17. Venetia
“ C offee is on the table,” Marietta mumbles, her voice a distant murmur drowned out by the heavy beat of the music pulsing through my headphones. She pulls the curtains aside, flooding the room with piercing golden light. Then, she leans in and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, murmuring something else—probably about luck and having a good day—before storming out of the room.
My right ear aches like hell, the small headphone practically jammed into it. Falling asleep is always easier with music, but I usually dread the aftermath. The nagging pain lingers longer than I’d like, and I have no choice but to endure it.
It’s been so long since I’ve drifted off to my favorite songs that I nearly forgot the feeling. Music has always been my sanctuary, a place to escape when life becomes too overwhelming. With my ex-husband, it became a nightly ritual—I couldn’t go to bed without it. Crying myself to sleep was an option, but it drained me so much that I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. With music, the nights became not only bearable but enjoyable.
West texted me the other day about changes to our plans, and when I realized I’d be flying to Washington with him, I lost it. In this space, filled with familiar sights and known faces, I feel grounded. But the thought of being alone with him in an unfamiliar environment makes me anxious.
Cracking my eyes open, I welcome the burning sensation of bright light as my gaze drifts across the pink, innocent clouds floating by.
Another day, another chance to be paraded around like a trained monkey.
Irritation bubbles inside me as I walk down the street, a heavy bag filled with my essentials thudding against my hip with each step. His car is parked at the curb, heavy metal blasting from the speakers, as if he wants the entire fucking block to know we’re leaving. I love heavy metal, but right now, all I want is for it to be quiet so we can drive in peace. We’re chaotic enough as it is, and the pounding music only amplifies the headache blooming in my forehead.
West hops out of the car the instant he sees me, and I find myself frozen in shock as he walks closer. He looks like he’s been through hell, with bloodstains across his skin and faint bruises marking his face. His lip is split, and his damp bangs cling to his sweaty forehead as he approaches me.
Usually, I’d mock him and call him pathetic, but now my tongue feels heavy in my throat. I don’t feel like joking. This isn’t just a typical fight—he looks terrible. I can practically feel the pain radiating from him.
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the bag from me and walks to the car. I can only stand in silence, watching him toss it into the back before he climbs into the driver’s seat, avoiding eye contact. He’s always been a douchebag, the type to have the last word and deliver sharp remarks. But he’s never been this quiet.
Something is wrong.
With a surge of courage, I make my way to the car and climb in. The music bombards my aching ears, prompting me to lean in and turn down the volume. Once the sound fades, I can hear his raspy breathing and the struggle it takes for him to expand his chest.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“What happened to you?” I ask cautiously, my eyes locked on the side of his face. Some hair has fallen into his eyes, but he seems completely unaware, staring vacantly ahead while ignoring me. Without a second thought, I reach up to push it aside. The moment my fingertips brush against his heated skin, he flinches, gripping my hand tightly before roughly tossing it back onto my leg.
“West.” I try to draw his focus, but he simply presses down on the gas pedal and drives away without a word. “Are you really going to ignore me the whole trip?” I press, refusing to back down.
He lets out a shaky breath, and I swear I can hear his bones jingle. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” he bites, each word a weight he desperately wants to shake off.
“If you’ve forgotten, let me remind you: we’ll be spending a lot of time in public. What will you do when they ask about your face?”
He leans in, turning up the volume of the damn music as he scrolls the dial upward. “It’s none of your business.”
A sharp spike of anger ignites within me, and I barely resist the urge to kick him. Just a day ago, he had me gasping in pleasure, his mouth glued to mine, and now we’re back at this . It’s not that I expect something miraculous, but I need basic fucking respect.
In a second, my hand is on the volume knob, turning it back to where it was. “It may sound like I do, but I assure you, I don’t give a single fuck who beat you up or what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into again,” I say, noticing the muscle in his jaw clench.
There’s no way I’m leaving him alone after he ruined my neutral mood. I need to hit back.
“I’m asking, as I don’t want to be put in an awkward position because of you. How am I supposed to explain that my fiancé is a junkie who attracts trouble?”
“You say that word again, I fucking dare you, Venetia.” His growl echoes, and the way his voice drops to an ominous level sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of his true nature—a man who can hurt me at will. A ruthless, murderous sociopath who is utterly indifferent to others. “Why can’t you just shut your fucking mouth and let us drive in silence?”
“Because you can’t hide anything from me now that we’re doing everything together!” I explode, my frustration reaching a boiling point. “Why?—”
My words are cut off as he honks the horn and stomps on the brake. It takes a moment to grasp what’s happening as my gaze shifts to the car that tried to overtake us, now blocking half the road.
“Move, you dumb fuck!” he shouts.
