The story follows Dorothy, a woman stuck in an abusive marriage, who decides to escape her husband and search for her missing friend, Jane. Dorothy embarks on a perilous journey to climb a mountain, hoping to find Jane at the top.
However, once she...
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"I want you back. You belong to me and only me, you stupid slut!" my ex-husband Todd yells once we're outside.
I'm too numb to respond. Too broken to hope. He appeared out of nowhere, ruined my first date since the divorce by following me to the restaurant, then dragged me out on the street.
Daniel, the one I'd chosen to break my year-long no-dating stint with, a financial advisor who seemed mature, responsible and kind, is waiting for me to return from the ladies' room and order dessert.
It's been going so well, too. The restaurant was so welcoming and sophisticated, giving off a nice intimate vibe. Soft yellow lights cast a warm glow over the entire space. The place was quite busy, full of couples and groups of friends chatting and laughing at nearby tables. Soft jazz music played in the background–just perfect. That scored many points for Daniel.
There was chemistry between us and most importantly, he seems the opposite of my narcissist ex. Not that I could ever trust a man so soon, but this has been a small step in the right direction.
The whole atmosphere was nearly magical and until Todd showed up, I've been happy to finally be moving on from the bruises of my toxic marriage. How delusional I am to have ever believed nothing could go wrong.
I wonder how long Todd's been following me around, watching my every move.
Now I'll never go back to Daniel because I found Todd waiting right outside the restroom door. Without hesitation and counting on me not wanting to make a scene, he dragged me forcefully through the back exit of the establishment.
My date will probably think I ghosted him.
Todd doesn't stop moving as he continues to throw insults at me. I try to wriggle myself free but the man's too strong. He pushes me into his car, ties up my seatbelt over my arms and chest, confining me, and drives me home.
"Don't move, bitch," he says as he watches me squirm and pull my arms free.
When he arrives at my apartment, I hope–stupidly–this will be the end of the night but it's just the beginning of a nightmare.
One I know all too well.
He drags me in and I hope we come face-to-face with one of my neighbors so I can cry for help. Unfortunately, I'm not so lucky.
We make it inside and he throws me on the floor, then crouches down, looking at me with wild eyes, the Devil in his face.
When he lands the first punch, I freeze for a moment before my subconscious gives me a nudge and I start to fight him. When I scratch him on the back of the hand, drawing blood, I can't deny the sense of satisfaction that fills me.
"Fucking bitch!" he shouts, slapping me with the other hand. "I should fuck you right here but right now, you make me want to vomit. Cheap ten-dollar whore ... but you're my whore. Mine and only mine!"
