“I can’t,” she hisses, her expression now filled with anger and regret. “I have those marks for life.” She looks away and shuts her eyes tight like she is preventing tears from agony falling. “We weren’t meant to move on. There’s no reason for him to have done that if we were.”
With the view being too intense to watch, I drop my gaze to my lap and ask, “What did he tell you when he left?”
Amanda doesn’t reply immediately, but I hear her breathing slowly in and out as she seems to be considering my question. “That he wasn’t into marriage or kids and that he was actually doing me a favor for breaking up with me.”
It’s exactly what Alex told me when I asked him. And yet, I can’t imagine the pain she must have felt in that moment. After ten years, after receiving those marks… My eyes drift up again, and as I observe the distress laced on her gaze, I realize how bad of an idea it was to have accepted her invitation and meet her. I shouldn’t have come here. Her story makes me hate my fiancé although he didn’t do anything to me. But I feel so much pain for this woman that I understand why she wants to revenge herself and report the man who deceived her and lied to her. I can’t blame her for that.
I get up again, but this time, she doesn’t get physical. And as I stand in front of her, I say, “If you want to go ahead and report him to the police for what he did to you, it’s your decision.” Then I shoulder my backpack, and before leaving her office, I add, “I wish you nothing but the best, Amanda.” And I close the door behind me.
As I reach the entryway, Maria walks in and reminds me about the dinner with Alex followed by Mike’s party at nine this evening—two things that I had totally forgotten. I glance quickly at my watch and realize I’m twenty minutes late for our dinner that was scheduled for six-thirty. Shit. I drop my backpack, put on my most innocent smile, remove my bun for the sake of looking presentable, and rush into the dining room where I find Alex already sitting and eating his starter.
"Good evening,” I greet with a sweet tone, while wondering if he’s mad at me or not.
His blue eyes quickly travel up to meet mine, but his expression reveals nothing. “Good evening,” he says, before putting down his cutlery and leaning back on his chair. And right after I sit in front him, I hear him asking, “May I know why you didn’t call the driver back after your session in the library? I was extremely worried.”
I press my lips together, pondering from where I should start. “First, I don’t like to have Zach constantly driving me around,” I point out. “I enjoy booking a cab on my own. And second… Amanda wanted to meet me,” I tell him.
“Amanda?” He repeats, his brows raising up in surprise. “You met with Amanda?”
“Yep.”
He frowns in confusion. “Why?”
Well, there aren’t a thousand ways to say it, so I take a deep breath, look him in the eye, and tell him the truth. “She wants to press charges for felony assault if I don’t break up with you.”
While Alex keeps steadily staring at me, his jaw drops slightly. “She’s fucking crazy,” he blurts out. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“She's got some strong evidence though…” I pause, observing his curiosity growing. “I saw the pictures.”
Alex chuckles, looking away for a moment. “Whatever you saw, it was all consensual, and it’ll be easily dismantled in court.”
“Her back had scars, and it was bleeding,” I point out.
Alex finishes to eat a bite of his food, before answering. “And?”
Now I’m the one shocked at his nonchalant expression. “And you think whipping a woman until her back gets scars and starts bleeding is okay?”
He drinks some water before taking the white napkin to wipe his mouth. “If that’s her thing,” he says, his tone just as casual as before. “I know many women that are into that.” I can’t help but shake my head in denial at his comment. He truly thinks that’s okay? How can he believe that? “Just because you aren’t into it, doesn’t mean others aren’t.”
“She’ll have those scars for life.” My tone comes out louder and more irritated than I expected though. “That’s sick.”
“Not for her,” he replies back, keeping his tone pretty chilled as he continues to cut his food and eat. “She’s proud of those scars.”
The more he speaks, the more astonished and nauseous I am. “How can you say something like that without an ounce of remorse?”
“Because I know her,” he snaps, his voice steady. “Look, I understand that, for most people, seeing pictures of a woman with her back filled with whipping scars is revolting, but Amanda craves that.” Alex lets out a sigh, pausing for an instant. “And she is not the only one, believe me.”
“You marked more women like that?” I ask, my nerves boiling.
Alex frowns, looking confused. “Like what?”
“Like Amanda? With scars that will remain on their skin forever?”
“No,” he says, and I can only hope it’s true. “Amanda was the only one I accepted to do permanent marking on.”
The only one he accepted? So there were more women asking him that? I look down for a moment, barely believing what I’m hearing. “She’s the one who asked you?”
“Yes. This is something she wanted, and I agreed to it.”
Despite hating what he has done to her, I remember how Amanda looked at those photographs, with affection and nostalgia, which means Alex is most likely stating the truth, and that’s why it’s even more disturbing. How a successful publicist like Amanda can let her partner whip her until she gets scars for life is beyond my understanding. And being proud of that? Well, while I thought I was mentally ill to love a man with so few morals, Amanda definitely takes the cake. “I’ll never let you do that on me. Mark my words,” I remind him, just in case.
“And I respect that.”
After such a talk, my stomach is in knots, and despite Maria placing my starter in front of me, I don’t find the will to eat. “You’ll need a good defense because those pictures were really revolting.”
After telling him that, I get up from my seat, and as I’m about to leave the table and walk out of the dining room, Alex asks, “Where are you going?”
I contain the will to snap something at him, and instead just say, “Getting ready for the party, don’t we have to be at Mike’s place at nine or so?”
“Wait.” Alex also stands up and walks in my direction. Then, stopping right in front me, he starts observing my face attentively. “Are you mad at me or something?”
“I’m not mad,” I tell him, a bit disoriented by his piercing blue eyes trying to read through me. “It’s just… It’s just hard to accept how violent you were with those women. Even if it was consensual, even if they enjoyed it, even if they are proud of their scars. It’s pretty disturbing for me to have seen what you used to do to them.”
He nods in agreement, and there’s something in his expression that switches, becoming more empathetic. “I’m sorry you saw those images,” he says quietly, the back of his fingers softly grazing my cheek. “I’ll never do that to you. I gave you my word last Christmas, remember?” How could I forget that night? It was also during that night he admitted he used to flog women. I just never realized how violent that was.