I swallow hard. “I need to tell you everything,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” he says simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m here. Take your time.”
The words pour out of me, more descriptive than before, seventeen months of pain and fear spilling into the quiet space between us.
I tell him about the insults, the violence, the isolation.
Every dark detail that I’ve kept locked away.
There are moments when I falter, when the shame threatens to choke me. “I’m sorry I keep talking about it,” I say, tears streaming down my face.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re perfect just the way you are. You can tell me anything, and I’ll always be here to listen.”
His words wrap around me like armor, shielding me from the weight of my own memories.
The next morning, I’m heading to the bathroom when I catch Dex walking out of the back room, a towel slung low around his hips. His torso is a masterpiece—defined muscles, tattoos that tell stories I’d love to know. My face flushes, and I immediately look away.
“Morning,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusts the towel.
“Morning,” I mumble, rushing past him before I embarrass myself further.
The heat in my cheeks lingers for hours.
We spend the next few days tackling the apartment. Dex doesn’t complain once, even when we’re hauling heavy boxes or sorting through piles of junk. His humor lightens the mood, and for the first time in months, I find myself laughing without it being tinged by nervousness.
The truck, unsurprisingly, isn’t worth anything. After a few failed attempts to sell it, we end up donating it. “One less thing to worry about,” Dex says, patting the hood as we walk away.
Thank god I never have to look at that ugly thing again.
The day of our flight arrives, and the apartment is empty now, stripped of everything that made it mine. As I stand in the doorway for the last time, memories flood back—both good and bad.
The nights I spent laughing with Timmy, believing in the illusion he created.
The mornings I woke up terrified, the swoosh of the door signaling another fight.
The times I doubted myself, wondering ifIwas the problem.
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away. I’m not that person anymore. I’m stronger now.
Dex steps up beside me, his hand brushing mine. “Ready?”
I nod, taking one last look before turning away. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
As we walk to the car, Sabre nestled safely in his carrier, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. This horrific phase of my life is over, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to see what comes next.
And maybe Dex will be part of my next chapter.
CHAPTER 139
BUT ARE THERE STRINGS ATTACHED?
MARGAUX
THE PAST
Father: I bought you the clothing you wanted.
Now, you need to come for a walk with me and the dog.