Chapter 34
Chapter 34:
“You filthy gay man. Lance has a family, and so does Nash! They have children!” she cried. Sobbing, she slapped my other cheek, and the other woman followed suit, delivering a slap of her own. My cheeks burned, throbbing from the pain, but I stayed still, still in shock. I could feel the sting of their wedding rings as I absorbed their anger, taking in the humiliation.
This is it, Remy. It all comes to this, I thought to myself.
All the time I had spent with their husbands, I had never considered their families or their children. I knew both men were married, but it wasn’t until they appeared that I realized I had been a homewrecker.
There was nothing I could say to defend myself.
After they left, I expected to be left alone to wallow in my destructive behavior. But I was wrong. Men entered the apartment—three of them—right after the wives walked out the door.
They closed the door behind them and assaulted me.
Two of them held me up while the third one beat me until I couldn’t stand.
They trashed the apartment, and I was left barely able to crawl to the sofa. I cried, unsure of who else to call but Jed.
I was at my lowest when Jed finally walked into the ruined apartment. He took pictures of the destruction, then turned to photograph my battered face and bruised body. At least my nose…
Not crooked, they didn’t break any bones or pop my eyes out. I didn’t have the energy to explain things to Jed as I drifted in and out of consciousness. He was surprisingly gentle when he helped me up, telling me to sit while he tended to my wounds.
“I wouldn’t advise going to the hospital,” he said, pausing to clean the blood trailing down my cheekbone and jaw. “There would be questions, and then the police p>
He paused again, his gaze intense. “But Remy, do you think you’ve broken a bone? Are you feeling nauseous? Because I know a guy p>
“I think… I’m fine. Will… will you let me stay at yours? I really don’t want to answer Marx’s questions.” I felt like such a loser, a whore, a low-life street slut who was crawling back to his pimp when things got rough. I had given up my apartment, and I really didn’t want to face strangers at a motel—not when my face was all messed up.
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“You’re still my boyfriend, Remy,” Jed replied, his voice soft but firm. “You can stay as long as you want p>
The man was sick. Jed had pimped me out and was shamelessly reminding me that I was still his boyfriend. He was taking me back happily, and while it felt strange, I had no other options.
The hair on the back of my neck sent me signals, but I was too broken to care. So I let him help me up and usher me out of the Daniels’ apartment and back into his place.
It was almost a week later.
The days had passed in a blur. I spent most of my time sleeping and taking pills to numb the pain. On the fifth day, the bruises on my stomach had taken on a variety of colors, looking alarmingly painful, but my face was healing.
The bruises were almost gone; I’d probably be able to hide them with makeup. I wanted to go back to work, but Jed insisted I stay for another day. He had been strangely caring, and I couldn’t help but feel comforted by his affection.
I was so messed up. I shouldn’t be feeling anything for Jed.
The man had put me in this position. He had whored me out, and the wives had caught me and made sure I stayed away from their husbands.
One day, Jed was holding my phone. I overheard him talking to one of the Daniels. He mentioned that he had photos of me in the wrecked apartment and that he wanted them to send money for my medication and compensation. Jed also mentioned that their deal was done, though they probably had less than two weeks left anyway.