Only Between Us Read Online Free Page A

fuck off (in a friendly way) and signed up. I know about helplessness and worthlessness, and I know those women are neither, and maybe I can be a part of helping them find themselves again.
    I shower and get dressed and head to campus for my first class, Principles of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Jude waves and holds out a coffee as I fall into the chair next to his. “Eric says hey,” he tells me. “And wants to know if you want to go to the film festival this weekend.”
    “Maybe. I’m still getting settled.” I was a third wheel for the entire second semester last year, and it’s time I found my own way.
    He gives me a cautious look. “Okay. Let me know.” His expression brightens a bit. “Are you going back for the open painting time at the house of gorgeousness tonight?”
    I laugh. “Probably not. I’ll see how much homework I have.”
    Then our professor walks in and starts class. Dr. Greer is a nice guy. He’s my advisor, and when I missed two weeks of class at the end of January, he actually tracked me down at Jude’s to make sure I was okay. Realizing I was in danger of failing all my classes, I told him everything, and he was amazing. He made arrangements for me to do make up work, referred me to a really good therapist colleague of his, even offered to help me get a restraining order.
    I did everything but that last part. I haven’t spoken to Alex, or even seen him, since the night he hit me. He’s in the law school, which is all the way across campus. Our paths haven’t crossed, thank God. Part of that is probably because I rarely left Jude and Eric’s couch last semester except to go to class. But this semester will be different.  I’m going to live my life without all that fear. I’m not going to let Alex keep me from the things I want to do and the places I want to go. Not anymore.
    Dr. Greer smiles at me as he greets the class. He reminds the second years of our group supervision on Thursday and then launches into his lecture. I try to listen, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night, how it felt to have a paintbrush in my hand again, how it felt to stare at Caleb’s canvas. If I could express myself like that, I don’t think I’d need therapy. Maybe I will go to that open painting session tonight at the co-op …
    After class, I drive over to Sojourner House. Its location is confidential, meant to protect the women and children there from their abusers. Everyone there has to agree not to disclose the address, and the police do extra patrols in the neighborhood just in case. There’s a tall wooden fence around the property, hiding the actual house from sight. I park on the street and press a button at the gate, and they let me in. I hear the giggles and squeals of children as I climb the porch steps and knock at the front door. A woman with blondish-gray hair and a ruddy complexion opens up and greets me cheerfully, introducing herself as Justine, the house manager. As she walks me around the house, showing me where I’ll meet with my clients, I wonder what Justine’s story is. She seems strong … but that doesn’t mean she didn’t get caught in the wrong kind of relationship.
    After all, for the first two months or so, I thought Alex was the man of my dreams.
    Once I’ve gotten the tour, Justine shows me the roster—there are six women and eight children living in the shelter right now. Most of what they need is crisis intervention and case management, help pulling themselves together and making good choices after all they’ve been through. As I listen to her tell me their stories, of Kelly, whose boyfriend raped her and threatened to kill her, of Lily, whose husband has been beating on her for years—and who she may go back to—my heart pounds and my palms start to sweat.
    Maybe Jude was right. Maybe this is too much.
    “Are you okay, Romy? You’re looking pale,” Justine says, her brow creasing with concern.
    “I’m fine, thanks. I’m hoping I can be