2. Bridget
Bridget
“brIDGET!”
The roar of my name was followed by a slam of the door that shook the entire house, and my stomach bottomed out.
Heavy footfalls grew closer as I racked my brain, desperately trying to think of what I’d done to set him off this time.
I was still drawing a blank when Aiden’s booming voice echoed throughout the kitchen. “Where the hell were you?”
My eyes slammed shut, my indiscretion becoming clear.
Standing at the sink with my back to him, I pulled my hands out of the soapy water, wiping them on my apron while silently commanding them to stop trembling.
No such luck.
Unwilling to let him see how much he terrified me, I hid them in the folds of the fabric knotted at my waist as I turned around.
I put on an air of innocence. “What are you talking about?”
My live-in boyfriend sneered, his lip curling menacingly. “Don’t play dumb with me. I called the house all afternoon, and you didn’t answer once. So, I’ll ask again. Where. The hell. Were. You?”
And here I was thinking if I left my cell phone at home—knowing he likely had a tracker on it—that he would be none the wiser that I was sneaking out during the day.
Stupid Bridget.
Pulling in a deep breath that did nothing to settle my racing heart, I replied, “The library.”
Aiden’s dark brows pulled down. “The library?”
I toed the ground. “Mm-hmm.”
His tone softened. “If you wanted books to read, all you had to do was ask.”
Lying would only get me into more trouble—if I knew Aiden, he would be checking my alibi first thing in the morning—so I told the truth. “I’m the assistant librarian.”
Storm clouds gathered in his brown eyes. “Do you not trust me to provide for you?”
I was barely able to bite back the sarcastic laughter that threatened to roll up my throat.
When he’d convinced me to quit my job a couple of years ago, I’d thought it was sweet, albeit a little sexist, that he believed it was the man’s responsibility to earn a living to support his family.
Now, I saw it for what it truly was—a manipulation technique used to strip me of my independence.
I couldn’t leave him because I didn’t have any money of my own.
Not wanting to dig the hole deeper, I explained, “Of course I do. I work there as a volunteer.”
“A volunteer,” he repeated slowly.
“It’s just that I get lonely sometimes when you’re on duty. It gives me something to do, people to talk to.”
Aiden’s jaw twitched, and instantly, I realized my mistake.
He’d gone out of his way to isolate me from others, so learning that I was actively seeking out companionship would only cause him to shorten my leash, despite it already being pulled so tight that I could barely move without it threatening to choke me.
Smooth as silk, my boyfriend cajoled, “Do you have any idea how fortunate you are? To have a beautiful home to live in and a man who earns enough that you don’t have to work?”
I dropped my head, resigned to my fate of living under his thumb for so long as I lived. “I’m sorry if I acted ungrateful.”
The sound of boots crossing the linoleum reached my ears before fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
Though there was an expression of affection on his face, it was nothing more than a mask, hiding the cruel man he was underneath.
“You are forgiven.”
How benevolent. Insert eye roll.
His lips brushed against mine in a quick kiss where I was forced to suppress my revulsion. When he withdrew, his eyes darted around the kitchen, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “No dinner?”
Right, because he viewed me as nothing more than his unpaid domestic servant.
Pulling out of his grasp, I moved toward the oven where the food I’d made hours ago was being kept warm for him. Go figure, the guy who spent all afternoon calling the house couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and let me know he wouldn’t be home for hours after his shift ended.
I withdrew the plate, setting it on the table. “I made your favorite. Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans.”
Aiden eyed the meal, his lips pursed in displeasure. “Bridget, you know I don’t eat leftovers.”
Yeah, I did, but this food didn’t qualify as such.
“I only made it a few hours ago,” I explained, foolishly hoping he would see reason and sit down to eat.
He took a seat, but instead of picking up the fork and taking a bite, he shoved the plate away. Reclining, he placed one booted foot on the opposite knee. “I’ll wait while you make me something fresh.”
My jaw unhinged. He had to be fucking kidding me, right?
When all I did was stare at him, he got irritated and barked, “Get moving.”
Almost as if I were on autopilot, I moved about the kitchen—grabbing ingredients out of the fridge and pantry, setting a pot of water to boil on the stove, stirring sauce. Less than half an hour later, I was presenting Aiden with an overflowing plate of spaghetti and meatballs.
With an arched eyebrow, he asked, “Where’s yours?”
I shook my head. “Oh, I already ate.”
“And you’ll eat again with me,” he declared before shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “I like you with some meat on your bones.”
That’s funny, because I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been, and only a week ago, you were telling me how lucky I was that you could still get your dick up to fuck a fat girl.
The mind games he played were something else. The constant contradictions made me feel as if I were going crazy most days.
He humphed when I sat down with only a tiny portion of spaghetti on my plate, two meatballs off to the side.
