Chapter 18
Mila
Before leaving the Hawkins residence, Jason had paid me for my usual hours, despite relieving me of my duties a few hours early.
I tried to refuse the payment, but he kept insisting, arguing I couldn’t leave until I accepted it.
I could’ve fought him some more, but I was eager to get home and call Dean.
I knew he’d be fuming from our recent interaction and for never responding back to his last message.
I unlock the door and step into my dark, quiet apartment.
As I flip the light switch on, a loud gasp escapes my throat, the keys in my hand nearly slipping from my grasp.
There, sitting on my couch, is Dean, casually holding a tumbler filled with amber liquid, while a half empty bottle of Johnny Walker sits on the coffee table in front of him.
He’s leaning back with his legs spread apart, one hand resting on his knee while the other drapes over the armrest, drink in hand.
The expression on his face is unreadable, and his usually immaculate appearance is uncharacteristically disheveled.
His white polo shirt is rumpled, and his hair is slightly tousled, as if he’s spent the night running his hands through it.
The sight of him unsettles me, a quiet warning that something is very off.
Placing my bag and keys on the kitchen island, I slowly and cautiously make my way towards him. “Hey. What are you doing sitting in the dark all by yourself?”
Without responding, he brings the tumbler to his mouth and takes a slow sip of his drink, his piercing blue eyes never leaving mine. A minute passes before he finally speaks. “Was just waiting for you to get home.” His voice is steady yet cold.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight.”
“Had you responded to my text earlier, I would’ve told you.”
“I’m sorry for not replying sooner. I was planning to call you as soon as I got home so we could talk properly.”
He scoffs bitterly, tossing back his drink in one swift motion. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Hope you had fun playing house with Jason, because that’s the last time you’ll ever do that with him.”
“Is that a threat? Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not, Mila. I’m simply warning you. I’m not comfortable with you spending time with another man, especially one you’ve had a crush on for years.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “What did you think we were doing at his house with Jake around? We’ve hung out many times before as friends. This isn’t something new, and you know that. I don’t know why you’re overreacting right now.”
“I’m not overreacting. I’m upset. There’s a fucking difference, Mila!” he snaps.
“Babe, I never meant to upset you. I didn’t even know he’d be home early, or that he’d bring dinner home for us. What did you want me to do, just leave?”
“Yes!” he shouts. “You could’ve just told him you already made plans with me. I should’ve been your priority, not him!” he yells, jabbing his thumb to his chest.
“Oh my God. It was just fucking pizza, Dean! Get the fuck over it!”
I jump as he slams the empty tumbler on the coffee table, the force of it causing the thick crystal glass to nearly break.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” I yell, my voice shaking with fury.
“Careful, Mila. My patience is wearing thin.” His voice is calm but I can hear the slight venom in his tone.
His face contorts with barely restrained anger, and I can tell he’s one step away from losing his shit.
Rather than giving him a chance to unleash another tirade, I turn on my heels and march directly to my room, leaving him to seethe in his own anger.
As I step into my room, I hear Dean’s heavy footsteps charging towards me from behind.
I ignore him, heading straight for my ensuite.
But just before I reach the doorway, he shoves me hard against the edge of the doorframe, my forehead hitting the surface with a thud.
He pins himself behind me, trapping me, and locks my hands behind my back.
Everything happens so fast; it takes me by complete surprise.
I scream in pain, but that only makes him tighten his grip on my wrists, so hard it feels like he might crush the bone, sending a searing jolt of pain racing up my arm.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dean!” I shout in panic, trying to wriggle my wrists free from his vice-like grip. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Never, ever walk away from me. Do you understand? Nothing infuriates me more than being ignored. It’s childish and immature, and I fucking hate it!”
Tears well in my eyes as the pain in my wrists intensifies with each tightening of his grip. “Dean, please. You’re really hurting me!” My voice quivers with fear and desperation.
For the first time in our relationship, I feel genuine panic and fear rushing through my body.
Dean has never once laid a hand on me, no matter how angry or frustrated he gets.
But now seeing him like this—completely unhinged—fills me with absolute terror.
