by Alexa Martin
I open the door in silence and Maxwell walks in without saying a word. The tension is so thick, I might choke. I take off my sweater because I’m suddenly sweating . . . even though today was a high of fifteen degrees. As soon as Maxwell sits in his usual spot on the couch, I just blurt it out. “Theo came to HERS today.”
Even though Maxwell was doing a decent job of looking laid back and relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, that changes the second he hears his brother’s name. He leaps off the couch and starts pacing across my living room, mumbling things I can’t quite hear beneath his breath. He comes to a sudden stop, pivoting his feet to stare at me. “Is that all you’re going to say, or are you going to tell me how the brother I told you to stay away from somehow got so deep in your head that you’re ending us?”
I already knew he was aware of where this was heading, and even though it was my decision to end this—well, I kind of feel like my hand was forced—hearing it out loud causes all the air to leave my lungs.
Once I’ve regained my composure, I square my shoulders and look him dead in the eyes. “He told me about the person you were in college.”
His head flinches back slightly and his eyebrows knit together like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “My behavior in—wait.” He puts both hands in front of his chest and looks down to the floor as if everything is starting to click into place. When his head snaps back up, his nostrils are flaring, and throbbing veins are protruding from his neck. “That son of a fuckin’ bitch.” He digs his fingers into his scalp, and then drags them down his face, leaving scratch marks on his otherwise flawless skin. “He’s not allowed to fucking talk about that shit!”
“Really? You’re harping on him breaking a rule?” I keep my tone calm and even. “Are you worried he’s going to ruin your perfect little image? And really”—I drop my ear toward my shoulder and stick out my bottom lip—“after what you did, do you really think I’d actually care?”
His head snaps as if I’ve slapped him. “Wait.” He tilts his head to the side, staring at me like I’m a stranger to him. “You think that I did it?”
I hold my fingernails in front of my face, examining the polishless nails with rapt interest. “I know that the overwhelming majority of victims don’t lie about sexual assault. I also know that Theo saw you in bed with her after he warned you that she was too drunk to consent, so yeah”—I look into his eyes—“I think you did it.”
“Wow.” He nods his head, his whole body seeming to roll with the small movement as he steps away from me. “That’s how you see me?” His lips curl up in disgust like the mere sight of me turns his stomach.
“Give me a reason not to.” I flex my fingers into a fist at my side, ashamed by my overwhelming desire to go and comfort him. That despite everything I know now, my body yearns to touch him.
He shrugs a shoulder and waves a dismissive hand my way. “I thought I already had.” He grabs his jacket off the couch and slips it on over his usual sweatshirt. “I guess you aren’t who I thought you were either.”
The way he looks at me, it’s like I’ve betrayed him. Like I’m lower than the dirt under his shoe? God. My sinuses start to sting but I don’t move. I push the faceless girl to the front of my mind and try to focus on her. On the pain she’s felt, the injustice of being shoved into the dark while her abuser is in the light, lauded for his charity and kindness. And I say nothing as he takes the painful measure not to so much as brush against me before he’s gone, my door slamming shut behind him with so much force that one of the new frames Vonnie hung up falls off the brick wall, splintered glass exploding all across the hardwood floors.
I cross my apartment, not making an effort to avoid the broken glass, and stand by my window. I watch as Maxwell hurries to his car and climbs inside, reversing out of his spot without so much as a glance up.
When his brake lights disappear into the distance as he drives away, I slide to the floor. The feel of broken glass slicing through my leggings and into my skin is the only thing preventing me from becoming completely numb. My tears, as heavy as the blood dripping down the backs of my thighs, start to fall.
I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I’ve never had a breakup.
I always rolled my eyes at my friends who moped and cried over them. I didn’t understand.
I was an asshole.
Because now, sitting on the floor, I feel like the world has ended. The future I envisioned with Maxwell disappeared with him as he walked out of my door. And picturing my life without him now is impossible. Just a dark and miserable void where I’m alone. Always alone. The tagalong to my friends as they get married and have babies and go to their homes overflowing with love. And I’ll just be.
Alone.
In my condo. Bleeding and crying on the floor. Nobody will know and nobody will care.
I wish he had cheated on me. I wish he had ended it with me. Because now, worse than the total and utter darkness that has surrounded me, the loneliness threatening to consume me, is the guilt . . . the doubt that maybe I did the wrong thing.
I push my legs harder against the glass, hoping that the pain can help me conjure an image of a broken girl, just becoming a woman, and Maxwell stealing her trust . . . her innocence. But I can’t.
Shame eats away at me as Maxwell’s face haunts me. My eyes open or shut, his face haunts me. The protectiveness he showed when I was stranded on the highway. His quiet kindness as he sat holding my hair while I was sick. His reverent touch the first time we made love.
The look of disgust and betrayal as he left.
None of it makes sense.
And as much as I want to hate him for what he did, I can’t, because the person I’ve grown to know . . . to love isn’t capable of it.
