He’s merciless—as though he’s found the outlet for all his years of pent-up emotions, and the outlet is me. Except it’s more than just that. Because if I were only a receptacle, he wouldn’t take care of me.

And my God, does he . . .

I lose track of how many times he fucks me that night, or how many times he claims he won’t let me come. But each time I do, and it’s like I’ve moved into a new world where bliss and badness are not only expected but required. It’s so fucking freeing after all the years of rules and regimens.

It’s like he knows that’s what I need. Pleasure—the best kind of medicine for escaping my own thoughts. My mind overcome and ruled by the sensations of my body in a way that’s rewiring my senses.

I’m so caught up in what it feels to be alive, I not only forget about the past—it ceases to matter. Like I am a separate whole person, not linked to my depraved parent.

I sleep. Some. By morning, I trudge to my shower to get ready for work, and I hurt all over, my skin pulsing, my legs throbbing, my body thrumming.

I stand in the shower spray. The water pummels me and pricks my tender skin.

He kept asking me over and over if I wanted more. I said yes every time.

* * *

I wake hearing her get ready for work, but I don’t get up. If I get up, I might go at her again.

I meant to stop, I really did. Six times in one night was too much. But every time I swore I was done, I’d roll over and feel her next to me. This overpowering need to touch her would compel me, and each time I did, the rest was inevitable.

Whenever I asked her to say no, knowing it was the only way I could stop, she’d say yes instead.

And I’m hard. Again.

The front door slams closed.

She’s gone.

I can’t stay here. I don’t know why I think I can.

She’s going to kill me. Really. The way she wants more and more, but fights me for it at the same time—it spurs me harder, makes me want her insatiably. But she carves out the best and worst in me so totally, I become something else with her. Not man, not animal, not anything I recognize. I am simply what she makes me, how she wants me, and everything I need to be to give it to her.

But that doesn’t mean I like it.

Blake better get me that money soon. I have to get out before she screws with my head so much I’m brainwashed into staying.

But I’m too tired to do anything about it this morning, so I sleep.

I dream I chase her, running in circles around her, never able to reach her.

I dream she’s curled into a shell, sleeping, and no matter how loud I shout or yell, she doesn’t wake up. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t walk away.

* * *

I’m finishing with a patient, helping her tilt her baby’s head to the right angle against her breast, when another nurse comes in the room.

“Penny, a call came for you at the desk. It’s urgent.”

“Oh.” I glance at the patient. “Excuse me. I’ll be back.”

The nurse in the hall turns to me outside with a worried look. “The call was from the ER. Your husband is there.”

“Logan? Why?” My husband. The man who is fast becoming the center of my world—though he shouldn’t be. My heart trips over itself and speeds. He wouldn’t have come here to see me. Would he?

But if he’s in the ER, he’s in trouble.

I don’t wait for her answer. I dash to the stairs instead of the elevator, racing down them as fast as I can. Why would Logan be in the emergency room? Did he hurt himself running? On the beach?

Then a terrible thought comes: did he get in a fight and get hurt? Him and my brother fighting each other in the parking lot at the bar was scary.

But more than worried, I’m angry. How could he be so stupid?

I trip on a step and slow down. I don’t need to rush. He probably broke his hand.

But what if he was in a car accident? That truck of his is so wrecked. I have to convince him to get a new one. Once my brother gives him the money, he’ll be able to afford it. What if he was seriously hurt?

I reach the first floor and run through the halls, dodging people, not bothering to apologize if I bump them. I don’t have time to think about how strange it is that I care whether the man who’s blackmailing me for money will be alive tomorrow. I shouldn’t care.

I reach the ER and stop the first nurse I see. “Was there a Logan Kane admitted here?”

“Um, I don’t recall there being—”

“Penny.” I look up and it’s him, standing in the hall.

He’s fine. Nothing wrong with him. I run to him.

I realize almost too late I’m about to hug him. He stiffens and holds out his hands to stop me. “Don’t do that,” he whispers.

“Why? I’m married to you. I should hug you.”

“Because I don’t—” Confusion mars his normally stoic face.

“What’s wrong?” He looks fine and able, no bruises, no bandages. “Why are you here?”

“I’m not here for me.” He moves aside a curtain and points to a woman on the bed. “I’m here for her.”

* * *

I make room for Penny to walk inside.

“Mrs. Toolen!” she cries.

I’m relieved she knows the woman. I had no idea if she was telling the truth. “Nancy called your condo looking for help.” Crying out for Penny with a baby screaming in the background. I tried to be annoyed, but all I could feel was desperate to help her. I couldn’t stop myself from convincing her to tell me her story and let me take her to the hospital.

Penny turns to the bruised woman sitting in the bed. “What happened?”

Nancy Toolen refuses to answer. She wipes the tears that have been a constant stream since I picked her up at her house. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Penny glances at me. “You brought her?”

“She didn’t want me to. But I had no choice.” I don’t want to lift up Nancy’s shirt and show Penny the shoe-sized contusion on her side from where her husband kicked her, or retell the story of how Nancy dropped her baby. Or how it awoke my limitless need to do something with all the pain I feel at seeing a woman who’s helpless and abused.

Nancy tries to sit up but winces. “It was an accident. I fell and he . . .” She bites her lip, unable to finish her sentence.

“It’s all right,” I say, my voice weakened by an alien gentleness, almost kindness, I didn’t know I could feel. “I’ll tell Penny. Try not to think about it.”

Nancy nods. She was nervous at first when I answered the phone instead of Penny. Somehow I got her to trust me enough to bring her here.

The nurse comes back and says, “We need some privacy.”

Nancy wraps her arms around herself and cowers in the bed. “The nurse is here to help you,” I say. “You can trust her.”

“How’s my baby?” She demands of the nurse. “Is she okay? I want to see her.”

The nurse says in a soothing voice and with a smile, “She’s sleeping like a baby. She’ll be done with her CT scan soon and be back with you in minutes.”

Nancy sighs and glances at me for confirmation.

“Penny and I will be on the other side of the curtain. Call if you need us.”

I wait for her to nod, then close Penny and me outside.

Penny pulls me out of hearing distance. “She called the house?”

“Her husband hurt her and the baby. She waited for him to leave the house and called the number you gave her.”

“And you went to get her?” The surprise in her voice is insulting.

“Yes, I helped her. I’m not your father.”

The murderous look in her eye lets me know I went too far, but she ignores it and asks, “But why didn’t she come to the hospital?”

“She was afraid they’d call the police on her husband. But I convinced her the baby needed to be checked.”

She closes her eyes.

I grasp her arms and give them a shake. “Stop imagining it. It didn’t happen to you. You’re safe.”

She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath. “This shouldn’t have happened. I suspected it was bad and did nothing. I should’ve gotten her help.” She chews her lip, and I have a foreign instinct to hug her. But I ignore it.

“There must be somewhere she can go. She has no family here.” The sadness leaves her face, and she goes to the front desk.

I stay where I am in case Nancy calls for us, but I can’t help the smile creeping over my face as I watch Penny. She’s doing something.

I don’t have the heart to tell her even if Nancy agrees to go somewhere safe besides home to her husband, she’ll find a short-term place to stay, but a long-term one is more challenging. Or it was where I grew up. I’ve checked what options my sister would’ve had. If she’d tried to get us a more stable place than our mom gave us, the options weren’t good.

I want to do something to help, too, but I don’t know what that is.