The driver merely glances at West and shrugs, unfazed by his yelling. Then, like a maniac, this fucker takes matters into his own hands, jerking the steering wheel to the side and accelerating, throwing me back against my seat as we speed past the car.
“Pathetic piece of shit! Did you get your license from a fucking cereal box?!” he grumbles, venom dripping from his voice, each acidic drop scorching my skin in its wake. “And who the fuck drives a car that shitty these days?”
With my heart beating wildly, I slowly snap back to reality, the weight of it all settling in—West is probably high, badly injured, and on the verge of losing control. We nearly crashed because of him.
“Stop the car,” I demand, my emotions flooding me, leaving no room for restraint. I know we have a plane to catch and a job to do, but I can’t.
I just can’t be near him any longer.
His hand rises, his mouth set in a firm line before his fingers clench into an unsteady fist. “Don’t give me that attitude. Not now, Venetia.”
Hot tears streak down my face, stripping away the last bit of patience I have left. He’s frightening me, and I feel trapped beside him. The walls of the car seem to close in, the pressure suffocating, stealing the air from my lungs. “I said, stop the fucking car. Just stop it.”
I have to get out and breathe. The tension, his unstable energy, and the fear of a looming crash make staying here unbearable. It feels like he’s choking the life out of me. I can’t hear, I can’t see, I can’t move when he’s so close. I want to crawl out, but he drags me down into his personal hell.
Since he won’t listen, I reach for the door, pulling it open in one swift motion. Relief floods me as I realize it’s unlocked, but before I can even move, he grabs my sweatshirt, yanking me back in. I cry out, struggling, but he overpowers me effortlessly.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” he screams, straining to keep his focus on the road. “I swear to God, you’re a fucking crazy bitch!”
Somehow, he leans in and slams the door shut before locking the car with an audible click, grabbing my sweatshirt again. “Crazy? I’m fucking crazy?!” I yell, still struggling against his hold.
He yanks me closer as I kick out in desperation. “Yes, you fucking are!”
My hands strike everywhere I can reach—his legs, his chest, even his face—as I slap him, each hit sending shocks through my stinging palm. “I’ll show you crazy, you psychopathic piece of shit!”
West dodges my attacks and shrugs off the ones that land with ease. “Calm the fuck down, or I swear I’ll knock you out.”
I have no doubts he’d do it. He needs mental help. I’m not saying I don’t need it, but he definitely needs it more.
“Is it crazy enough for you?” Gradually, my anger fades, the fiery strength slipping away with it, leaving me physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be consumed by rage—it’s like the rush of the strongest drug, euphoric, but the crash is swift and brutal, spreading pain through every inch of me. “Answer me!” I demand, leaning in and tapping my shaking finger against my temple. “Am I the one who’s fucked in the head here? Huh? Am I the fucking psycho, West?”
“Yes!” he yells, bringing his free hand to his nose and rubbing the spot underneath. Some things stay the same—even now, as I sit in the passenger seat, my life in his hands, he doesn’t give a fuck. He got high intentionally, maybe even wishing for a crash because his selfishness knows no bounds. “You’re a fucking insane bitch who can’t shut her mouth for one minute!”
My muscles, sore and spent, refuse to keep struggling, and I slump forward, burying my face in my hands. My pulse races, and fury burns through me, blending with a sickening despair that tastes like acid on my tongue.
“I fucking hate you,” I mumble, a sob wracking my exhausted body. “I hate you so much.”
“Well, guess what, Venetia? I fucking hate you too!” he snaps, his voice trembling in sync with my own. “You think I want this? That I want to be here with you right now? That I want to fucking fly to another state and share the same hotel room? Huh?”
He raises his voice, transforming from a shaky whisper to a full-blown scream, which only intensifies my tears as I shake my head, fighting to maintain my sanity.
Stop fucking screaming at me.
Although I can feel those cerulean eyes drilling into me, I refuse to meet his gaze. I’m terrified—either I’ll succumb and leave another bruise on his face, or I’ll freeze and glimpse something in his depths that I don’t want to see.
“I’d do anything to be somewhere else. Fuck—” He bursts into laughter, its raspy, strained quality underscored by a wicked tone. “You know what?”
“Stop, just stop.” His anger burns so intensely it feels like flames licking my skin, forcing me to become the one who begs. “ Please .”
“I’d relive last night, taking punch after punch to my face and body, just to avoid being here with you,” he pushes mercilessly. “I’d welcome ten more rounds of that just to fucking escape you .”
Tears and snot roll down my face as I tremble, muffling my pleas in my hands, feeling just as pathetic as I appear.
When he finally stops enumerating every reason for his disdain, I press myself further into the corner of my seat, wiping my endless tears with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Silence blankets the drive, punctuated only by his ragged breaths and my faint sobs, as heavy metal plays softly in the background.
It’s going to be a long fucking journey, and the days ahead in Washington will be even longer.