“By her ex?”
“No. She already killed her ex. This was another man who hurt her.”
Eli’s eyebrows raise slightly. “She killed them herself?”
“With her husband's help, yes.”
“Do you think she’s wrong to have done that?”
The question hangs between us. A month ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. I would have wanted to diagnose the trauma response, to help talk her out of an unhealthy coping mechanism.
Now?
Now I’m sitting here, in a house my stalker brought me to against my will, counselling a woman who takes violent justice into her own hands, and I can’t find it in myself to condemn herchoices.
“I think,” I say carefully, choosing my words with precision, “that sometimes healing isn’t textbook. Sometimes, the person that helps you is dangerous. Sometimes you have to do dangerous things to feel whole again. And maybe…” I swallow hard. “Maybe that’s not always wrong.”
Just look at Tess. She killed her rapist. That added to her healing process. She has no regrets. Neither does Izzy. Carina killed her father for what he did to her. And I know she continues to kill those the justice system fails to catch. She hasn't told me directly, but she's never been good at hiding things from me.
Eli seems to look at me in a new light after my admission—his eyes hold an understanding.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For letting me do this.”
Eli shakes his hand. “You don’t need to thank me for letting you be yourself, Angel.”
22
Respect My Boundaries
Eli's Search History: Luxury leather motorcycle jackets with custom embroidery.
Emily
I’vebeenlivingwithEli for two days now. It’s… nice. He’s so attentive. I never want for anything. Graham, the traitor, has made himself right at home.
I’m confused.
After my breakdown I had prepared to pretend. Make him think I was falling in love with him so he would let me out and I could run.
But now… there’s a tiny part of me that’s not sure if it wants to leave.
Insanity.
That’swhat this is.
Or a trauma response.
Perhaps I’m developing Stockholm Syndrome. That must be it. There’s no other reason for why my heart lights up when Eli’s in the room. No other reason for why my pants are always soaked when he’s near.
I should be looking for a way out, but my brain is rewiring itself to see my capture as my only source of survival. I’m watching my own mind break, and I’m letting it happen.
“Morning Angel,” Eli says from next to me, because, of course, he wouldn’t hear it when I asked for separate beds.
I hate how comfortable I am being next to him. That sharing a bed isn’t the worst thing in the world. Except when he—
“Eli!” I screech, frustration bubbling up inside me.
He smiles, reaching out to brush my hair away from my face, completely ignoring my raised tone. “Yes, Angel?”