My vision blurs with the start of my tears, and from the shame and anger raking my skin. But I continue. Not because I want to, or because it’s easy, but because for the first time, I have someone to tell. “Everything from my clothes, to my furniture, to my linens is selected for me.” I rub my hands. “Do you want to know why I don’t eat much, or why my pantry is always empty?”
He doesn’t answer, but I didn’t expect him to. “Because I’m restricted to a certain amount of calories each day. So I don’t get fat. I’m getting fat, you know.” Bitterness seeps into my voice. I try to settle down by continuing to rub my hands, but of course, it does nothing. “I’m allowed six ounces of protein a day and all the kale I can stomach. Before you came along, if I didn’t portion my meals correctly, I’d starve. I can’t buy what I want because I don’t have any money. And I can’t get a paying job because then I’ll be cut off completely, everything but the clothes on my back taken, and thrown out into the street.”
Curran’s jaw tightens and his form becomes alarmingly still. “Why?” he asks barely above a growl. “Is it just about control? Or is he punishing you for something his fucked-up mind thinks you did?”
I didn’t expect him to be so specific or for his anger to be what it is. “It’s always been about control,” I say. “Ever since I was a child, he’s had a hand in every aspect of my life—even the people I associate with.” I look at him then. “And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
Curran slowly rises, his hands balling into tight fists. “Does he hurt you? I’m serious, Tess. I need to know if he’s hitting you, grabbing you—anything. Or using words to scare you.”
I start to stand, only to sit again. This conversation is already too much, and my fragile nerves aren’t ready for it. “When I was a child, my father would repeatedly strike me and berate me to instill fear. But the last time he hit me, I was in my early teens.”
“So he doesn’t touch you?” he repeats.
I lean forward, my head throbbing. “No. He’s very careful. His control now is financial and emotional. He continues to insult me, and degrade me, but not enough to constitute abuse.”
Curran gives me his back and swears. “No grounds for a Protection from Abuse Order.”
I wipe my eyes. “No, and I’d be a fool to try for one.”
He looks at me then. “No you wouldn’t.”
The lump in my throat builds so tight I can barely get my words out. “Come on, Curran. Can you see me before a judge? Opposing counsel would rip me apart. Here I am, this grown, intelligent woman about to graduate law school who’s taken Donald Newart, respected member of the community and political legend, to court—for what? Paying my tuition, giving me a lavish apartment with furnishings, providing me with food. I can hear his attorney now. ‘My, Miss Newart, if this was such a nightmare, if living the life of a kept woman was too hard to take, why didn’t you walk away? You had the education that your father paid for. Why didn’t you work at a coffee shop or a local dry cleaner for something better? If this was so torturous, why take it?’ ”
“Why did you?” Curran’s deep and vicious tone immediately silences me. “He’s an asshole, Tess. Why did you take his shit? You’re better than that.”
No. I’m not.
I can’t contain my quivering voice. “Because I always have. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. And because I never had a way out until now.” Tears dribble down my cheeks. “I have two more months of school and then the bar to pass. Once I get through this, I’m free.”
“Screw that. You can be free now. Walk away. Tonight. Leave now and don’t look back. You said it yourself—there’s nothing for you here.”
“I can’t.”
Curran throws out his hands. “Why the hell not? What’s stopping you?”
I stand to face him. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t have any money, Curran. None. No line of credit, because I have no credit cards—I can’t even open a bank account.” I swerve right, then left, uselessly searching for a place to go, only to stop. “He found out about us. You know what he did to punish me? He saddled me with the tuition for my last semester of law school. Thirty thousand dollars. Where am I going to get this money?”
“You have to get a job.”
“I don’t think you’re listening. If I take a job, he’ll stick me with any outstanding bills and I’m out of a home.”
For a moment, he simply stares at me, his eyes searching every aspect of my face. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”
I ease away, wanting to deny it, but realizing I can’t. “Yes.”
“Even though he hasn’t laid a hand on you in years.”
Again, his tone sounds so accusing. “This damage he’s inflicted isn’t due to one thing alone, Curran. It’s a culmination of everything he’s done and how it’s made me feel.” I sigh, frustrated. “I’m not sure I can make you understand.”
His large hands clasp my shoulders. “Try,” he tells me. “Help me understand so I can help you out of this mess.”
I hug my body, working hard not to lose it as I do my best to explain. But the truth hurts, and doesn’t come easy. “My father has spent a lifetime stripping me of my worth. I don’t dare fight it, because it’s been ingrained in me that I’m not supposed to argue, or complain, or do anything other than quietly obey.”
“You wouldn’t obey me,” Curran snaps. I still then, only for him to scoff. “Come on, Tess. If I tried telling you what to eat, how to dress, how to talk, you’d rip me a new one and throat-punch me for being a prick.”
“It’s different with you,” I stammer.
“How—”
“Because I’m not afraid of you. You’ve never hurt me!” It’s then I finally crumble. “My father may not beat me, but it doesn’t mean I’m not broken. I’ve grown up thinking there’s nothing good about me, and constantly reminded of everything that’s wrong—the way I look, the way I stand, the way I breathe—nothing is ever good enough.”
“But you’re wrong. You’re beautiful and smart and kind. The problem is, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Instead you believe everything this lowlife shoves down your throat.”
Curran is right, but his words border on blame. He doesn’t understand that the strength I need to face my father has always lurked beyond my reach. Yet it’s what he says next that turns my shame to fury. “You shouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“What?”
“I said you shouldn’t let him treat you that way—”
“God damnit!” I storm away from him, only to veer on him and lash out. “You stand here, this strong and formidable man, judging me when you’ve never been dragged by a proverbial leash—forced to do what you’re told, shoved into clothes that make you feel ugly, and obliged to eat food that makes you sick so you don’t starve.” I ram my finger out. “It’s easy for you to tell me to walk away—you’ve never been afraid, or had every layer of your being stripped until you’re reduced to a pathetic mass of flesh and bones.”
Tears pour out of me, and my shoulders tremble. Curran gathers me to him, attempting to console me with his warmth and shield me with his hold.
“You’ve always had your family, and friends, and a support system to lean on,” I tell him. “All I’ve ever had is my father dictating every aspect of my life, and a stepmother who takes his side. With the exception of college, even my friends were selected for me.” My words release in chokes. I’m not sure if Curran understands me, but I keep going. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop.
“I tried talking with an attorney a few years ago. Do you know what he said to me?” He stills and waits for me to respond. “That no one in his right mind would go against my father. ‘Suck it up,’ he said. ‘There are worse problems and real abuse in life.’ ”
Curran mumbles another curse, yet as furious as he is, he manages to brush a gentle kiss against my head. “I want you to get away from him. This shit ends tonight.”