Working on sequel to a book. Gas-lighting question

A word from our sponsor:

The Breast Form Store Little Imperfections Big Rewards Sale Banner Ad (Save up to 50% off)

I spent a lot of yesterday trying to piece together a “meeting of the minds” between Jennifer Monroe and Travis Miller. Travis was one of the guys who left her for dead on the side of road in Missoula, Montana. Three years later, she returns to Missoula to confront her past tormentor:

I want to know if this is a good example of “gas-lighting”:

“It Can Only Go Up From Here”
Chapter 8 “Not Just a Girl” (snippet)

There were piles of old parts, covered in snow and scattered on the sides of the building
The sign read “Miller Small Engine Repair”
I took a look back to my car and then a deep breath before I opened the front door.
The inside was just as crowded with old and new machines littering the floor. I looked around the room and again wondered why I was there. He was not going to say he turned over a new leaf and accept me; nor was I going to feel any remorse for whatever hell he had been through since that night.
“I’ll be right with you!” A voice called from the back and I recognized immediately. You tend to remember the voice of someone who’s bashing your body with a metal bat.
A hand whipped back a curtain to reveal a tall, bearded man in a wheelchair.
“How can I help you, miss?”
I tried not to stare at him too intently but, apparently, he remembered me too.
“"Holy shit! It's you!"
"Hello, Travis."
"What do you want? Come to gloat?"
"Why?"
"Because of how I look.”
“I don’t really care. To be honest, I don’t know why I’m even here.”
“That makes two of us,” he replied as he sat back in his wheelchair and crossed his arms.
“A part of me wants to hit you a couple of times.”
“Go ahead, let’s see how that works out for you. The second you do, I’ll be on the phone to report a hate crime against the disabled.”
“Oh, that is rich, wow,” I replied with a scoff.
“What, you think you’re victim here?” Travis asked as he wheeled down the length of the counter. “Everything that’s happened was your fault. I’m in this wheelchair and Mike’s dead because of you.”
I would like to say I was putting up a strong front, but I think he could see that I was kind of afraid of him. The visions of being dragged to the side of the road were racing through my brain. I took a step to the right and then stared at him.
“What?”
“How the mighty have fallen.”
“I really thought you had died. It felt so much better thinking that. One less freak in the world.”

Click Like or Love to appropriately show your appreciation for this post: