Page 21 of A Little Jaded
“Seatbelt,” I remind her.
Her shaky breath greets me, and she reaches for the buckle, sliding it across her body and clicking it into place.That’s when I see it. The glimpse of her face. The swollen lip. The red cheek. The light from the dashboard acts like a flashlight, highlighting her bruised complexion.
He hit her again.
Mother. Fucker.
Without thinking, I shove the car into park and reach for her. It’s like silk. Her hair. Gently, I push it away from her face and inspect the damage. It’s starting to clot. Her bottom lip. But the flesh is still swollen and angry, proving it was quite the hit. My blood boils as I drag my thumb along the edge of her mouth, imagining all the ways I could kill him. All the ways I could inflict pain the same way he’s clearly done to her.
Slowly, Raine reaches up and grasps my wrist. My attention snaps from her cut to her pleading gaze.
“Please stop,” she begs.
“Stop what?” I growl.
“Stop looking at me like this. I don’t…I don’t want your pity. I don’t even really know you.”
“How many times?”
A divot forms between her brows. “What?”
“How many times has he touched you like this?”
Her eyelids fall. “Ev…”
“Answer the question.”
“Twice. Like this,” she clarifies, staring back at me with a glint of resentment. “Before then it was asshole comments and a random shove or rough grab, you know? Still unacceptable, but…”
“But easy to write off?” I finish for her.
She shakes her head. “I guess I was the frog.”
“What?”
“You know, the frog in the boiling water.” My frown deepens as her tongue darts out between her lips, and she winces. “Where the frog is put in a pot of boiling water, andit hops right out. But if it’s put in cold water, and the temperature is increased slowly, the frog doesn’t even notice and winds up dead.”
“I’m familiar with the metaphor,” I mutter.
“Of course you are,” she says with a pathetic laugh. Truth be told, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a whimper, but I keep the thought to myself as she adds, “I never thought this would happen. Never thought I’d be the girl in an abusive relationship. And I wasn’t. Not for a long time. I thought I knew better, you know? I thought I knew the signs. The red flags. And I did, but…it’s so easy to ignore them or write them off like you said, or…”
Unshed tears make her eyes glassy as she presses her fingers to her lips.
“Then Drake kept putting off meeting my family, and I moved in with him, and then his mom died, and he became super clingy and more controlling, and I thought…it’s because he cares. Because he’s afraid of being alone again or…you know.”
She blinks, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Angrily, she wipes it away. Like it’s a weakness. A glimpse behind the strong front she’s putting on. It makes me want to kill him even more.
Oblivious to my frustration, she sniffs and continues. “But, uh, then I tried to end things with him, and he hit me, and I lost my shit, and he promised it wouldn't happen again, and I reached out to Reeves and met you, and…I guess the rest is history.”
“Why’d you go with him tonight?” I ask. “After the fight.”
The same silence swallows my words. Or maybe it amplifies them. Turning them into something more. Something heavier.
She plays with her fingers in her lap, refusing to look at me. “Because it wasn’t your job to protect me. Itstillisn’tyour job to protect me,” she whispers, though I’m not sure if the words are meant for me. “You don’t even know me.”
It isn’t the first time she’s pointed out how we’re practically strangers. She’s right, though. I don’t know her. But I don’t need to. Not to know she deserves more than being treated like shit. Besides, I have a sister, and if some asshole was treating her the way Raine’s clearly been treated, I’d lose my shit. Fuck, I’d kill him.
And for the first time since Reeves suggested I help him out, I actually want to. I want to help. I want to save her. Even if it backfires. Even if it blows up in my face. The idea of walking away. Of letting Drake touch Raine again. It’s unacceptable. All of it is.