by Jade Webb
I lift the lamp over my head, ready to strike another blow. MacArthur instinctively cringes, covering his face with his red-stained fingers. He looks so pathetic and weak on the ground beneath me as a shudder runs through his body.
In this moment, I finally feel powerful. I hate that it had to take killing one man and contemplating killing another to finally bring me to this point. I hate how MacArthur twisted and manipulated me. He was right: I was his puppet. But I am done. It’s over.
“I’m ending this now, MacArthur,” I say, my voice devoid of any emotion. “After today, you will be nothing but a bad dream.”
My words send another shiver of fear through him. I am done. I am done being scared of this man. I am doing being scared and angry at the world. I don’t want to carry this rage in me anymore. I want to be happy again, to be loved and to love in return. Holding onto my hatred of MacArthur won’t let me do that. I need to end this.
I keep my eyes locked on him as I push the couch backward. When I spot the gun, I pick it up and hold it in my hands. Tossing the lamp on the floor, I tuck the gun into the waistband of my shorts.
“Remember my words, MacArthur. You don’t exist for me anymore. I want you to remember my face when I send you to jail. I want my face to be the last thing you see every night before you fall asleep, cold and alone in whatever godforsaken prison they send you to. I want you to remember that I could have killed you today, but I chose not to. Because I am done with you. And I am not going to let you hurt me, or anybody else, ever again. Your life is over, MacArthur. And I want you to remember that I am the one who ended it.”
And with that, I slide open the glass door overlooking the backyard and step outside. As the moon casts its reflection over the placid pool, the pile of shattered glass catches the light from the starry-cast night. The entire scene contrasts so starkly with the chaos inside.
I continue walking up the path and let myself out of the back gate. As I walk down the long driveway, I finally feel a weight lift off my shoulders. It’s done. I’m free.
35
Roman
“This is it. Pull in here,” I order the detective driving the car as I stare down at the phone screen. We have been chasing the pulsing red dot of Daphni’s Lifebeat for the last twenty minutes. The sirens cut into the silence of the night as we take a sharp left turn.
“Oh my God,” Melissa says as she opens the window to look outside.
I turn toward her. “What is it?”
“MacArthur,” she whispers. “This is where MacArthur’s ranch is. He has his recording studio out here.”
My entire body stiffens and I slam my hand against the seat in front of me. “God dammit!” I shout.
Melissa reaches to squeeze my hand as the detective in the passenger seat turns around to look at me. “Keep it cool,” he warns.
I refrain from telling him to “fuck off” and reminding him that they had supposedly cleared MacArthur hours ago. I knew this fucker had to have been involved somehow.
I hold out Melissa’s phone as we merge to the same spot where the signal of Daphni’s Lifebeat necklace is. We’re here. Please, God, I’ll do whatever you want. Just keep her safe.
The car pulls into the long driveway and I feel my heart stop as I see a small figure walking alongside the driveway. When they see the blinking red lights of the cop cars, they drop to the ground.
It’s her. It has to be her.
I jump out of the car before it stops and run full-force toward her. I hear the detectives shouting at me, warning me to stop, but I ignore them. All I see is her. And when I get closer, I know it’s her. And I promise in that moment to do whatever it takes, strike whatever bargain I need to, to keep her safe and love and protect her until the day I die.
She staggers a few steps before collapsing onto the ground. I race toward her, catching her in my arms as she falls. Her hands are coated in blood, and under all the lights and the pale glimmer of the moon, I can see the dark streaks of red covering her white shirt and shorts. My stomach sinks as I quickly lift up her shirt, looking for the source of all the blood. Frantically I turn her over, unable to see any cut or bullet wound.
“Daphni? Daphni?” I say, shaking her. Her eyes flutter open and she winces as she sees me.
“Roman?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
“It’s me,” I say. My chest tightens with the weight of all the emotion of having her back in my arms. At my side, Gabby, Liam, and Lawrence drop to the ground, surrounding Daphni. “Are you okay, baby?” I ask as I cradle her in my lap.
She nods her head and offers me a small smile. “I did it,” she whispers.
“What? What did you do?” I ask her, doing my best to keep my tone even despite feeling like my heart has been ripped into a thousand pieces.
She reaches her hand out to squeeze her sister’s hand as her head falls against my chest. “I saved myself,” she whispers, just before she passes out, her limp body falling against me.
36
Daphni
The lights follow me as I step onto the stage, blinding me from the ten thousand people I know are sitting in the audience. The cameras trailing behind me are a friendly reminder that I have another audience of at least two million watching from home. I’ve done hundreds of performances, but never before has my stomach felt as tight as tonight. I step up to the mic and take a deep breath.
“I am so honored to be here at the American Music Awards tonight!” I shout, earning me a roar of screams and cheers from the crowd. I wait a second for the crowd to calm before I continue. “As some of you may know, I was supposed to perform last year. Unfortunately, due to an inconveniently timed kidnapping, a concussion, and me quitting my label, it didn’t exactly work out.” I smile cheekily as the crowd erupts with another round of applause.
