Beautiful Surrender(30)
“You make me sick,” Vincent said. “Look at yourself, using a sob story to keep Kristen attached to you.”
Marty picked up the gun and aimed it at Vincent. “I said stay out of this.”
“Marty don’t! Put the gun down!”
Marty huffed a few times then relaxed. “He’s trying to brainwash you, Kristen. Can’t you see that? I don’t blame you for what happened, and I’m not trying to guilt trip you. It’s not your fault. You’re just like me.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, frustrated and scared.
“Think about it, Kris. You ran away from me. From us. You have to admit that’s not normal. You should’ve talked to me. We could’ve worked things out like we always do. That’s what couples do. They work things out together.” He kissed my hand again. “I have a theory. And please bear with me on this. Remember how we found out I had borderline personality disorder? Well, I did a lot of research and even talked to Dr. Perkins about this. We think you might have an anxiety disorder.”
My head swirled. “What?”
“You’re afraid of the unknown, of taking risks, of failing. Remember the anxiety you would get before tests?” Marty chuckled brightly. “I would massage your shoulders for half an hour before the exam then hold you after you finished because you thought you bombed it.”
“I don’t have an anxiety disorder.”
Marty rubbed the back of my shoulder. His eyes were warm and his voice was light-hearted. “Come on, Kris. Don’t be so stubborn. It’s better if you admit it because then we can do something about it.”
I remembered how I had suffered from test anxiety numerous times back in college. Marty had been there to comfort me. Maybe I did have a problem. I ran away from Marty. I ran away from Vincent at the restaurant. I basically ran away from my parents. I was thinking about running away from having my baby. I was afraid of taking risks, afraid of the consequences, afraid of getting hurt, of failing. Riley had said so. Vincent had made me aware of it as well. Now Marty was saying the same thing.
Even with all that, he had no right to try and diagnose me. “No, Marty. Don’t tell me I have a problem.”
“Shh, shh. I know it’s hard to admit. I had trouble admitting I had a problem myself. But it’s okay, Kris. I get it now. I understand why you ran away. I just want to help you.”
“You seem to be forgetting you invaded your her apartment with a gun,” Vincent said, struggling against his restraints.
“You don’t understand!” Marty cried. He turned to me. “How can you be falling for this guy, Kristen?”
“You don’t know anything about him,” I said.
Marty threw his hands up in frustration. “I know he’s a smooth-talking player who thinks you’re the flavor of the month.”
His words hurt me. Although Vincent and I had resolved the miscommunication over Ariel Diamond, the issue had still been lingering on my mind. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“‘I have some ideas for some new positions we could take at our next meeting’; ‘If you’re touching yourself right now, it’s only a fraction of the pleasure I’d give you’. Give me a break. He’s a douchebag. Just like those frat guys we used to make fun of in college—the ones with baseball caps turned backward and popped-collars. I know how smart you are Kristen. That’s why I’m surprised you’ve been falling for this guy’s bullshit.”
Hearing Marty recite bits of private conversation between me and Vincent made the blood drain from my face. “How did you know about those things? How did you see the text messages he sent me?”
Marty sighed. “Your phone. Remember I have access to it? I can see your texts and hear your conversations.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I never remember agreeing to that.”
“Yes, you did. We said we would share passwords. You use the same password for your email as you do for your phone.” Seeing my phone resting on the coffee table, he picked it up, tapped at it a few times, then showed me he’d passed the security input to reach the home screen. He smiled. “The word of the day is: waddles. You changed your password on your email and Facebook accounts but I guess you forgot to do it for your phone. You have an app that lets me access your phone through the internet. It’s how I’ve known where you’ve been all this time.”
“What the fuck,” I said, shocked at the invasion of my privacy. The signs had been there. Repeated warnings from my service provider about going over my data limit. My phone sometimes randomly turning on at night. He’d been watching me all this time.