I thought that Alistair and I had settled into a blissful habit over the next few days. Yes, I was still trying to let the weight of his confession settle, but he had no idea about the secret that I was harboring for him. So, naturally, the lazy days that followed our trip to the Louvre allowed the frayed nerves in my body to settle down and each breath I sucked into my lungs came a little easier. I felt like I was actually starting to appreciate the world around me again. I had finally accepted that I was in France and it was gorgeous, very much worth embracing. And the man who ruined my life was still after me, yet so far behind me.

But those casual days slipped behind us. The more I sat the more I thought and my personal reality checks were not something that helped keep me calm and levelled. I didn't want to think about what it meant to me to be living with another man. I didn't want to think about the way he manipulated me in my naivety and could be doing it again. And I didn't want to think about the consequences that could come from trusting him too much or not trusting him enough. And quiet days like we continued to have were letting my mind race away madly.

We hadn't even eaten breakfast yet and I was already wearing a pair of jeans and a soft jacket that would keep me warm in the nippy weather that December brought. Alistair smiled when he saw my attire, but his expression shifted when we both heard the soft ringing of the landline.

"Who even has this number?" I asked quietly, my heart already starting to stammer.

Alistair didn't reply, he just picked up the phone and listened, a pensive expression on his face.

"Hey mom." He said softly and I watched his strong shoulders drop a little bit with relief.

I only tensed up further.

The conversation between Alistair and his mother was brief. Alistair didn't say much in response to his mother that would give me any insight as to what was going on. He usually gave her brief one word answers and his eyes were unreadable. So I could do nothing but stand there, watch him, and chew on my nails with anxiety.

His parents were our eyes and ears on the inside of his mess. They were the only people who knew how to contact us if things had started to turn sour in Canada. I felt like they couldn't possibly be calling us for no apparent reason.

After what felt like forever Alistair hung up. He stayed still for a moment, the phone still in his hand and a heavy frown on his face.

"What did she say? Do we need to pack up?" I blurted.

"No, nothing like that. They haven't figured out that Smith is missing yet. Josh can't announce that his man was supposed to report to him, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to explain why his man wandering around the UK. We still have time before they start looking in Europe for us."

"Then what is it?"

"My parents just want more information."

"About me?"

"Yes."

"About what happened?"

"Yes."

I fell silent. No, it wasn't as bad as being found. I knew that. But in the same breath I had curled myself up in a world where I had tried to forgot about Josh and all the evil things he had done to me. And I had never told anyone what had happened to me. Sophie knew. She saw the scars and the bruises. She saw how I shied away from other men and refused to defy Josh in anyway. She knew that he was slowly ripping my freedom away from me. But we never spoke about it.

"We can go as slow as we need to." Alistair soothed.

He took a careful step towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders. The small gesture gave me the strength to meet his eyes, but reopened the door that I had firmly shut in an effort to suppress the feelings he brought forth within me.

"It's alright; I can tell you whatever you need to know."

I pulled myself out of his hold and moved to sit at the dinner table, expecting him to follow. But he ignored me and went deeper into the kitchen. He turned on the kettle and poured milk into a sauce pan. A couple minutes later he settled down on the opposite end of the table, a dark tea in front of him and a steamed milk with a shot of vanilla in front of me.

"So they haven't been able to find anything?" I asked, attempting to stall.

"Not yet, but hopefully we can give them a little more to work with and something will come out of it."

"Alright, ask away."

Alistair searched my face for a moment, trying to gauge my readiness.

"I want you to explain the nature of what Josh did to you."

I expected the questions to be hard to answer. And I knew I would have a hard time thinking about all of the things that awful man had done to me. But I didn't expect a punch to the gut right out of the gate.

"He abused me." I answered, my voice cracking. "He hurt me."

"I understand that, but how? Did you call you names? Did you hit you? Was it of a sexual nature?"

Violent images flashed in my mind. I felt the need to jam my eyes shut and take a deep breath, but I didn't want Alistair to see the effect his words were having on me. My shaking hands reached for my mug. The warmth soothed me ever so slightly.

"All of it."

"Give me more details."

It was a stone cold, brutal order. One I would expect of an agent. Of someone like Josh.

I swallowed hard. "He would almost always start with name calling, it was my sign that worse things were coming. If I kept doing behavior he didn't like after he had told me I was a whore or something along those lines he would hit me."

"How would he hit you? And where?"

"He would usually slap me first. He rarely hit me in ways that would give me bruises and when he did he always made sure a tee shirt would cover them. He would choke me most, though."

The words came out without emotion. They were strong and factual, but as I said them I felt each blow to my body and saw the look that would cross Josh's face when he delivered them. The slaps across my face. The kicks to my stomach after I was down. Those cold fingers closing around my delicate throat until I couldn't breathe. And that slow, easy smile like he had satisfied himself by controlling and breaking me.

But, clearly, I was good at hiding my emotions because Alistair didn't seem to notice how distressed I was. He continued on like I had told him the headline of a newspaper, attentive, somber, but so calm.

"And the sexual factor?"

I wasn't sure if I was going to cry or be sick at that thought.

