Page 41 of Xactly What She Needs

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“I don’t know why you look like someone pissed in your cheerios. If I had a hot ass man who wanted me around all the time and was having banging sex, I would be walking around with nothing but a smile on my face.” My wonderfully annoying sister states from her spot on Xanders couch. We left his dad’s place a few hours ago, and came back here, after we picked up the rest of my belongings from the apartment, of course.

It’s all well and good for Dani to have her opinion out loud, but if she could do it somewhere where there weren’t people eavesdropping, that would have been fantastic. Every time I try to say this to her, however, she shuts me down.

“Quit your whining. Come on, put your ass to work. You’re not going to just leave all your shit laying around, are you?” Dani asks, hand on hip and eyebrow raised.

“I’ll do what I want. If I’m living here, I fully intend to spread out.”

“Gross, sis.”

“Not like that, you heathen. I just meant that I like to make myself at home. And that involves adding mythings to places around said home. Even if it is justtemporary.” I make sure to shout the word ‘temporary’ so that Xander hears. “Besides, who said you even get to have an opinion?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Dani asks in mock surprise. “I did.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Actually, no, that would be you.”

Dani flicks my ear, a habit she picked up when we were children and never let die, despite my best efforts to train it out of her. Both myself and Kenzie tried our best to make her a little less violent, and earned absolutely nothing but wasted time for our efforts.

I melt into the sofa and Dani follows suit. Xander comes and joins us a few hours later to find us chatting about a serial killer documentary we’d both seen recently.

“Christ, what is it with you and serial killers?” he asks, throwing his arms up.

“They’re fascinating. They’re real. And it helps to see the violence of people in reality. Sometimes we might get a nugget of a tip on hownotto get murdered. That’s not to say the victim ever did anything wrong, of course,” Dani amends, seemingly appalled with where her little speech went. “I just mean that the more data we have, the more tells we know to look for.”

“That,” I agree, “and there’s just something fascinating about how truly horrible people can be.”

“Funny, isn’t it, that most serial killers and mass murderers are men, but no one ever seems to say anything about that,” Dani muses.

“How about we not talk about something that makes me want to lock Jenny in a room for her entire life.”

Xander disappears into the kitchen and returns with three bottles of beer.

“What did you think of my place, Dani? Did Bri give you the tour?”

“Why, noshe didn’t. Please, sir, can I see some more?” she simpers.

Xander and I roll our eyes in synchronization, and then share a split-faced grin with one another. He can see through Dani’s theatrics, but that doesn’t stop him from offering up an arm, a gentleman taking a lady to the ball. It’s such a contrast to his appearance that it’s comedic.

With Dani out of the way, I finally have a moment to just sit andthink. How is it that I went from waiting for my apartment to be turned back on to now living semi-permanently with my boss? They might have said there was no rule against employees dating, but it still feels wrong.

Unfortunately, I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not for the reasons I wish it were. I think the problem may be more with my past than the potential of my future.

I know what my ideal future would look like. I’d be happy. I’d be safe. I’d be with someone who couldn’t be driven so easily to violence. Someone who was immune to whatever it is about me that someone could react that way.

My ex was a piece of work. That’s what everyone says. But my ex isn’t the only one capable of what happened. In the shelter, I met dozens of women who havebeen throughsimilar things. The women varied as people do. Some were lovely, some were quiet, and some were downright rude, but the one thing I know for certain is that no one deserves to be hurt by someone they love.

One woman, Julia, had a son. She carried the boy around all day, never letting him out of her sight. She didn’t speak to anyone the entire time she was there, and it wasn’t until much later that we learned why. She’d left her son home aloneonceby accident, having only popped next door to grab some coffee, and her husband had nearly killed her for it. Now, even months after the incident, she’s unable to reconcile the idea that his actions did not correlate with hers. If she were to put her son down for five minutes, she would not be hurt for it.

That’s the kind of damage abuse does to a person. It changes perceptions, tears apart ideas and destroys all semblance of hope and trust. And yet, here I am, already welcoming in a new era of my life.

“What’s wrong?”

Dani throws herself down at my side, her expression surprisingly somber considering the mood she was in when she left just a few minutes ago.

“Nothing.”

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