I’m completely powerless against his strength.
“You completely disregarded my feelings tonight, Mila. You made it seem like hanging out with another man was no big deal!” He presses his forehead against the back of my head, letting out a pained sound as if the thought is cutting him up.
“Then you tell me to get the fuck over it. Do you know what that does to me?”
“I’m sorry. Please, Dean,” I sob, tears soaking my cheeks, “I didn’t think it would upset you. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
He lets out a sharp sigh, then slowly releases my wrists. Turning me to face him, he gently wipes away my tears with the pads of his thumbs and kisses me softly on the lips, as if he hadn’t just hurt me. “Thank you, baby. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
He takes a step back, and I instinctively cradle my wrists to my chest, trying to rub the lingering ache left behind. Looking down at them, I instantly notice the raw, angry red marks on my skin. I’m pretty certain it’s going to look worse tomorrow.
“I’m sorry I lost control.” His eyes zero in on the marks around my wrists. “There’s only so much a man can take before he finally snaps, you know?”
He takes my shoulders and gently draws me into a hug.
I tense at first, my body recoiling from his touch, but after a moment, I hesitantly wrap my arms around his waist. His hand moves in slow, soothing strokes along my back, but instead of calming me, the tension resurfaces. I just want him to stop touching me.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he continues, before pulling away and lifting both my wrists up to inspect them. “It doesn’t look so bad, but you should probably ice them, just in case.”
I nod, hugging my wrists protectively against my chest again.
“Just know I only react this way because I love you so much, Mila.”
I nod once more, my mind slipping in and out of a fog. “I love you too.” It takes every last bit of strength I have to speak those words, even though they feel heavy and foreign on my tongue.
Seemingly satisfied with my response, he flashes me a wide grin. “Wish I could stay tonight, but I have an early start tomorrow, followed by back-to-back meetings all day. I’ll text you before I go to bed, yeah?”
Without waiting for a reply, he cups my cheeks and presses his lips to mine, the kiss making my head spin fast. I feel lightheaded and queasy as the ache in my forehead throbs harder.
My mind screams at me to pull away, to resist his touch, but all I want is for him to go, so I let him have this moment.
Once we break apart, I walk him to the door, sharing one last kiss before he finally leaves my apartment.
As soon as I close and lock the door behind him, I slump against the wood, my back sliding down until I’m curled on the floor in a broken heap, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees.
Only then do I release all the emotions that had been building inside, finally allowing myself to break down and cry.
The next day I arrive at Jason’s place just in the nick of time.
After my breakdown last night, I collapsed onto the bed, drained from crying myself into exhaustion.
I slept through the whole morning and afternoon, only waking up thirty minutes before I had to start work.
That left me with just ten minutes to pull myself together and get ready.
On the way to Jason’s, I could still feel the lingering effects of the night before.
The soreness and bruising on my wrists and forehead had worsened overnight, and the redness and puffiness around my eyes were a dead set sign that I’d spent hours crying.
I opted to wear heavy makeup today, and a thick black sweater, with sleeves long enough to cover the bruises on my wrists. The last thing I need right now is for Jason to notice them and start a new round of twenty-one questions. God knows what he would do if he ever found out what Dean had done.
The front door swings open, and Jason’s broad frame fills the doorway. His eyes find mine, and a bright smile spreads across his face. “Miss Rivera, on time as always,” he chirps, moving aside to let me pass. I force a smile and step inside.
Feeling restless, I fidget with the sleeves of my sweater as I wait for Jason to lock the door. “I actually slept in today,” I reply, my voice hoarse from the screaming and crying last night. “But thankfully, I made it here with two minutes to spare.”
“Oh? Did I keep you up last night?”
“No. Not at all. I just didn’t have a good night’s sleep.”
“I can get my dad to mind Jake if you’re not feeling up for it tonight?”
“I’ll be fine. I promise. I just need a coffee or two and then I’ll be good as new.”
He chuckles softly and nods. “Well, if you’re okay with it, Jake and I have something to show you.” There’s a hint of excitement in his voice which immediately makes me smile, and a little curious.
