Prologue

"Good afternoon."

The social worker I've been assigned to meet with opens the door to his office, grinning at me. I'm in no mood to return the smile, especially to him. He comes off as the typical social worker; a person trying to make you smile, trying to make your life seem better when you know that it couldn't get much worse. He wears finely crafted spectacles and a neatly pressed three-piece suit. Probably has a lovely wife, three adorable children, a beautiful house, and a cute little puppy to seal the deal.

The man steps aside to allow Quentin (who I think is safe to refer to as my boyfriend now) to wheel me in on my wheelchair. He places me next to the old sofa in the back and takes a seat. He runs his hands through my bushy blond hair, attempting to comfort me before this discussion begins.

The social worker takes a seat behind his desk, folding his hands like a young schoolboy who wants to impress his teacher. "My name is Ryan," he says. "You must be Owen." He turns to Quentin. "And you would be?"

"Quentin," Quentin replies. "Owen's boyfriend. You don't mind if I sit in, do you? He said he wants me to."

"As long he's fine with it," Ryan informs him.

"I am," I say. I don't want Quentin leaving my side; he's the only person I can trust now.

"Then it's perfectly okay." Ryan pauses for a moment, studying the two of us like he's trying to read our minds, and then heaves a long sigh. "Well, I bet you already know what I want to talk to you about, Owen. I want to know about those injuries of yours."

I nod my head. My broken leg, the bruises decorating my face, the puffy lips, and the marks on my neck; all gracious little gifts from Elliot, and all the things I didn't want to discuss. Maybe I should just lie like usual, but I can't. Not anymore.

I feel the tears build up in my eyes again. Quentin takes a comforting hold of my hand and gently strokes it with his delicate fingers. "Everything's alright," he whispers in my ear. If only it were true.

"Where do you want me to start?" I ask Ryan.

"At the beginning, I would hope," he replies.

I think back and start to recall exactly what set off the vicious chain reaction I had fallen victim to. It was such a long time ago when it all began, but the painful memories still find their way into my mind. I want to push them back and forget that they ever happened, but Ryan is staring me straight in the eye, anxious to hear my story. Or at least he's acting like he is. Who knows if he actually cares.

I turn to Quentin, who gives me a reassuring wink, and then look back at Ryan. "It started years ago. With my first real boyfriend . . ."