Page 63 of Hunger

“What makes you think I was late for any other reason than I forgot my skirt?” I snap.

“Because I watched you come out of the sea early this morning grinning from ear-to-ear, and an hour later, I watched you pace on the balcony as if… something had happened.”

My mouth goes dry.

How dare he watch me?

I want to tell him to stop observing my every move, but before I can speak, we reach the end of the aisle.

I unloop my hand from his arm and turn to the left, silently seething both at him and how powerless and vulnerable I suddenly feel.

Rami was right back in December when she told me to press charges. I don’t even know if these messages are enough to go on now. If the judge finds out I did nothing for months, depending on how informed he or she is, they may not understand that women are programmed to placate dangerous man out of fear. If I bring up the events of last year, they’ll ask why I waited, assuming I’m exaggerating. It’ll just kill my chances of getting a permanent restraining order.

I turn to watch a casually-dressed Carrie walking down the aisle with her uncle. Although her wedding day isn’t till tomorrow, she still looks radiant.

I look down for a moment, my eyes panning up to find Grey’s fixed to my face on the other side of the aisle, concern painted into his rugged features.

I look away quickly to see Carrie approach.

I only wish I was thinking about her and nothing else.

17

Indigo

Wednesday

My hands tremble, forcing me to put my phone into the wicker table on the balcony as I stare at the message.

I know what you’re up to over there, you whore.

We’ll be waiting for you when you get back, Indie.

We’re gonna teach you a fucking lesson, you slut.

Slut.

Whore.

Cunt.

I glance inside the house, wondering if Rami or Fran are up and getting ready for yoga. Today’s first class starts in just over an hour, I think.

I drop my head.

Let’s face it—I wouldn’t tell them about his messages even if they were up. They already went through enough crap during the end of the relationship, and I don’t want to ruin their vacation by making them deal with him again.

The only person I can really talk to is his ex who went through the same thing when they split up, but even she’s still afraid of him and I know my calls trigger her, so I've been trying not to contact her.

At the chime of another message coming through, I flinch.

I have people watching you, slut.

I know he’s lying. He’s always said stuff like that, even around the middle of our relationship when I hadn’t fully realized what I’d gotten myself into.

I stare at the message, not responding.

I never respond, as I was told not to by my trauma therapist. Only this time, I’m not doing nothing. I’m collecting each message and beginning to put all the evidence I have from last year together. If he doesn’t stop, when I get back, I’m going to file for that restraining order and ask the police if we can press charges.