“And honestly, I’m a little nervous about tonight. When the news broke about my kidnapping at the hands of my former label head, I was terrified. I didn’t want the world to see me as a victim. I didn’t want the world to know what he had done to me, what he had taken away from me.”
I pause and take a deep breath. “But when I heard the terrible stories about how I wasn’t his only victim and how he had systematically harassed and abused dozens of women, I was heartbroken. And for a while, I hid, and I took off some time to spend with my family and figure out what to do. I had no label, no album, and truthfully, I didn’t have much hope.” Taking a deep breath, I force a smile to my lips. “But I learned a lot this past year. I learned to have hope and to trust in myself. Even more importantly, I learned to be brave. I shared my story and in that process, I was able to heal.”
The crowd erupts again and I quickly brush away a wayward tear. It took every ounce of my bravery to step onto this stage tonight. I had spent a week in the hospital following the kidnapping. Months of therapy, my weekly AA groups and dozens of boxes of tissues had gotten me to a place where I could finally learn how to start healing from my trauma. And when I had heard that there had been dozens of other women that had been abused by MacArthur, I had to deal with the guilt of my silence. My therapist had told me it was “misplaced guilt” and that I needed to learn to forgive myself, but I wasn’t quite there yet. On particularly difficult nights. I would stay up and wonder what would have happened if I had told someone about what MacArthur had done to me seven years ago. Could I have saved another young woman from the suffering I had endured?
It’s on those nights that I make sure to turn to Roman, asleep beside me, and settle myself in the curve of his chest, placing my ear against his chest so I can listen to his heartbeat. Somehow he always knows when I have those difficult nights, and he’ll wrap his arm around me and turn to look at me.
“Trouble sleeping?” he’ll ask, his voice husky with sleep.
I’ll nod and he’ll pull me tighter against him. “Tell me what’s keeping you up,” he’ll say and I’ll settle into the crook of his arm and tell him about my fears, my guilt. He’ll listen as his hands play wit
h the strands of my hair that spill over my shoulder. And somehow, I’ll fall asleep to the lull of his chest, rising and falling, and his voice in the darkness of the night, telling me how brave I am, how much he admires me, how much he loves me.
I look out into the crowd again and even though all I can see are shining lights, I know that there are thousands of people watching with stories just like mine—some who may have even tried to share their story, but were ignored or discredited. And they are the reason I am here tonight.
“I am here tonight to play you all a song from my new album. I hope you enjoy it.”
I signal to my band as the crowd erupts again in cheers. I place my hands on the bottom of the mic and lean in.
I was broken, shattered in a million pieces
Every shard I tried to hide away
I was scared that when you saw me
You would see the truth
Of how broken and scarred and ugly I truly am
But with your love, I was able to heal
Put each piece back together again
You can still see all those ugly, broken pieces
But together they make the puzzle that is me
And for your love I am grateful that
I fell in love with you at seventeen
I finish the song and take a long breath. The silence following sends me into a panic, as the only sound I can hear is my heart raging inside my chest. One second feels like a thousand. But then, the crowd erupts. It’s as if I can feel the stage shaking from the energy of the crowd below. Thousands of people screaming, clapping, and shouting. It’s like nothing I have ever felt before. I look over my shoulder, finding Roman clapping in the wings of the stage, a proud smile on his face.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice breaking. “I am grateful for you all, so much more than you will ever know. Your undying support has meant so much to me.” I take a deep breath and turn back to smile at Roman. “There is also one particular person I would like to thank. Roman Brantley, will you please come out on the stage?”
At the mention of his name, the crowd breaks into another enthusiastic round of applause. Roman’s face drops, and I can read the panic emanating off his body even from here. Though he’s tried his best, adjusting to the cameras and celebrity lifestyle has not been the easiest for him. My fans and the paparazzi have been desperate for any info they can get on the poor guy, but he’s been handling it like a champ.
I pout and turn back to the audience. “I think Roman needs some encouragement!” I declare, and the crowd obliges, roaring with cheers.
I look over and see Melissa push Roman out from the wings, sending him stumbling onto the stage. He walks slowly toward me, and I know I am going to get it good when we get back home. Hopefully this time there will be some spanking involved.
When he finally reaches me, I slip his hand in mine. “As you all may know, this man has stolen my heart. What you might not know, however, is that he first stole my heart when I was seventeen.” I turn to face him, sliding the mic off the stand. “And because he stole my heart, I thought it would only be fitting that I steal something of his?” I turn to face the crowd. “What do you think? That’s fair, right?”
The crowd erupts again and I face Roman, locking my eyes on his. “Roman Brantley, you stole my heart. You protected it all these years and when I was ready, you were waiting. In return for this heinous crime,” I say, with a slight curl of my lips, “I am going to steal something of yours.”
A quiet hush settles over the crowd and for a second, all I can hear is my heart pounding against my chest. Taking a deep breath, I smile up at Roman. “For stealing my heart, I’m going to steal your last name. Roman Brantley, will you marry me?”
Somehow the crowd manages to scream even louder, and I swallow back a laugh as I watch Roman’s blue eyes widen. For a second, a quiver of panic rushes over me. Oh my God, what if he says no?
