career by helping me.”

“And did he? Help you?”

I nodded. “He drove all the way from Montreal that night. Found me at a diner near the hospital. He gave me cash, helped me buy a cheap used car—the Honda I’m living in now, it’s actually registered in his name since I don’t have photo ID currently—and loaned me enough for temporary accommodation.” I swallowed hard. “He wanted me to go back to Montreal with him, where he could properly help me, but I knew that wasn’t safe. Marcus would look for me there eventually.”

“Have you stayed in contact with Professor Mercier?”

“Minimal contact. I call from different numbers occasionally, just to let him know I’m alive. He’s been worried.” I looked down at my hands. “He’s the only person from my old life who tried to help me. The only one Marcus couldn’t completely cut off.”

I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion settling into my bones.

“I’ve been living in the car, moving around. But two days ago, he found me.” My voice cracked. “Left a collar—Buster’s collar—on the windshield while I was inside a convenience store. With a note saying if I wanted to see my cat alive again, I should come home.”

Natalie set down her pen. “Alex, what you’ve described constitutes serious criminal behaviour—assault, battery, false imprisonment, and…”

“Rape,” I finished for her, the word burning like acid. “You can say it. I need to get used to hearing it.”

She nodded, her eyes gentle but unflinching.

“Do you have any documentation of your injuries? Hospital records? Photos?”

I shook my head. “I ran before they could complete the paperwork. And Marcus… he made me get rid of my phone months ago. Said I only needed the one he gave me—the one he could check whenever he wanted.”

“What about Professor Mercier? Could he testify about your condition when he found you?”

“Yes,” I said, hope flickering briefly. “He saw me right after. He knows I wouldn’t have called him in the middle of the night unless it was desperate.”

“That could be valuable,” Natalie noted, writing something down. “Contemporaneous witnesses who can attest to your injuries and state of mind are important.”

Natalie closed her folder. “Alex, thank you for trusting me with yourstory. What you’ve done today—coming here, speaking up—that takes immense courage.”

I didn’t feel courageous. I felt hollowed out, exhausted.

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