Arrogant Devil(68)

“And I confessed I have an addiction to icing.”

Seems equally as important to me.

“Fine. Okay.” I sweep my hands though the air and turn away, eyes narrowed on my bathroom mirror. He wants honesty? He’s about to get it. “I think you’re handsome—h-o-t.”

“How handsome?”

I scold him with my stare, and he doesn’t even have the decency to hide his arrogance.

Enough. I’ve had enough. I push to stand and yank the door open.

“How about we change this into a game of truth or dare?” I quip. “I dare you to leave this shack right now.”

“That’s a terrible dare.”

“Fine, truth: did you mean all that stuff you said in your office? Do you really think so little of me?”

“Meredith, I was wrong. I was angry, and jealous, and worried that you were too good to be true. I’m sorry.”

I want to delve into every single word he just said, but I’m too drunk. I’ve already forgotten half of them.

I nod. “Okay, fine. Let’s just forget about it.”

“How was Andrew mean to you?”

I pinch my eyes closed. I knew he’d bring that back up, knew he wouldn’t be able to leave well enough alone. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to keep my lips zipped about my marriage. The reasons are stacked one on top of another at this point: I’m embarrassed that I put myself in that situation in the first place. I’m ashamed I stayed as long as I did. I’m hesitant to call it abuse and to open up about the things Andrew used to say, because then I’d actually have to acknowledge that I was a victim. I don’t like that word. I don’t want to have to wear it like an albatross around my neck. I just want to move on.

Those are all good reasons, but there’s still one more: I have tried to open up about Andrew in the past, and it hasn’t gone well.

Honestly, why do I care if Jack knows the truth about my marriage? Up until a few days ago, he wielded incorrect assumptions about me and my life as hurtful weapons. Maybe he’s realized the error of his ways now, but I’m still annoyed. I want to quote Clark Gable and say, Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me or my choices.

Not anymore.

“Meredith.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How was he mean to you?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

I think I’m doing a good job of voicing my resistance to this topic, but he isn’t so easily swayed.

“I’d like to know what he did to you.”

Jesus Christ! He’s not going to drop it.

I slam the door closed again and throw my hands up in defeat. “It was the way he spoke to me. It was the things he said to me…the things he called me.”

There, he has his answer.

“Like what?”

“Does it matter?” I move to straighten a towel hanging near the shower. Then I go check on Alfred.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you should talk to someone about it.”

“I have talked to someone,” I grumble, “and it didn’t go over well.”

“Why didn’t it go well?”

“Because it’s hard to explain! It makes no sense to other people. If I was living with an abusive monster, why didn’t I just leave? He wasn’t holding me captive, wasn’t threatening to kill me if I left. He was such a manipulative asshole, it took me years to realize what he was, what I’d become! It makes no sense. He’s this outgoing, happy person. To the world, Andrew Wilchester is perfect. No one wants to believe he has another side to him—just ask Helen.”

“You told her about the abuse?”

The way he says the word makes my skin crawl. I don’t like that label. I want to lay no claim to it.

“I tried.”

“And she didn’t want to hear it?”

He sounds angry, but I’m careful with my next words. Helen helped me get this job; I don’t want to throw her under the bus.

“She wasn’t trying to hurt me. We aren’t close—that’s my fault. I kept the truth from her for too long, and now it’s too late. To her, it’s all so confusing. She wants me to reconcile with him.”

“That’s what she told me would happen.” His voice is steady and calm. I’m envious of his sobriety. “She said you’d go back to California once you got a dose of reality.”

I laugh, and I’m embarrassed to find it’s not a laugh at all but a broken sob.

It hurts knowing she said those things about me to someone else. It’s one thing to suspect it, another to hear it confirmed. I heave in a deep breath and try to get it together. This is embarrassing. I’m drunk.

“I swear I’m not weak. I didn’t stay because I was scared of being on my own.” I’m pacing now, worked up from all the truth spilling out of me. “It was just really confusing—the cycles he put me through. It was like being on the end of a line. He’d toss me out and reel me back in. Human beings gravitate toward cycles, routines, and that became ours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My marriage to him is part of the reason I feel so isolated now. I put distance between myself and the people around me because I was afraid people would find out I was living this…lie.”