Page 18 of Shattered Veil
Hope. Smashed.
“Sure.” I tuck my legs, the row tighter on this plane.
A portly man in a tracksuit sits next to me.
I should have bought that seat for an imaginary dog with all this extra money.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ella
Under a sharp winter sun and during brunch at my favorite Upper West Side bistro the following day, I give my best friends a rundown of my Trans-Continental activities with a hot stranger. Capping off with the fat wad of cash hisbodyguardleft me.
“You did what?” Hannah blurts.
“Howmuch?” Val’s eyes widen.
“Was the sex any good?” Hannah doesn’t wait for me to answer questions one and two, just starts firing off more.
“You could have been killed,” Val scoffs.
Funny, I hadn’t considered for a moment that Balor would hurt me. Living with an abusive boyfriend taught me all the signs. Balor exhibited none of them.
“Well, I survived, and since I’m sort of rich right now, brunch is on me, girls. Cheers!” I lift my mimosa and clink the glass to each of theirs. “Besides, I can step off the curb and get hit by a bus.”
“Have you heard from Wesley since you’ve been back?” Val asks, making the sick connection from getting hit by a bus to my abusive ex.
Or she drew the short straw.
“No.” I shake my head.
I’d met a handsome cop in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, just over one year ago. But on Valentine’s Day, Wesley didn’t give me a box of chocolate, he gave me a black eye—the first of many—for coming home late.
It was followed by a sincere, emotional apology.
I took the route of forgiving and being supportive, especially when he admitted to a drinking problem and promised to go to meetings.
He whisked me away on a romantic weekend inVermont, but when we got back, everything I owned was moved out of the apartment I shared with Hannah and into Wesley’s house.
The committed gesture threw me off since we’d only started dating. But I bought into the ruse. Every bit of it. I believed every word. I stupidly thought I was in love. His parents were dead and he had no family. I wanted to help him. I knew being a cop was difficult. Having the strength to take what he dished out from the stress of police work made me feel like I was helping him do his job better.
I thought of my mother and how she sacrificed so much to help people in a dangerous country.
Things were good with Wes for about...two weeks after I moved in with him.
He kept drinking and started cutting me with a knife, branding me as his.
“Now who will want you?”
Every ugly incident was followed by apology after empty apology.
Trapped in his world, I lived in fear every day and considered how to escape. How to tell someone. How to ask for help. I worried that with him being a cop, no one would believe me. Conventional ideas got tossed out the window.
I lost my job teaching special ed at a private school after missing so much work. That plunged me into a pattern of co-dependency.
Because I usually had a black eye, swollen lip, or a slight limp, I kept my distance from my father all those months. If Dad saw the bruises, he’d strangle Wes. Or bankrupt him by using his cyber skills to hack into Wesley’s accounts. Dad’s side programming gigs always sounded downright shady, and I was afraid that Wesley’s retribution would reign down not just on me, but Dad, too.
When my father mentioned his company was sending him to Sydney for a six-month assignment, I saw the chance to save myself. I packed a small bag, showed up at his apartment with a busted lip, and begged him to take me with him.