Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Paisley
Seven years ago . . .
I studied my reflection in the mirror, wincing at the black eye blinking back at me. The mottled bruise did horrible things for my green eyes. I had class in fifteen minutes with no way of hiding this.
It wasn’t the first time Jared had hit me. Just the first time he wasn’t careful enough to mark me somewhere I couldn’t hide. How had my life come to this?
I knew how, objectively. I’d fallen for the first guy who’d shown interest in me.
Because after a lifetime of not being wanted, there was something heady about being the sole focus of a man’s desires.
He’d been so attentive, and I’d brushed off the little red flags that had pinged my brain.
Just because he wasn’t exactly like bookish heroes I’d read about didn’t make him a bad guy.
But I should have listened. Because nothing had prepared me for the sweet nothings to turn to rough fists.
The ugly purple splotches on my face weren’t subtle, and there was no way I could walk across campus like this.
Unless . . . could I? I didn’t wear much makeup, just the occasional mascara.
And that wasn’t going to be of any help.
Besides, I was pretty sure the tube was six months past expiration—goes to show how little I actually used it.
I hadn’t even known makeup expired until I’d met Stephanie.
But why should I hide? I wasn’t the one at fault. But the shame . . . It curdled deep and low in my gut, and I choked on a bitter sob. Walking through campus like this might be brave for a book heroine, but it was also a beacon of my own stupidity.
The open Bible on the coffee table behind me caught my attention.
It was Jared’s. And I wasn’t sure how the marks on my body fit with the commands to love and to cherish within the holy pages.
I knew it didn’t. I hadn’t had a vibrant spiritual upbringing, but I’d listened to Music Machine, seen VeggieTales, and attended church services with different foster families.
Jesus was the only thing that kept me going.
So why did a man who professed that same love for Jesus hurt the very bride he was meant to protect?
“What do I do?” I whispered to the mirror, but it was a prayer. A plea. I needed help. I’d made a mistake when I said “I do.” But how could I fix it?
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I ducked out of the apartment we shared on campus and punched Juliet’s number on my cell phone. She would know what to do. She always did. And if she didn’t, she found the answer. Plus, she was studying to be a lawyer.
“Jules, I need you,” I hissed when she picked up. “I’m ditching my first class. Please come to the café?”
“Be there in ten,” Juliet promised, then rung off.
I kept my head low as I strolled across the grounds towards our favourite coffee shop. Liz worked there sometimes, and we loved the quiet atmosphere for studying.
I never missed a class unless I was on death’s door with illness, and neither did Juliet. Asking her this was a huge ask. But she hadn’t even hesitated.
I slipped into our favourite booth in the back corner and buried my face in my arms, waiting for her to show. It’d been several weeks since I’d actually hung out with my friends. Jared had monopolized all my time. We were newlyweds after all. But maybe it was more than that.
When I heard her clipped pace, I lifted my head, and that was all it took for the smoke to start pouring out of her ears.
Her aquamarine eyes flashed with murder. “What did he do?” she hissed, dropping her book bag on the squeaky leather seat. “And don’t you dare lie to me, Paisley.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I whispered. When she raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, I added, “I promise.”
“Did he hit you?”
Shame roiled through me, burning my face and décolletage. “Yeah.”
“It wasn’t the first time.” Her voice was soft with steely undertones, and she didn’t bother phrasing it as a question.
“No.”
She leaned forward in her seat. “What do you need?”
And just like the first time I’d met her in our dorm room years ago, I knew I had my Mary Anne. “Out. I can’t . . .”
She nodded. “I can do that. Even if it comes to putting him six feet under.” Determination cloaked her face, and she reached across the table to cover my hand with hers. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”
I clung to her hand like a life preserver. And I prayed she was right.