Page 2 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

2

ARELLA

The gratitude I have for Javina will never end.

Tonight is our monthly movie night. Since we also happened to be scheduled for the same shift, we carpooled, and I’m glad for it. If it wasn’t for her recognizing those people, I wouldn’t have accepted their help. I know better than to get into a car with three strangers. What if they were serial killers? Since we’re still alive, I’m going to assume they aren’t.

I can’t believe I agreed to go to their band’s show tomorrow. Bars aren’t my thing, but it’s Javina’s thing, especially the music ones. So I’m happy to go if it’ll make Javina happy.

She’s practically dancing in my passenger seat. “All right, babes, you’re never gonna guess who called while you were getting a new tire.”

I merge my car into the leftmost lane. “Your brother?”

“Nah. Still haven’t heard from him. I’ll give you a hint. We should stop somewhere for a celebration cake.”

I knit my eyebrows together, then my jaw drops. “You and Rachel got approved for the apartment?”

Her face falls. “I wish. We should find that out next week.”

Javina and her girlfriend have been apartment hunting for almost three months. Every place they’ve toured is either a dump or the rent is too high. Last week, when I found out that my upstairs neighbor was moving, I texted Javina and told her to apply for it.

“Okay, I’m just gonna tell you.” She grins with all her teeth. “I got the promotion!”

“What!” I squeal. “I knew you’d get it!”

“Thanks. I wasn’t confident. I was up against Carrie, who has been at the daycare for, like, three years longer than me.”

“Yeah, but you work harder than Carrie does.”

“If there’s anyone who works the hardest, it’s you. You always do all the extra shit nobody else wants to. I still think you should have applied.”

Our director hinted to me that if I applied, I was guaranteed the position. I didn’t apply because I knew Javina really wanted the job. I also knew that if our director didn’t promote me, she’d pick Javina.

She’ll be better at it, anyway. My strengths reside in handling the kids. Javina is better at all that leadership, organization, and technology stuff—all the skills she’ll need to be the best assistant director Sunrise Daycare has ever had.

In the grocery store, Javina stares at the cake options for way too long. Nothing fits her expectations for the “perfect celebration cake,” so we get popcorn instead.

The sun sits along the horizon in hues of pinks and purples as we arrive at my apartment in Culver City. Out of habit, I step out of my car and scan the lot to see if his car is around.

When my tire blew, I thought the source of my problems was him again. He has been messing with my life for years. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d sabotaged my vehicle either. Thankfully, my flat today was just an accident.

When I finish doing a quick eye sweep of the area and don’t see his car, I let out a breath.

“Don’t sweat it, babes.” Javina throws up a closed fist. “If he was here, we both woulda taken him. He’d be leavin’ with a bloody nose and a limp.”

I offer Javina the biggest smile I can manage. I love this woman.

The first thing we do when we enter my apartment is kick our shoes off, then drop our grocery bags onto my kitchen counter. Javina takes the liberty of rummaging through my fridge for a can of root beer. I’m not a fan of root beer. I only stock my fridge with it for her.

“Did you tell Rachel about the promotion yet?” I slide my finger under the flap of the popcorn box. It tears open easily.

“Yeah. I texted her as soon as I got off that call.” Javina takes a long chug from her can. “We’re celebrating on Sunday.”

“Why Sunday?” Today is Thursday. It’s rare for Javina to go more than a day without seeing Rachel.

“She’s on a business trip and won’t be flying back until late Saturday night.”

I unwrap the plastic off the popcorn. “How are you guys going to celebrate?”

“Probs go out for dinner and get drunk on wine.”

I chuckle. “Nothing like living your best life.”

Minutes later, we’ve got a bowl of yummy, extra-buttery goodness in hand as we head to my living room.

“Pick out somethin’ good for us,” Javina says as she shuffles down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

My butt makes a light thud as I flop onto my worn garage-sale couch. The TV brightens to life with the hit of a button. I scroll through our entertainment options, logging some choices into a mental list. Most are true-crime related. Javina and I like to judge the way murderers get caught and discuss how we could have done it better.

“Yo!” Javina calls from the bathroom. “When are you planning to fix this gaping hole in your wall?”

I still have nightmares about that fist flying at my face. When I ducked, his fist ran straight into the drywall with a crack! He bled quite a bit. While I bandaged him up, I secretly wished he had broken something. That was the moment I knew I had to get out.

