Page 203 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

Besides. It’s not like arguing with him gets me anywhere but punished and dominated.

On second thought... I needed a little bit of Reuben’s bullying today. Just a smidge to give me an excuse to be a princess the rest of the day. I decided while I was out I’d get a Frappuccinoandsome candy, and then send him a photo of me eating it while there was nothing he could do about it.

Ipicked up the stufffrom the grocery store and stopped by the Starbucks kiosk on my way out. I got myself a Frappuccino with chocolate, cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar cookie syrup, and extra whipped cream. I was slurping the whipped cream off the top so I could fit the domed lid onto the cup when I heard a familiar name being called for an order.

“Order for Peter!” the barista called, and I felt myself tense.

Unlikely it’s him,I thought, but looked up anyway.

Peter Woodrow was collecting his latte, and kept his head ducked as he walked past me. He looked just like he always did; dark wash jeans, a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his light-brown hair combed over with a little bit of gel to keep it in place.

I watched him take the lid off his latte and add a sprinkle of cinnamon and cocoa powder on top, stir it in, and place the lid back on. He’d had me fetch his coffee more times than I could count, especially on days where I’d stayed over. He’d always let me get whatever I wanted at the coffee shop, and never forced me to eat breakfast. Our rules had been superficial, only in place to give him an excuse to punish me for not following them.

It was weird how normal it felt to see him like this. Not scary. Not dangerous. Just a dude getting his coffee.

He was about to walk out the door when I snapped at him.

“Really? Seriously? You’re not even going tolookat me?”

I’m not sure what made me do it. Maybe I wanted closure, or some type of reaction. Maybe I wanted him to validate the fear and avoidance over the past few weeks. But him slinking past me when he clearly knew I was there wasnotan acceptable end to this situation, restraining order or not.

He paused in the doorway. Several other patrons noticed us but didn’t say anything. I knew the baristas could hear us.

“Alice... cupcake.” His voice was full of something somber and sad. Regret? He continued, not turning around. “I’ve been instructed not to talk to you. I’m leaving now. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry?”

He stopped, tilting his head, wanting to turn back to see me but resisting.

“That’swhat you have to say to me. That you’resorry?”

Slowly, he turned to face me.

He didn’t look sorry. He just looked... apathetic. “What do you want me to say, hon?” He lifted a hand and let it fall. “I’m sorry that you told me exactly what you needed, and I gave it to you, and it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry that after over a year of trusting me, you freaked out and suddenly our entire history meant nothing. I’m sorry that I gave you hours and days and months of my time, and you bailed when it got hard. I’m sorry we lost what we had.”

I stuttered and stammered in shock at his words. That wasn’t at all what happened! He hurt me, he abused me, he whipped me, ignored my safeword, stole my money–

“Look, if you want to talk...” he held his temples with his free hand and then let it fall. “Drop the restraining order and call a lawyer. I miss you, cupcake... I’d love to work this out. You were...” he laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “You were mywife. I tried everything to find you, you know that?

“But I know you well enough to know that you don’t want to come back. It’s been too long, and I know how you are, so... let me leave, please? And not get in trouble with the law for another thing Ididn’t doto hurt you?”

He turned and left, leaving me dumbfounded and mute in the middle of the coffee shop.

He didn’t try to get me to come with him. He didn’t try to grab me, to touch me. And that shit that he said... had he really meant that?

Becca and I had been talking a little bit about him in the few sessions we’d had so far. She’d warned me about him, cautioning me to think carefully and be aware of anything he did or said if I ever ran into him. “We’ve acknowledged he’s a liar. That means you can’t believe what he says to you. You have to disregard it. You have to choose who to believe.”

Frustrated and confused, I left the coffee shop and climbed into my car, turning on my favorite playlist and sipping my sugary blended coffee. Dorothy’s sweet, sexy, country-tinted voice let out a prayer of freedom from past suffocating chains, filling my car and drowning out the obvious lie that Peter had, once again, tried to shove down my throat.

The lie that he had done nothing wrong... the lie that it wasmewho was crazy.

“I’m crazy,” I muttered to myself, “but I know the difference between play and assault.”

So I shouted alongside Dorothy and attempted to lay his lies to rest, eager to finish my tasks and get home to safety.

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