Before I can stop him, Jason grabs hold of my wrist, and a sharp, throbbing pain shoots through my arm, making me yelp loudly. Startled by my reaction, Jason immediately releases his grip, his face displaying genuine worry and shock.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I press my wrist to my chest, gently massaging it as I look up at Jason and shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I hurt it while I was sleeping. It’s nothing serious.”
He doesn’t say a word, likely still stunned and confused by what just happened. Then his eyes narrow, fixated on something on my arm. I glance down to follow his gaze and it’s then that I realise my sleeve has ridden up, revealing the reddish-purple bruise on my wrist.
I cover it up as quickly as I can and move my hands behind my back, but it’s too late—the distinct outline of a handprint on my skin is all he needs to see to figure out what caused it.
“Jason…”
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, his voice sharp now.
“I... uh... I just had a little accident at home.” My voice wavers, betraying my nerves.
“What kind of accident?” he presses, his nostrils flaring. I can see by his expression that he’s struggling to keep his cool.
I swallow hard, my eyes dropping to the ground, unable to face the intensity of his gaze.
As if sensing my discomfort, Jason steps closer, gently placing his fingers under my chin and lifting it until our eyes meet. “You know you can always tell me anything, right?” His voice is gentle and reassuring.
There’s a silent pleading in his eyes, begging me not to lie—to trust him and confide in him the way close friends do. But I can’t. I don’t know how. Telling him the truth would only ignite a war between him and Dean, and I don’t think I have the strength to deal with that right now.
“I fell in my sleep,” I force out, the lie tasting bitter in my mouth. “My wrist got caught between the bedside table and the bed frame. I put some ice on it this morning, so it should be fine.”
The lie slips out smoothly, but guilt coils tight in my chest, aching more than the pain in my wrists. I hate lying to Jason. I hate hiding the truth from him. But it’s either that or have him hunt Dean down and beat the living shit out of him.
Jason drops his hand from my chin, and for a fleeting moment, he looks disappointed.
“Are you sure that’s all that happened?”
I nod slowly, silently hoping he’ll accept my excuse and let it go. But I should’ve known that he’s not the type to give up easily.
“Mila, if something serious happened to you, I need you to know you can always come to me—anytime, day or night. You can always trust me.”
I shake my head, keeping firm with the lie. “Nothing serious happened. It was just an accident. That’s all it was, I swear.”
Just then, Jake comes running down the stairs, stopping short when he sees Jason and me standing by the door. “Did you show her yet?” he asks his dad, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the room.
Jason answers his son calmly, his eyes never leaving mine. “No, bud. We were just about to head over there now.”
“What are you waiting for, Dad? Let’s go!” It’s only then does Jason finally look away, shifting his focus to his son.
We’re quiet as Jake leads us upstairs to the library, but the silence feels deafening.
I avoid looking at Jason, even though I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.
As soon as Jake opens the door, my jaw drops.
The walls are lined with all the butterfly paintings Jake and I created the night before.
They’re elegantly displayed in black frames, each one labelled with a small name tag.
The room resembles a mini art gallery, and I can tell Jason put a lot of time and effort into making it extra special for Jake.
I place my hands on my cheeks, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
“Oh my God! This looks amazing! You guys did such a great job!” Turning to Jason, I notice his gaze has shifted to both my wrists. My sleeves have slipped slightly, and this time he sees the bruises on both of them. Clear as fucking daylight.
I quickly tug my sleeves down, but I catch the sound of Jason chuckling under his breath.
“There’s no point hiding it, Mila. You don’t need to lie anymore. I’ve seen enough.” Just as I open my mouth to respond, he cuts me off. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you guys tonight.”
He pulls Jake into a hug and kisses him on the crown of his head. Stealing one last glance at me, he lightly shakes his head, then turns and walks out the door. Minutes later, I hear the engine of his Ranger rev outside, followed by the screech of his car peeling out of the driveway.
I can’t explain why, but I have this deep gut feeling that something bad is coming.
Whether it’s to Dean, Jason, or both, I fear I won’t be able to control or stop it. I can only pray that whatever it is, it doesn’t end in bloodshed.