Beat of the Heart (Runaway Train #2)(56)
Although it probably wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, I stepped toe to toe with her and got right in her face. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I can or can’t handle, okay?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she scoffed at me. “Fine, you want the truth? Here it is, big boy. That freak-out I just had was because I spent almost two years with an * who used to beat the shit out of me.”
Her words had the same effect as if she had slapped me, and I jolted back. “What?”
With a contemptuous snort, she turned away from me. “You heard me just fine, AJ.”
“Jesus, Mia, I’m sorry. I had no idea.” When she didn’t respond, I asked, “How old were you?”
“Young and stupid,” she spat.
“Just how young?”
“Twenty-one.”
We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Reaching out, I gently trailed my hand down her arm. I was surprised when she didn’t jerk away. I drew in a deep breath. “I know it might seem like I have the perfect life. And yeah, I’m blessed to not have any real skeletons in my past. But when someone I care about is hurting, I’m there for them. So if you want to talk about what happened, I’d like to hear it.”
Her incredulous gaze snapped back to mine. “Seriously?”
I gave a quick nod of my head. “I really mean it, Mia.”
She exhaled a long, agonized sigh, like one who held the weight of the world on her shoulders. Chewing her bottom lip, I could tell at any minute she was either going to come clean with me or bolt again. I extended my hand. “Come on. You can tell me about it down by the river.”
Almost skittishly, Mia reached out for my hand, grasping it like it was an anchor holding her sanity together. We started making our way through the high grass back down to the riverbank. When we reached the edge, I still didn’t press her for more information. Instead, I remained uncharacteristically silent, waiting for her to take the lead.
After what felt like a small eternity, she turned to me. “Even all these years later and with time spent in therapy, I still can’t understand why I ever stayed with him. I wasn’t the girl so desperate for her father’s attention that she’d let a man abuse her. No man was, or is, a better father than Duke Martinelli.” Mia shook her head. “And even though my mother bailed, I was raised by one of the strongest women I’ve ever known—one who taught me not to take any shit from men.” A smile tugged at Mia’s lips. “Trust me, when you’re surrounded by Italian men, that’s no easy feat.”
“I think they’re kinda as pig headed as Hispanic men, right?”
“You could say that,” she replied. She stooped down to gather up a few pebbles along the bank. “Regardless of those two factors, there has to be some reason I completely lost my mind for eighteen months, right?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think you need to blame yourself. Shit happens.”
“I wish it was as easy as that.” Mia chucked one of the pebbles into the stream, sending ripples along the surface. “His name is Jason. He was the second real boyfriend I ever had—the first guy I really loved….or thought I did. At first, I thought him being possessive was sweet, even sexy. He called me constantly during the day to see what I was doing, he referred to me as his, and he wanted to spend every waking minute with me.”
Mia threw another rock into the creek, casting greater waves across the water. “But then as the months went by and we got even more serious, things changed. At first, the abuse was just emotional. All the bullshit I have about my body—that all came from him. He was able to make me feel that because of my thicker body, I was totally undesirable to any other man and that I was lucky he stayed with me at all.” Mia shook her head. “But then when guys would give me attention, I was too f*cking stupid to realize it or that I could have someone else—someone better. Then the guys’ attention would piss Jason off. If one dared so much as looked in my direction, he would freak out and threaten to kick his ass. Then he’d accuse me of flirting or dressing like a slut. Whenever I argued with him or tried to defend myself, that’s when he got violent.”
As she bent over to pick up a few more pebbles, I swallowed hard, my fists clenching at my side. My heartbeat drummed in my ears at the thought of any man laying a hand on Mia. I shifted uncomfortably back and forth on my feet, desperately wanting an outlet for the rising anger I felt thrumming in my blood. “What kinda shit did he pull?” I asked in a hoarse voice.
A sigh wheezed from her chest. “At first, he would cuff the back of my head hard or shove me into walls or furniture. After a few months when I still didn’t break to his commands, he resorted to backhanding me.”
The world tilted and spun around me at the image that formed in my head. At the same time, I fought to catch my breath as her words had the same effect as if someone were wrenching my beating heart from my chest. “Motherf*cker,” I hissed.
Mia threw her head back and met my gaze. “I never, ever dreamed I’d become one of those women—the cowering beaten and bruised creatures I’d see on TV or in movies. And it goes without saying with Italian tempers, there were a few in my extended family who were always so damn klutzy by running into walls or falling down the stairs.” Gritting her teeth, Mia threw the next stone so hard it hit the rocks across the bank. “But that became me.”