Then I remember that I never even told him I loved him, and the life I knew we could have together barely started. The tears that stream down my cheeks run hot and angry because we could’ve been something. We could’ve lasted. But he hid his past. He kept me in the dark and now I’ll never see the light again.
Forty
“Hey, Deanna,” I say, repeating the same greeting I’ve made for the last five days since my dad got out of the hospital.
“Hi, Brynn.” She smiles bright. Her voice, when it isn’t on the phone, telling me about my dad’s heart attack, is actually a very lovely one, and I almost feel guilty for how I talked to her. Only almost because I’ve tried to apologize to her multiple times and she waves me off every time, telling me I was actually one of the nicer people she’s broken bad news to. So that’s lovely, I guess. “Frank is in the kitchen even though I keep telling him he shouldn’t be standing for that long yet.”
“He’s so stubborn.” A trait that did not get passed down to me. “I’ll force him onto the couch.”
“Good luck with that.” She slings her leather tote over her scrubs-covered shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow. See you around?”
“You know it.” I was hesitant when she first started coming over, but that changed once I realized that I finally had somebody on my side when it came to scolding my dad. I’m actually really enjoying having her around. “Drive safe, the streets are terrible.”
The weather has been awful lately. It’s like my mood has altered Colorado’s normally sunny nature and turned it into a gray, swirling mess of sadness and uncertainty.
“I thought I was the one who had a heart attack, but I still look better than you,” my dad says as I walk into the kitchen.
“Rude.” I toss my purse haphazardly onto the table, loose receipts and change spilling everywhere.
“But where’s the lie?”
“Dad.” My eyes roll to the back of my head. “You have to stop hanging out with Ace. You aren’t allowed to use phrases like that.”
“Haters are everywhere,” he says, purposefully trying to get under my skin.
“Oh my god,�
� I groan. “Why are you so weird?”
“What’s going on, Brynn?” He slides into the chair across from me, his worried eyes trained on me. “You’ve been miserable for days now. Are you finally going to tell me why?”
After everything went down with Maxwell, I kept it from my dad. I mean, he was just getting released from the hospital and I wasn’t going to add stress of any kind to his plate. So I plastered on a fake smile and came over every day, thinking those acting classes Naomi gave me years ago were really coming in handy. But I guess I won’t be getting that Oscar nomination anytime soon.
“Maxwell and I broke up.” I keep my eyes down and trace the scratch I “accidentally” carved into the table when I was in high school and was supposed to be writing a paper.
“I figured that out that day in the hospital, what I don’t know is why.”
I open my mouth to tell him what Maxwell did, but at the last minute, change my mind.
“Did I ever tell you Maxwell has a brother?”
“He does?” His eyebrows shoot to his hairline.
“Yeah, Maxwell didn’t tell me either. I found out when Theo, that’s his brother’s name, came into HERS one night before I closed.”
“That’s strange.” My dad gets that far-off look he always does before he gives me a good lecture.
“I know, I don’t know why he’d hide his family from me.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that. That his brother would come to you on his own, late at night. That didn’t ring alarms for you?”
I shrug my shoulders, thinking back on the uneasy feeling I had being alone with him. “I mean, I guess at the time, because I was alone and he startled me, but he just wanted to get in contact with Maxwell.”
“How many times have I told you to listen to your instincts?”
I smile my first genuine smile since Maxwell left my apartment. “Millions?”
In high school, my dad used to record (and not on DVR, but actual VHS tapes, because that’s how old I am) every episode of Oprah and 20/20. He would then curate a lineup that had to do with trusting your instincts and how to—hopefully—avoid dangerous situations. I guess he figured Oprah and Barbara Walters were more credible than he was . . . He wasn’t wrong.
“So this Theo made you feel uneasy and Maxwell made you feel what?”
Geez. He hasn’t grilled me like this since I moved back home after my one year in Texas.
“Happy? I don’t know? You know I always liked Maxwell. Even after the bar scenario, it was hard for me to hold a grudge.” I throw my hands into the air. “But maybe I shouldn’t trust my instincts. What if they’re wrong? Theo told me some horrible things about Maxwell . . . things I never thought he was capable of.”
“And Maxwell admitted to them?”
“Not exactly.” More like looked at me as if I was the scum of the earth for even considering he was guilty of what Theo accused him of . . . not that I tell my dad that.
“So he denied them and instead of you discussing whatever it is with him, you believed a man he isn’t close with. The same man who gave you a bad feeling?”
Thankfully, before I’m able to answer, my phone starts to vibrate.
I grab it like the lifeline it is and almost kiss the screen when I see Paisley’s name pop up. She only calls me while she’s at HERS if it’s an emergency.
“Sorry, Dad, work calls.” I grab my purse, already walking to the door, and not actually sorry at all. “What’s up, Pais?”
“Abby just called in, actually, her mom called in. She has strep and of course a bachelorette party just walked in.” As she says it, I hear the now-familiar screeches of women who are ready to let loose. “I need backup.”
“I’m already en route.” I zip my jacket up as far as it will go and angle my head down to avoid the harsh, freezing wind that’s trying to eat my face.