I pushed the food around, only taking a bite when I could feel the intensity of his stare.
After what felt like an eternity, he shoved his chair back. “Time for bed.”
Thank God. I needed a mental reset.
But unfortunately, sleep was the last thing on Aiden’s mind.
We’d barely crossed the threshold of the bedroom when he said, “You’re ovulating.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “And how would you know that?”
He didn’t spare me a glance as he stripped off his uniform, replying casually, “I’m tracking your cycle.”
Sure, because that’s completely normal. Not.
At a loss for words, all I could manage was a drawn-out, “Uh . . .”
Aiden padded toward the ensuite, completely naked. “When I told the guys at work we’ve been trying to get pregnant for almost a year, they suggested an app that will tell you when your peak fertility days are. If we want a baby, we need to start working smarter.”
Did the man give a damn that I didn’t even want kids? Hell no. He saw a baby as the ultimate way for him to keep me trapped here, tethered to him from now until eternity.
But I wasn’t about to let that happen. No way, no how.
After shoving a pillow under my ass and demanding that I keep my legs elevated for no less than twenty minutes to give his swimmers the best chance possible, Aiden promptly passed out.
The second he began snoring, I eased off the mattress, tiptoeing to the bathroom.
Latching the door, I used an ungodly amount of toilet paper to wipe away the cum leaking from between my thighs. If it didn’t increase the risk for a yeast infection, I would have gone so far as to douche to eliminate every last trace of his seed.
I flushed before washing my hands, then gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
How the hell did I get here?
Once upon a time, I’d thought having my heart broken was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Turned out that was only the first domino to fall.
Six months after the love of my life dumped me, my older brother got hurt in a hockey game. The violent hit to the head required a CT scan, and the results blew up my entire world. At only nineteen years old, Bennett was diagnosed with glioblastoma, an often fatal form of brain cancer.
Less than a year later, he was gone, and my family fell apart.
Mom fell into a depression so deep that she tried to take her own life—more than once—and there was no other option but to have her permanently hospitalized.
Dad went in the opposite direction when dealing with his grief.
He took off and started over. Last I’d heard, he had a three-year-old son with a woman who was barely older than me, and they lived in Colorado.
Then there was me. I left college in the middle of my sophomore year when Bennett died, undecided on whether I would return. But with both my parents essentially abandoning the child they didn’t lose, there was nowhere else for me to go, so I went back, obtaining my degree in early education.
I’d been teaching first grade for a year when I met Aiden. The San Diego Police Department ran a stranger-awareness campaign in schools, and he was the officer assigned to my classroom. Charming both the kids and me alike, he taught them how to stay safe in a fun and engaging way.
On his way out the door, he slipped me his number and said he’d like to take me out sometime. I sat on it for a week, not wanting to appear too eager, before I called him.
Our relationship progressed quickly. After having all the people who were supposed to love me leave, it was so damn nice to find myself as the object of Aiden’s affection that I ignored the red flags.
Like how he would get so upset when I made plans with colleagues that I’d end up canceling, letting him monopolize all of my time.
Or how, within a couple of weeks of dating, he was asking how long was acceptable before he could propose.
It wasn’t until after he’d gotten me to quit my job and move in that I realized how badly I’d fucked up.
The first time I went to the ATM, my PIN didn’t work to withdraw money from our “joint” account—something Aiden had insisted on since we were living together.
Chalking it up to a fluke, I went inside the branch to speak to a human, only to be told my name was no longer on the account.
The very same one I’d funneled my savings into only days before.
When I confronted Aiden about it, he said I shouldn’t concern myself with our finances, claiming that the bills would all get paid and he would ensure I had enough cash to buy groceries each week.
He’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars from me and acted as if it was no big deal. And it wasn’t like I had any recourse to get it back; the account was in his name only. Everything I’d spent years working for now belonged to him, and he expected me to trust him to take care of me as he saw fit.
When I used the money he left out to purchase something other than food, the calm facade fell away, and he revealed his true colors. Aiden was cruel to the core, and the only thing he loved more than controlling me was punishing me.
The very next day, he sold my car, and I was forced to walk three miles each way to the store from then on. When he spied the bruises on my wrists from schlepping a dozen or more heavy grocery bags, he simply said they were nothing more than I deserved for defying him.
Then came the nightly cell phone checks.
Aiden would scour my text messages and call records to see who I was communicating with.
God forbid there was a number he didn’t recognize—usually a telemarketer—because then he would call me all kinds of nasty names while spitting accusations that I was cheating on him.
That would lead to him confiscating my phone, unplugging the landline, and checking the doorbell camera to ensure that I didn’t leave the house or entertain any visitors.
I was completely isolated, solely reliant on Aiden, which had been exactly his goal.
The only way to escape this hellish existence would be in death.
And there were far too many days when I longed for it to hurry the hell up.