Page 44 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
“Desi?” Reznor asks, pulling me away from my thoughts and back to him. Seething is the best way to describe how I feel right now. “What would you do?” His eyes are kind when they look into mine, compassionate, and momentarily, I forget where we are and what is going on...and I want to talk to him about it.
And then I hear another class cheer over something, and the anger fires anew that he’s using this as an example to prove a point to me. That he’s exploiting my fear to make me pay attention to him.
“What would I do?” I’d freeze like a coward and not defend myself.
Heat stains my cheeks as I remember everything I didn’t do to protect myself.
“Yes,” he coaxes, clearly wary of my reaction.
“I—I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper as I confess my shortcomings. To him. To the class. To myself.
“That’s okay,” he says to the class, eyes still locked on mine. “That’s why we’re here—to learn what to do in this situation.”
And so he teaches us different options of how to defend ourselves after waking up in the most vulnerable of states—groggy, disoriented, flat on your back, and at a stranger’s complete mercy.
The entire time I try to engage, I try to do what he says, but my mind is so scattered. It’s remembering how I cold I felt, how every beat of my heart sounded like thunder booming in my ears, how every hair on my body was raised in terror when I woke up seeing this hulking figure there. But now I also feel fury...Reznor knows what happened.
So what? Did he take it upon himself to find out? Did he call up Sunnyville PD or buy the guys some beers at Hooligan’s Bar and ask them about quirky Desi Whitman who runs Doggy Style, nudge-nudge wink-wink, wouldn’t you like to try that with her?
My stomach churns, and I’m already determined to call Grant and have him check out Reznor to make sure he’s legitimate.
And then when class ends, as Reznor is high-fiving the ladies in the class and offering up praise, the thought hits me just as quickly as the panic that follows—what if Reznor and the man in my house were one and the same? What if I slept with...what if I really am that bad at judging a person and he is…
Oh my God. I have to get out of here.
My head spins as I rush to where my keys are. I run into a few women and mutter half-assed apologies, because I don’t slow down and I don’t want to.
I can’t breathe.
New stranger in town who coincidentally moves next door to me a few weeks after a man was in my bedroom. A new stranger walks to my back door, not my front—when no one else does—and coincidentally that’s how Grant thinks my creep gained access to my house.
Too many things. Too many thoughts. Too many—
“Desi.”
My heart races as Reznor calls my name, but my feet don’t stop as I rush out of the gym. I don’t care about the scene I’m probably causing. I don’t care who spreads what rumors about quirky Desi, because I’m used to them.
But I care about the panic attack that’s owning every single part of me right now.
“Desi. Wait!”
I’m almost to my car when Reznor reaches for my bicep. The minute he touches me, I spin around. “Get your hands off me.”
And there must be something in how I say it or on the look on my face, because Reznor takes a step back, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Who are you?” I ask through gritted teeth, feeling like the crazy lady I probably sound like.
“Des? What’s going on?”
“How did you know?”
He shakes his head and blinks, his expression one of utter confusion. “How did I know what?”
“About the man in my house? The scenario tonight. How did you know?” Tears threaten and although they don’t show, the waver of my voice says otherwise.
I see the minute it clicks—what I’m accusing him of. His eyes widen and a part-laugh, part-what-the-fuck falls from his lips as
