Jasmine clears her throat. “Please tell me that man isn’t why you’re leaving Roarke. I mean, in one sense I’m happy because it gets you away from him, but on the other hand, he’s a taken man. A very, very taken man.”
“You know very is a meaningless filler word. Don’t use it twice, Jaz,” I say, avoiding her realization. There it is. Jasmine’s accusing look I was waiting for.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I think partly. Not because I think I can have him, but maybe it’s possible to have a good manlikehim.” Saying it out loud forces reality to creep back in. Roarke. He’ll never let me go without a fight. “And I need to leave him before it happens again. Regardless of the reason.” I rub the side of my face. The place that still aches even though the visible wounds have long since healed.
I zone out as I drive, imagining different scenarios. All of how leaving Roarke is a bad, most definitely horrible, idea. Jasmine makes a phone call, and I’m vaguely aware that it’s her brother because she says his name every so often. My name comes up a lot, but I’ve switched on autopilot. My stepfather’s face looming over me flashes in my mind. His front teeth overlap. The right over the left. You don’t notice it when he smiles. Only when he’s sneering. His face morphs into Roarke’s. Then the insults ricochet. I’ll never be good enough. I’mlucky to have Roarke. Why would I leave him? This is what I deserve.
I pull into my driveway and put the SUV in park. My fiancé’s European sports car is in the drive. He’ll be watching the game, probably half-drunk already.
Jasmine grabs my hand. “We’re going to get your stuff right now, Carina. Sean is on his way here with reinforcements. You will stay with me until we find you a place of your own. You have plenty of money. Plenty. Don’t worry about that, okay?”
My skin crawls. I put my face in my hands. “No. I’m not ready yet. He’s home. We can do it another time when he’s away at work. He can’t be home.” I feel cold and hot at the same time. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my fingertips are ice cold. “I need to do this the right way. This isn’t it. I told you out of confidence, Jaz. You can’t do this to me.” I’m panicking at the thought. My breaths turn shallow and erratic. I feel her hands on my back, rubbing.
“You don’t have to go in. I’ll get everything. He needs to see the show of force to know you’re serious. Sean says sneaking away will only anger him further. This is closure, Carina. This is you standing up for yourself, telling him you want out. This is happening right now because I can’t lie awake and wonder about your well-being another night. More so because you deserve to get out of this now. It’s your life on the line. Your life.”
I nod. She’s right, but I’m so scared.
She asks if the SUV is in my name, and I nod again. Several other pertinent questions are raised in my direction that I answer with shakes and nods while we wait for the police. I give her details—gory facts of my life that I hide from everyone. Jasmine winces but nods firmly, her matter-of-fact business persona arriving to conquer. I show her the photos I took of the last time he mutilated my face. Photos I’m so disconnected from that it looks like another woman. Because, surely a strong woman such as myself wouldn’t allow a man to do this to her. Self-perspective is skewed when you’re living in horror.
I’m crying, mascara streaking down my face, when Sean and several other cruisers pull up to my beautiful home in my affluent suburb. The rest happens in a blur. Roarke comes out the front door in a pair of shorts and no shirt. His gaze finds me immediately. I don’t have the courage to get out of the car. I can’t. The car is my shield.
He starts yelling because he isn’t half-drunk, he’s full-on piss drunk at two p.m. Sean is trying to calm him down, and Jasmine enters my house, completely unperturbed by Roarke’s presence. It’s like she doesn’t know what he’s capable of, but she does.
A police officer knocks on my window, and I roll it down.
“Ma’am, we’re going to detain him in one of our vehicles. You’re free to go in to get your things. His words are enough for us to corroborate what we assumed and what you told us.” He means what Jasmine relayedto him.
Roarke’s gaze spits fire as he passes in front of my SUV on the way to a cruiser. It says he’s going to make me pay for this.
On shaking feet, I hop down and walk into my house like a zombie. It looks like such an artifice. It’s a stunning home where ruses are made. Stories of fiction and lies of love. Love never lived here. Not the real kind, anyway. This gives me the bravery I need to tackle the task at hand. I call out for Jasmine, and she calls back from my bedroom. I grab as many suitcases and duffel bags as I can carry from the hallway closet and drag them into our bedroom.
“Pile it in. We’ll sort through it when we get home,” Jasmine says as she dumps the contents of my underwear drawer into an open bag.
I wipe several tears from underneath my eyes. A text pings from my back pocket. I take it out and see that it’s from Smith.
Tomorrow?
The timing is horrible and perfect. Will I be ready tomorrow? Nothing will help me cope better.
Yes. Usual spot.
Officers tell me about the restraining order and my rights and his lack thereof. They tell me comforting things, they tell me facts. Sean offers his protection while I stay at Jasmine’s house. Everyone reassures me that I’ll be safe from harm, but they don’t know Roarkelike I do. I push those thoughts to the back of my mind because at the moment, I am indeed safe.
Taking a deep breath, we finish packing the contents of my world in fifteen minutes flat. It didn’t take enough time to erase me completely from this world. Fifteen minutes is what it takes for Carina Painter to vanish.
I’m terrified of the unknown. I’ve also never felt stronger in my life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Smith
The sun is slantingthrough the blinds in our bedroom, and half of Megan’s face is covered by a streaking, black shadow. She’s been upset since meeting Carina. A day has passed, and she’s still talking about it. We just had morning sex, and it’s still the main subject in our world. Sex did nothing to assure her that she shouldn’t have any fears with regard to my loyalties. “I love you, Meg. You,” I say, cradling her face.
She shakes her head, tossing her blond hair around. “I was upset when you told me about the interviews. You know that, but when you combine the fact that you’re telling her things you’re not comfortable telling me, and the way you look at her…I can’t handle it,” she says, pulling my hand down. “The way you looked at her. That look.”
I clear my throat. It’s a solitary look she’s dissecting. It’s unbelievable. “How did I look at her?” I clutch the sheets in my hand. “Since you’re obviously a master in reading people and body language now.” I am. Sheknows that.
Megan pulls the sheets up to cover her bare chest. “That’s the horrible thing. I don’t have to be an expert, Smith. It was so glaringly obvious.” She sits up, and the shadow encompasses her whole face. “I’m a master at reading you,” she says. “That’s what is important to note.”
