Chapter 1 #2
My chest splinters. I glance at him in confusion, and he’s giving me that furious once over I’ve grown far too used to. “Theo?” There’s so much in that question. So much so that I can’t even string into a coherent sentence.
What are you doing?
How could you?
Why?
“So sorry, but the event starts in five and we really need to cover the logistics,” the coordinator says, eyeing me like he’s contemplating how to get rid of me.
Theo beams at him. “Of course, where were we?” he asks, completely ignoring me as my world shatters around me.
“As I mentioned, your art is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Theo says, grinning at me.
This mother fucker. Grinned. At me! This is my art! How fucking dare he. My hands ball into fists, and as much as I want to punch him, I force myself to relax. To breathe. To keep my cool until the coordinator rushes off.
“What the fuck?” I hiss at Theo.
He scoffs. “You know I don’t like when you cuss.”
“Theo, this is my art.”
“Callie, babe.” He grabs both of my arms, one hand brushing over the bruises he left earlier and I wince. He scowls. “We both know no one knows who you are. I’m doing this for you. With my name on the art, it’ll sell. Do you think it would sell if yours was on it?”
“Well I guess we won’t be finding out tonight,” I growl, tugging out of his hold, knowing he won’t hurt me with other people around. “I can’t believe I trusted you.” Four years. Four fucking years wasted with him. How many times has he tried to change me? To control me? To make me bend to his will?
“Don’t make a scene,” he warns.
“Or what?” I demand. “Are you going to grab me again?” I narrow my eyes. “Hit me?”
He shushes me and quickly glances around. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we’ll talk about this at home.”
Oh no we fucking won’t. The arguments are one thing. Hurting me tonight. Stealing my art? That’s two strikes and I’m not sticking around for the third. Not anymore. Lucky for me, the doors open and Theo’s irises light up with a predatory gleam I used to think meant he loved me.
Pressing my lips together, I watch as he rushes to greet people.
Bit by bit, I come apart at the seams. Every person who murmurs in admiration.
The way they stare at my art with awe. The walls close in with every passing second, and before Theo can get up and give his speech, I do the only thing that’s protected me in the past.
I run.
My entire body is shaking as I shove what I can fit into my two small suitcases.
The show is two hours long. I have time, but every second I’m here, the more terrified I am that he’ll come after me.
I trip over my own feet as I toss in another handful of clothes, knees thudding against the hardwood floor.
I hiss in pain, pulling up the leg of the sweats I changed into to check the damage. Red and angry, but no blood. Good. Gathering up the clothes I dropped, I climb to my feet, set them inside the suitcase and blow out a hard breath.
There’s plenty of time before—the door snaps open, the knob cracking against the drywall. “What the fuck are you doing?” Theo’s voice booms around the apartment.
My throat tightens. If he left that show, he’s really pissed.
Heart jackhammering, I decide nothing else I have is worth staying a second longer and slam the suitcases closed. “I’m leaving.” I yank the handles up and stare at the man I gave so much of my adult life to. I should have left the first time he told me what to wear.
“No you’re not,” he counters, features contorting. “You belong with me.”
“You stole my art, Theo!” I shake my head, gripping the suitcases so hard my knuckles turn white. “How could you do that?”
“You don’t fucking understand,” he growls. His fingers clench, knuckles turning white, and he turns and slams his fist into the wall.
The oxygen trapped in my lungs burns. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but every time he explodes, I picture myself on the receiving end.
It’s only a matter of time. And I’m done.
He’s stolen years, my confidence, my fucking art.
Made me a shell of who I used to be, and I’m desperate to find myself again.
“God! See what you do to me? I fucking love you but sometimes, Callie, I just—”
“Just what?” I demand, hating how my entire body is shaking like a mouse cornered by a cat.
He steps toward me.
My stomach rolls. “We’re done, Theo.”
“No. We’re not.” He reaches for me, and for the first time in a long time, I let the old Callie, the one I’ve stifled for years, come out to play.
My palm slams into his nose before his fingers can close around my arms. A sickening crunch fills the air, and he shouts.
I don’t stick around to see the damage. As he clutches his nose and screams at me, I grab my bags, the last of my dignity, and rush out to my SUV.
I chuck everything inside and get in, locking the doors and peeling away from the curb.
One last stop and then I’m leaving this city because I’ll be damned if he profits off more of my work.