"That's really something," I murmur. A small ache flares in my chest. "My parents are religious. They disagree with almost every choice I've ever made."
"Ma wouldn't be thrilled with mine either." He pauses. "He was a dick to you. Turner. What happened?"
The shift is subtle. His voice roughens just enough.
"He used his position to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it." The words taste sour.
"Did he touch you?"
His jaw is tight, the muscle ticking.
"Nothing reportable." I stare at a crack in the concrete. "Not him anyway."
The silence shifts. He doesn't push, just waits, and somehow that's worse.
"Back home," I say slowly. "I had a boyfriend. He wasn't a good person."
"Where's home?"
"Lewisburg, Tennessee."
He says nothing, but something in his expression settles, like that single fact explains several things at once.
"I was in law school. Completely buried in it — no social life, barely sleeping, barely seeing anyone. He accused me of cheating constantly. Said I was hiding something." I follow adark stain on the concrete near my bare feet. "When we were together he'd pick me apart. My weight, my clothes, how I looked. Like I was some project he'd invested in and I'd failed to deliver."
The chain at my wrist clinks when my hand trembles.
"I finally ended it after months of that. I thought walking away would be the hard part." I let out a humorless laugh. "I was wrong. He didn't react well. He kept showing up, waiting outside my dorm. Every day, every night. Sitting on the steps, smoking, just…staring." My chest tightens just remembering that stare. "Calling, texting from different numbers. I'd block one and three more would pop up. He'd leave notes on my door, on my windshield. 'We need to talk.' 'You owe me.'"
I blink hard, vision blurring at the edges.
"I finally…sat down to talk to him after about a week of him stalking me. I thought if I just explained it clearly enough, he'd accept it. That if I was calm enough, rational enough, he'd understand."
The room tilts, slow and nauseating.
"He forced himself on me," I whisper, the words barely making it past my lips. "Wouldn't take no for an answer. Held my wrists down when I tried to push him off. Told me I owed him one last time."
My throat burns. I stare at the floor so I don't have to see his face.
"Then he beat the shit out of me. Said there was no way I'd leave unless there was someone else. Couldn't understand that I just… didn't want him anymore."
The room goes very quiet. Even the dripping seems to pause.
"Holy fuck, Goldilocks."
I look up. There's a tear on his cheek, one clean track through the hard lines of his face. His hands are fists, tendons standing out, shoulders rigid.
"Don't." I shake my head. "I left. And I ended up here. My parents blamed me — said if I'd been a better girlfriend he wouldn't have snapped. My friends picked sides. Law school became a minefield. So I took the first job offer far enough away that he couldn't just swing by." I gesture at the room around us. "Miami."
"What's his name?"
It isn't a question.
"It's fine."
"What is his name, Goldilocks?" Low and lethal. A loaded gun set carefully on a table.
"No."