"He would use physical threats to get me to have sex with him." I confessed.

I said the words fast, trying to get them out, but they left a vile taste in my mouth anyway.

"So he raped you?"

"Yes."

I knew that Alistair would hardly ever wear his emotions on his face, but now I wished he did. I wanted to see that he was disgusted or that his heart ached because of what had happened to me. But he was completely blank.

"Did he ever have an accomplice?"

"Like Smith?"

"Like someone who took an active part in hurting you or sexually assaulting you. Or even someone who just watched."

My skin crawled at the thought.

"No."

"Did he ever suggest it?"

"No."

Alistair sucked in a deep breath and nodded his head. Those sharp green eyes drifted over my face once more.

"Do you need a break? I know this can't be easy on you."

"I'm fine." I just wanted the whole thing to be over as soon as possible.

"You lived in an apartment, did your neighbors ever call the cops?"

"We lived in the penthouse. I always tried to be quiet, but I doubt that anyone would hear me even if I screamed my lungs out. A place like that must be sound proof."

"Was there any way you would ever have any eyewitnesses? Another building that had windows that could see into yours? Did this ever happen in public?"

"No."

"Did anyone other than Sophie ever suggest to you that you shouldn't stay in your relationship?"

"No."

"Did he ever hurt you so badly that you were hospitalized?"

"Not that I can remember."

Alistair stood up suddenly and I saw something harsh flash across his face.

"We're done for now." He announced.

And feeling so raw and vulnerable I knew I couldn't go and close myself up in my room. I would never come out again. Not until I had cried out all of the dreadful feelings that were now too close to the surface. That would take days.

"I'm going out." I blurted.

Alistair stopped mid stride to look at me with a single raised eyebrow.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours; I just need some time to breathe."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No."

Alistair looked like he was going to argue with me, but decided against it and I was deeply thankful for it. Not only had I just relived several gruesome events from my past at once I had also confessed everything to a man who told me that I was exactly what he was looking for in a woman. Well, I could've been if he didn't know the horror story that was the emotional baggage. And now, I had just confessed more to him.

I spent a few minutes collecting my credit card and a warm jacket, then I was off to the train station. And I was heading into Paris alone for the first time ever.

Paris was bustling with people, more so than usual. But it wasn't locals. It was all tourists who bumped into my frequently as they tried to take in all the sights at once or struggled to determine which train they needed to take. My favorite little café was filled with people which made me grumble under my breath, but I continued on, deciding that I would find something that would ease the aching in my chest as much as a hot drink would.

I saw stores that had beautiful gleaming diamond rings in their displays. I watched excited couples enter and exit them. I almost laughed to myself when I saw how aggressively people were attempting to get their first souvenir from a little kiosk. I poked my head into a drugstore, picking up more necessities like tampons, foundation, and a new face wash.

When I stepped out of the drugstore I spotted a little store that I knew would make it me happy.

When I stepped inside I smiled at the sight of all of the movies, CDs and records that were strewn across the store.It seemed like it was filled to the brim and I couldn't stop my heart from swelling a little bit in my chest, despite the heavy words I had spoken an hour ago. I spent a long time sifting through the used and new media, delighted when I found the odd gem.

Within twenty minutes my arms were loaded up with used Disney classics, cheesy romances that I had only heard about, and a comedy about police officers that everyone knew. I deemed it to be a successful haul. It would keep me entertained for hours and keep my mind off all the horrendous things I had just briefly talked about. And god knows I would need the distraction.

But when I moved towards the register I saw a large, colorful record out of the corner of my eye. At first, it was the cover art that drew me in, but then I read the band name and realized that it was the same band that had been playing on the intercom on the train. The little pinch of American culture that had made him strain his ears. Maybe it was the only thing in this foreign land that reminded him of his life back home in Canada.

And, thinking of Alistair, I purchased the record too.

I wasn't sure why and I felt terribly foolish for doing it, but it seemed like I was working on auto pilot.

Through the busyness I somehow ended up back at the train station in forty five minutes. I was impressed with my time and how comfortable I felt in the unknown land, with a different currency, and unique language for what I knew. Even all of the people swarming around didn't make me feel particularly terrible.

Until I lifted my eyes and saw a man staring at me.

I looked away quickly as my train arrived, but the intensity that those brown eyes had gave me chills. I was just thankful when I boarded the train and noticed that he hadn't gotten on it as well.

After that, he was forgotten rather quickly.

I took that stupid record home with me, unable to toss it in the garbage or give it to anyone who would take it. I was worried about what Alistair would say when he saw it, but I couldn't make myself part with it. So I stacked my other finds on top of it and plowed into the house, hoping I could dodge Alistair completely. I didn't know what to think about my purchase and I didn't need Alistair making any assumptions. I just assumed that I was anxious and impulsive and that was enough to impair my judgement.

But rooming with an agent meant that there were no secrets.

"What's that?" he asked, almost as soon as I opened the front door.

"Movies." I grunted, squeezing past him to get to my bedroom.

He asked another question, but I slammed the door to my room and immediately dumped the record in the back of my closet. I was determined that it would remain there.