A week later, I was busy packing a bag when he arrived home early from work. Getting caught trying to leave only made a bad situation worse. For weeks, he barely let me out of his sight. He stole my car keys and hid them. Every day, he’d drop me off at work and pick me back up. The daycare became my safe haven, and I’d dread whenever my shift ended.

When I wasn’t working, he’d lock me up in our apartment and try to brainwash me into believing that I was nothing without him. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, I wished for him to get hit by a bus.

During those dark days, whenever Javina asked if we could hang out, I’d lie and tell her I already had plans. Eventually, she caught on. The day she pulled me aside during our lunch break and vocalized her suspicions, I burst into tears. It didn’t take me long to confess how I’d got the marks on my face that I’d been hiding under layers of foundation and concealer.

That night, Javina showed up with her buff dad, her athletic brother, and her two heavily tattooed uncles. All of them had broad shoulders and stood to at least six three. While one guarded me, the others threw all of my ex’s things out the door—literally. Socks were scattered across the grass, and his can of shaving cream exploded all over the sidewalk.

For the next few weeks, Javina’s family took turns camping outside my place to ensure he stayed away. Javina still talks about how much she loved seeing the fear in my ex’s eyes when four large Black men showed up and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’ll do it eventually,” I say, hoping I’m speaking loudly enough for Javina to hear. “I haven’t found the motivation yet.”

“Want my help? I can’t imagine staring at a hole in the wall every day while I do my business.”

I’ve thought about patching it up, but then I’d need to patch up the three holes in the bedroom. In the middle of our fights, he used to point at those holes and say, “ That is what happens when you disobey me and try to fight back. Just do what I say, when I say it.” That normally scared me into submission because he was right. Fighting back only ever made him more violent. It was always easier to just give him what he wanted. Now, I hide those holes behind artwork and framed photos. If I only had one hole to fix, it’d probably be done already. Four is a daunting project.

I would cover the hole in the bathroom with a picture if it wasn’t in such an awkward place—right below the towel bar, slightly to the left. My bath towel usually hides it, and nobody except Javina ever comes over anyway, so why bother?

Besides, whenever I see that hole now, I’m reminded of the na?ve, trusting person I used to be. I’m reminded that I don’t need a man or his money to make it. Over the past eight months, I’ve picked up a weekend nanny job to cover his part of the rent. I’ve learned the difference between real love and the love to control. I’ve even learned that I can make jokes and laugh out loud without his permission. Seeing this hole now reminds me that I’m stronger today than I was before, and it encourages me to continue to be strong.

The toilet flushes, and the sink runs, then Javina reappears in the living room. “Sorry, babes. Didn’t mean to bring him up again.”

“It’s fine.” I force a smile—something I’ve learned to do well. Yeah, I’m getting better, but time hasn’t completely healed me yet. There are still things that shut me down. Like whenever I see or hear his name. Whenever I catch a whiff of alcohol. Whenever a man gets too close.

I’ve been relearning that not every man who touches me wants to bruise me. My brain knows it, but it’s harder to convince my body to know it. I still tense up whenever I’m touched by a man, which is progress from eight months ago, when I’d practically break down in tears.

In the beginning, my ex’s touches were loving and didn’t leave bruises. The first time he slapped me, we were in a heated argument over something I can’t even remember. He promised it would never happen again. And it didn’t... not for another four months. Eventually, his slaps turned into punches, his promises turned into begging, and the months between those fights became weeks or days.

He spent a lot of nights conditioning me into believing his behavior was my fault and that I deserved it. Apparently, I didn’t listen, I was too defiant, and I questioned him too often. After a while, I just obeyed. Whenever he talked, I listened. Whenever he told me not to wear something, I didn’t. Whenever he came home late, I stopped asking where he had been. I know now that his actions were not my fault and that I never deserved it.

Javina plops beside me and digs her hand into our popcorn bowl. “One last question, then we can be done talking about him.”

“Okay?” I keep scrolling through the movies, even though my brain isn’t registering any of the titles. I’m too focused on what Javina has to say next.

“When’s the last time you saw that low-life bitch face?”

“A month, I think.”

Thirty-seven days, to be exact. And yes, I keep count because thirty-seven is a record—a huge record.

Unfortunately, that means he’s bound to reappear soon.