But then a smile breaks across his face. Rolling his eyes, Roman beams at me before pulling me into his arms. His lips land on mine and I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Is that a yes?” I whisper into his ear, holding the mic away so no one else can hear.
“Reach into my pocket,” he whispers back. Confused, I slip my hand into his pocket and feel a small, velvet box. I leap back to look at him, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
I bite down on my lip and shake my head. “Always trying to upstage me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Can you dismiss me now?”
I laugh, remembering that we are standing in front of a crowd of thousands. I grab Roman’s hand and wave goodbye to the crowd before scurrying off the stage. As we push through the crowd, everyone around us offers congratulatory slaps on Roman’s back and well-wishes. When we finally make it to a quiet corner, Roman wraps his hands around my waist and hoists me to sit on top of a large speaker.
“Daphni Monroe,” he starts, a wide smile on his face as he looks up at me. “Will there ever be a day when you don’t surprise me?” He places his hand over his chest and winces. “You know, I’m getting old. I don’t know much more of this I can take.”
I roll my eyes and lean down to pull him closer. “And people say I’m the dramatic one? Now, give me my ring!”
Roman smiles and rolls his eyes before playfully taking a step backward. “You know, I did actually have a whole thing planned.
I shake my head. “Screw the plan, I want my ring.”
“Greedy girl,” Roman says as he slides his hand in his pocket and takes out the small box. Roman opens the box, and all the noise surrounding us, even my pounding heart, fades to silence. Inside the box, encased in a silk stand, is a beautiful silver engagement ring with a dozen round diamonds framing another round diamond. Simple, but gorgeous. It’s perfect.
“Daphni Monroe, you are the love of my life. Since I was twenty years old, you have been it for me. You are my rock and my partner. You infuriate me, and you inspire me. You are the reason I wake up every day with a smile on my face. I don’t want to lose you ever again, because I know I would never be able to survive it. You’re it for me. You’re everything. Be my wife, be with me forever. Let me love and protect you, just as you’ve loved and protected me.”
I can’t contain the well of tears any longer, and when I feel one lone tear slide down my cheek, I lose it. My body shakes as tears stream down my cheeks and I drop my head in my hands, overwhelmed by both my sadness, and frustration at having ruined this moment.
Roman looks down at me, his brow furrowed in concern, as he uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. “Why are you crying, baby?”
I choke out a sob and shake my head. “I’m not sure. I’m just so happy, but there is a part of me that is sad. I hate how we lost so many years together because I was so scared. I wish I had been strong enough to tell you the truth.”
Roman smiles and, cupping my cheeks, tilts my face to look up at him. “Daphni, every inch of me wishes I could have somehow prevented all those terrible things that happened to you and broke you. But those cracks and fractures? Those are what make you so beautiful. You possess the most powerful, little kintsugi heart. The gold within you is so stunning, Daphni. Your ability to heal is what brought us back together.”
His blue eyes lock on me and in them I can see the emotion swirling inside of him: his love and respect for me, the passion and desire he holds, and above it all, the almost reverential awe he has for me. I can see everything within his eyes. And it’s then that I finally start to believe it for myself. I am beautiful, and it’s because of my flaws and my scars, not despite them. My survival is not a mark of shame, but a testament to my strength. Seeing myself through Roman’s eyes shows me that the power I hold comes from within the places I’ve felt the most ashamed of. And only through him was I able to realize that for myself.
I hate how long it took me to come to that conclusion, but I’m glad I’m finally there. Thankful I can finally see the beauty in my scars. I look back up at Roman, who i
s still watching me, his face tender as he strokes my hand with his thumb.
“Well?” he asks, his expression expectant as he looks at me.
“Well?”
“Oh, so you’re really going to make me work for this? Is it a yes? Will you marry me, woman?” he asks, and I feel my heart stop again as I see the diamond ring still in his hand.
“Oh shit!” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. “Yes! Sorry! Yes! A thousand times yes!”
A wide smile spreads across Roman’s face as he pulls me into his arms, squeezing me as I pepper kisses along his cheeks. He pulls away to slide the ring on my finger, turning my hand over and pressing a kiss in the center of my palm.
“Thanks for finally saying ‘yes’ there. You had me nervous.”
“Did you really think I would ever say no to you?”
“Daphni, I have learned to never expect the expected with you. Besides, you tell me ‘no’ at least a half dozen times a day.”
I bite down on my lower lip, knowing better than to deny it. “Well, when it comes to you offering me fashion advice and suggesting I wear overalls on stage? Then yes, I will tell you no. But when it comes to your love?” I shake my head. “That I will never say no to.”
“Good to know,” Roman replies, before a mischievous smile curls at the edges of his lips. Without warning, he hoists me in the air and I let out a squeal as he throws me over his shoulder, his hands gripping my ass as he stomps down an empty hallway.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Trying to find an empty closet so I can ravish my woman.”
“What?”
Finding a door, Roman throws it open and brings us inside. It’s a small closet, holding an assortment of old technical equipment. Kicking it closed behind us, Roman’s lips descend upon me as he pushes me against the wall. Holding my hands above my head, Roman kisses a path down my neck to my collarbone.
