Page 18 of Accidental Getaway

Her grief is palpable. My shattered heart is melting into white-hot rage.

I hate men like that. Men like Malcolm. They are all the same.

They all treat women like objects—replaceable and controllable.

They cut us off from anything good in our lives, use us up, and then throw us away—or worse.

Malcolm never got that dangerous, but the psychological control felt just as life or death, as if there was nothing I could do to get out from under his puppeteering hand.

“I’m so sorry,” I finally say, wishing I could change everything for her. For Callie. “Your sister never should have been treated that way, but it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

It’s all I know to say, but I squeeze her hand again, hoping she can feel the empathy and understanding in my touch.

She couldn’t have done anything to get Callie out of that situation until Callie decided to do it for herself.

I don’t know how to explain that to Ana without telling her my story, though.

“I don’t know,” Ana says, her voice breaking. “If I had been a better sister, maybe she would have seen the red flags sooner and not brushed them aside because he made her feel special.”

She could have been describing my situation. Malcolm made me feel so special at first, and when he changed, I kept thinking I had done something wrong and needed to earn that feeling back.

It wasn’t because my family and friends weren’t good enough. It was because a part of me, for some reason, didn’t believe I was good enough. The same part of me that desperately craved his approval.

A dullness sets in my chest when I think about it. I have to help her understand, even if it means letting her see the parts of me I’ve tried to hide from everyone.

“I was in a similar situation. I started dating an older man at work while I was still in college. He spoiled me, but he also kept our relationship a secret. He said it was because I was an intern and he didn’t want people to judge me, but really it was because he didn’t want a real relationship.

He just wanted someone he could control. ”

She wipes her tears with her napkin.

“We were together for three years and he messed with my head so much that I was trapped in an endless loop of thinking I was the one doing something wrong. I knew my family loved me, but I thought I had to fix this situation on my own.”

Even as the words leave my mouth, part of me still believes that if I was smarter or prettier, Malcolm wouldn’t have treated me the way he did. Even if my brain knows better, my heart keeps trying to figure out what I did wrong.

“He eventually decided he was done with me and publicly fired me at work. And I fled. I let him take my whole life away from me. I drove through the night from Chicago to Colorado without telling anyone, and he never even called to see where I was.

“I didn’t hear from him for months until one day, he sent me a text that he went on the trip we had been planning to a winery in Greece, of all places. He had another girl on his arm in my place.”

I rub my wrists. “That was probably too much information, but the fact your sister called you for help means you were exactly the sister she needed.”

I take a huge breath. I feel raw, like I just peeled back layers and layers of skin to get to that story and let it out. The vulnerability feels dangerous.

“Your sister’s death is incredibly tragic, but you can’t carry that guilt. If you do, he just wins again. It’s all his fault. Not yours.”

I wish I could believe the same thing about myself. As hard as I try, I can’t shake knowing I could have been stronger. Or at least left earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten myself into that situation to begin with.

“Thank you,” she whispers, tears flowing down her cheek. “You have no idea how much it means that you shared that.”

Ana waves down the waiter and pays for our meal. I offer to pay my half, but she brushes me off.

“Let’s go dance,” Ana says, standing, and gathering her bag and sweater. “I think we both need to get lost in the music.”

And as much as I hate dancing and as out of place as I feel, I know how desperately she needs it. She wants to forget and feel free. I do too. So, I follow her across the street into a club and straight onto the dance floor.

Music floods my senses, filling my ears, and thudding in my chest. We move on the dance floor as it gets more and more crowded.

My mind feels like it’s being spun and pulled in a hundred different directions, mourning Ana’s sister and hating what happened to her with a fiery vengeance.

What would her life have become if she had gotten free?

Where would she be now? Where should I be because I got free? What should I be doing with my life?

I do not want to consider the answer to any of those questions, so I force myself to get lost in the movement. I don’t want to think about how I shouldn’t still be struggling to get back on my feet.

I dance until I’m dizzy and can feel the sweat, hot and sticky on my chest under Ana’s necklace.

Piper: How was dinner?

Jenni: The food was amazing. But the night also kind of sucked. Why am I still such a mess post-Malcolm? Shouldn’t I be better by now?

Piper: You’re not a mess! Look at you, in Greece. You’ve got this. Just be yourself.

Jenni: I’m not sure I know who that is.