“You’re the best, thank you.” She doesn’t wait for my response before the line goes dead.
I’ve buried myself in work and my friends since Maxwell left my apartment. My thoughts are not a place I really want to be. However, after talking to my dad, maybe it’s where I need to be.
Maxwell has given me no reason to believe he would ever do what Theo is accusing him of doing. In fact, he’s given me every reason to think the opposite. Every time I’ve been around him—sans the bar incident—he’s been nothing but respectful. In fact, when I think back on our relationship, consent has never been questionable. Even when I thought my body was going to explode and I was practically begging him to take off his pants, he still insisted on me telling him I was okay.
That is not the behavior of a guy who would do the horrible thing Theo said.
But then does that make me one of those people who doesn’t believe the woman? I’ve built my business on women supporting women. What does it say about me if I’m doubting one who needs support the most? I would never want to cause more pain to the suffering she’s inevitably been experiencing for years.
Torn.
I feel like I’m being split down the middle, ripped in two, and I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve never felt so torn before.
Either I believe the man I love or I believe a woman who had no reason to lie.
I want to do both, but I don’t know how.
Forty-one
“For the love of god!” Vonnie charges into my office and commandeers the mouse to my computer from me, exiting out of my music before I can even blink. “I can’t listen to any more of that sad-ass country music! Pull yourself together!”
It’s now been two weeks since I last saw Maxwell, and some could say I’m not handling it well.
“Some” being everyone around me.
Not only do I want to call him every second of every day, I also can’t stop checking my phone for ESPN alerts telling the world about Maxwell’s past. I’ve scoured the Internet, signing up for every Mustangs fan forum I can find, reading every blog, looking at these sites that Vonnie told me is where all the “groupies” discuss their conquests. And I’ve found nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.
I thought I had enough questions to occupy me for a lifetime, but every single day, I get more.
In simple terms, I’m a hot-ass mess.
And making it worse? The Mustangs were knocked out of the playoffs on Sunday and I haven’t been alone for more than twenty minutes. Without football to distract them, the Lady Mustangs have used all of their free time to harass . . . I mean . . . dutifully support me.
They even invaded my apartment. They pinned me down to my couch and decreed we could only eat food that came in cartons (e.g., Chinese food and ice cream), drink wine, and watch Nicholas Sparks movies. I suspect they created a schedule to make sure I’m too occupied with them to sulk. Even Sadie, Poppy’s friend whom she used to work with, has popped by my condo for unannounced sleepovers. She brought a glitter face mask that I’m pretty sure was made for little girls but I enjoyed nonetheless. She also brought two bottles of wine and extra-long straws so we could skip using glasses.
I’ve been so unalone that I forgot what being alone is even like.
I go to push Play only to realize that Vonnie stole the mouse and unplugged my computer. “Damn! Why can’t you let me be great?”
“I don’t think any interpretation of ‘great’ includes memorizing all of the world’s saddest songs and being on a first-name basis with Dairy Queen workers,” Charli says.
“Well, then you’d be wrong.” I nudge my trash can filled with empty Dairy Queen cups farther under my desk.
“Holy crap,” Eloise pipes in from the doorway. “You guys should’ve called me sooner.”
“Eloise. You’re here. Yay.” I bang my head against my desk.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends and how much they love me, and I’ve actually come to really like Eloise. But I’m not exactly proud of m
y behavior recently, and the last thing I need is an extra witness to the depths that I’ve fallen to.
“Oh, shut that shit up,” says Vonnie, who for the most part has been using kid gloves while talking to me . . . or at least her version of kid gloves. “No more moping. We’re figuring shit out now. The guys are taking too long and we’re smarter anyway.”
“I’m not even joking when I say I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I fall back into my chair, but focus on her since my computer screen is black anyways.
“Do you really, in your heart of hearts, think that Maxwell would ever do something like that?” Charli asks.
My head jerks back at the mention of the “incident.”
In a moment of weakness—fine, whatever! As soon as they walked into my apartment—I told them everything that Theo told me. To say they were shocked would be an understatement of epic proportions. I told them that Maxwell didn’t deny it . . . even though he didn’t exactly admit it either. But after this initial conversation, nobody has mentioned it.
“Most abusers are very personable.” I tell them the rationale that’s been on repeat in my head since Theo told me. “If they are dicks from the beginning, it’d be really hard to find victims.”
What I don’t tell them is that I’ve been asking myself that very question for two weeks straight, and each time, my answer is the same. The Maxwell I know wouldn’t do this.
“Yeah, I watch serial killer documentary shows too.” Charli rolls her eyes at me. “But Maxwell isn’t outgoing and personable. He’s shy and quiet and avoids attention wherever he goes.”
This is true. This is also why I don’t want to have this conversation right now.
“So are you saying the girl lied about what happened?” Guilt starts to gnaw away at my bones for even saying those words out loud.
“No.” Eloise slides into the conversation. “We’re saying that Theo lied.”