My house was in a cul-de-sac. So it didn't surprise me in the least that the moment the police cruiser pulled into my driveway that nearly everyone in the circle was out on their front porch.
My dad liked to call them 'rubberneckers.'
They were the type of people that held up traffic while at the scene of an accident because they were looking instead of driving.
Every last one of my neighbors were busy bodies.
I was in the heart of Kilgore. My street consisted of two retired police officers. Two retired firemen. Three ex-military. Four old ladies that literally had nothing better to do than watch the neighborhood, and finally a retired CEO of Tactical Weapons of Kilgore.
He had our whole street under surveillance because he had nothing better to do with his time.
He also supplied the entire Ark-La-Tex police force with weapons.
Needless to say, I lived on the nosiest block in Kilgore, Texas.
I also loved it.
Nobody cared about me more than them.
Twenty minutes later, we were watching as they hauled Linda towards the police cruiser driven by Miller’s brother, Foster.
“Make sure you rough her up some,” Miller growled.
I elbowed Miller, who grinned evilly down at me.
“The bitch deserves it. I can’t fucking believe she did that. She’s just as fuckin’ crazy as her kid was,” he seethed.
I grimaced and turned away, but Miller stopped me and handed me a card.
“I came over to give you this,” he said, holding out a card.
I looked at it with trepidation.
“What is it?” I asked warily.
I read the plain white card as he said, nearly word for word, what the card did.
“Rape crisis counseling. Bonita Dawes. She’s at the old hospital in the west wing,” Miller said softly.
I looked up at him with fear in my eyes.
“I didn’t think I was being that obvious about my fears,” I said tiredly.
He shook his head. “You weren’t. I just got this from Rue, the woman who took the evidence when you were...you know.”
There was that disgusting word again, right on the tip of my tongue.
I didn’t say it though, and neither did he.
“I don’t want it,” I tried lamely.
He raised his eyebrow at me.
“What if I go with you?” He offered.
My heart sank.
I didn’t want him there.
Well, I did, but I didn’t.
“Why?” I asked.
He seemed to think about what he was going to say before he finally said it.
“I’ve been responsible for making too many bad decisions in my life, and I can’t do it anymore,” Miller urged. “I know this is the right thing to do. I don’t know why, but I need to be there. I feel connected to you in some way, and I just know you need help. So, here I am, offering help.”
The idea of him being there made me think that I might be able to get through talking it out, getting it all off my chest.
Why had I latched onto him so tight?
He didn’t deserve this.
He shouldn’t have to take care of the woman he saved.
Yet he was, and I was grateful.
I was also selfish enough to take him up on the offer.
“Okay,” I relented finally.
Relief washed over his features at hearing my assent, and he smiled for the first time since he’d arrived fifteen minutes ago.
I closed my eyes, and picked up the phone. If that was all it took to make him smile, then I’d make that appointment.Chapter 5True friends always tell you what you need to hear. For instance, today you needed to hear ‘fuck that bitch.’
-Text from Miller to Mercy
Mercy
Two days later
“I told him I wasn’t happy with our sex life, and that I didn’t love him anymore. I told him that I needed more. That there was nothing left for us to fix, and that after we left church, I was planning on packing what little I had at his place and leaving him,” I whispered sadly.
Miller stared at me. I could feel his eyes narrowing on me.
I shouldn’t have asked him to come, but he’d become my champion, and I found that I could do the things that I wouldn’t normally be able to do with him at my side.
He didn’t deserve to hear everything that was wrong with my life. He didn’t need to hear about my inability to be happy with the man I’d been with for nearly a year. I was positive he didn’t want to hear about it, if the way his eye lids twitched at each mention of Mitch’s name was anything to go by.
“So, from what I’m understanding, you feel like the rape was your fault,” the counselor asked for confirmation.
“I didn’t mean to tell him exactly what came out of my mouth,” I hesitated. “It started out as just being a standard breakup. I hadn’t intended to tell him anything until we’d gotten home from church.”
The counselor, Bonita, nodded.
She was a short woman with her hair in a bob, just under her cheeks.
She looked about two weeks over eighteen, yet she had her degree in psychology as well as counseling.
She knew her shit.
I knew that within the first fifteen minutes of our session.
“I’m not saying it’s my fault, per say, but I am telling you that I’m the one that had asked for it,” I explained slowly.
I heard Miller growl underneath his breath, and a wave of heat started to flush my face.
“Did you tell him you didn’t want to do what you did?” Bonita asked.
I nodded urgently. “Of course I told him to stop. I’m not a fan of public displays of affection, but I am a fan of spontaneity. I’d told him on the way to church, instead of when we’d arrive home, for one simple reason. He asked. He asked and I told. I’m horrible at keeping things inside.”
“What else did you say that day?” Bonita asked.
“I told him that I wanted someone that could overpower me. That could make me feel like I’m insignificant to their strength.”
Bonita nodded, and I chanced a look at Miller. Could see his face trying to remain neutral, yet he was doing a horrible job at hiding his anger.