Page 25 of Kings Don't Break

I’m frozen. I’m right on the edge. So lost in my head I don’t even know where to begin. It feels like if I even try to speak, I’ll lose control.

“Sweetheart? Please say something. I can hear noises on the other end.”

I glance around at the rest of my surroundings. The parking lot of the local Buy N’ Save bustles with cars and customers coming and going. I’m parked as far off from the store as possible in hopes of even a little discretion.

But it still feels like any word I say will come out wrong. It’ll come back to haunt me. Just like it always does.

“I… I think…” I choke out. My voice sounds hoarse. Devastatingly quiet even to my ears despite the fact that I’m alone. His presence looms even when he’s not around. “I think…” I try again, and then a third time. “I… I need help.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Can we start with your name and zip code?”

“No. No… I can’t…”

“But, sweetheart, I’ll need your zip code for resources?—”

“I said no,” I snap, suddenly irritated. “I can’t. No personal info.”

“Okay, remain calm. Why don’t you tell me about what’s going on?”

It seems like such an obvious question that I should have an immediate answer for. The past decade should be clear in my mind. I should be able to pinpoint how I’ve wound up here, placing secret phone calls in the parking lot of the local Buy N’ Save.

Yet, as I rack my brain, everything blurs. The past feels like a nebulous cloud. Fuzzy and out of focus. How did I reach this point? How could I let things get so… messed up?

The woman on the phone must sense my confusion. “You don’t have to share everything. Just tell me what you can. How did you meet your partner?”

I gulp down some air, clinging to my phone like it’s a lifeline. “In college… my second year…”

“And how old are you now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty-eight,” I mutter.

“So young,” she says with a soft laugh. “I remember what that was like. But it sounds as if you’ve been together a while.”

I nod. “We’re… married.”

“I understand. That can make the situation feel complicated. Tell me about what made you call today.”

“My husband…” I trail off, fighting through the fog. Forcing the words out. To make it real by speaking them. “He put his hands on me.”

“I see. Was this the first time?”

My heart clenches instead of beats. The pain’s worse than the injuries I’ve sustained—the tenderness in my ribs and deep ache in my jaw. The same jaw I’ve covered up with several layers of makeup just to be able to go outside.

“It wasn’t the first time. It’s… it’s happened before.”

“Are you safe where you are? You don’t have to go back. You can head to a local shelter right this moment. Tell me your name and zip code and I can?—”

“I said I don’t want to give you that!”

“It’s information I’m going to need.”

A wave of cold panic crashes over me. I cut the call short before the woman can even get another word out.

Pent-up emotion spills out of me in a flood of tears. I shrink in my seat and grip the steering wheel so hard, the leather cracks and tiny chipped pieces fall away. My breath grows sharper the harder I cry, turning into outright gasps for air. Tears wet my lashes and streak down my cheeks in a pitiful trail that I impatiently wipe away.

It’s the crushing knowledge that there’s no escape. No matter what I do, I can’t run from the bed I’ve made.

No stranger over a hotline can help me. No number of fantasies about my ex-best friend and what could’ve been will change a thing.