Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Age Twenty-three
Life is dull, boring, and fucking lonely.
It’s been two years since I tried to leave Preston, and I have regretted the choice to come back ever since.
For a while, our relationship seemed to flourish.
Preston was attentive, apologetic and everything I could have ever wanted.
My very own Prince Charming. We were happy.
Little by little, he started falling back into old patterns he promised to stop.
Getting irritated at menial things, yelling, putting me down and eventually he started hitting me.
The first time, I was washing dishes at the sink and listening to music.
He came into the house and I didn’t hear him.
He snuck up behind me and put his arm around me, trying to be sweet.
It scared the hell out of me and I jumped, dropping the glass I was washing on the floor.
He berated me while I cleaned the glass up off of the floor, alone.
“I’m sorry, Preston. You just scared the shit out of me. It’s okay, I’m cleaning it up. You see me cleaning it up.” I soothed…or tried to anyway.
“If you hadn’t been blasting that god awful trash you call music, you would have heard me come in and this wouldn’t have even happened, Lizzy.”
“So are you going to take music away from me now too?” I snapped without thinking.
When I stood up he backhanded me, causing me to drop the broken shards of glass in my hand again.
My hand sliced open and blood dripped all over the floor.
After cleaning everything up again and tending to my wound, he called me pathetic and left the house.
It was then I noticed a bouquet of beautiful white roses on the counter.
Placing my hand to my cheek where he hit me, I broke down and sobbed.
I felt terrible. He was trying to be sweet and I ruined the evening.
Things have only gotten worse and I feel stuck.
There’s no way out for me. After coming back from my uncle’s house, Preston sold my car back to the dealership.
He told me he was getting me an upgrade, but it never came.
My phone is monitored heavily by him, so I don’t even try to make contact with Uncle Nick, or anyone else for that matter; knowing if I do, I’ll pay for it.
The only time I can leave this house is with him.
I spend most of my day outside or cleaning while he’s at work, and it’s the only solace I have.
He has made it so he’a the only other person I see or speak to, unless he’s with me.
We don’t go out anymore unless it’s to see his parents, and I’m pretty sure they hate me.
I know they see the bruises, but they just look at me with disdain. As if I deserve it.
Maybe I do.
If I had never tried to leave him in the first place, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are today, and things would be better.
Finishing folding our laundry and putting it away, I hurry into the bathroom to take a shower.
Preston still isn’t home from work–shocker–and I’d like to try to be asleep when he gets home.
We had a fight this morning and I haven’t heard from him all day.
Not that I do any other time, but I’ve been sick to my stomach all day thinking of what tonight would be like when he came back.
Making quick work of washing my body and hair, I shut the water off and wrap myself in a towel.
Stepping over to the bathroom counter, I use my hand to wipe the condensation off of the mirror and flinch at my reflection.
My eyes are lifeless with bags under them that are almost purple.
My complexion is ashen and my hair, though wet, is dull and ratty looking.
My sunken cheeks and collar bones make me look even sicker.
I don’t eat much anymore, if at all. The stress makes me not hungry–thus resulting in me losing far too much weight.
Knowing I need to eat, I try but sometimes it just comes right back up.
What the fuck happened to me?
A lone tear slips down my cheek and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
Don’t cry. Put your big girl panties on and deal with it. You made this bed and now you have to lay in it.
How do I escape when my entire world has been Preston for almost ten years? How do I just give up and walk away? How would I even walk away at this point when he’s made sure I have no way to?
Shaking off the nerves, I begin to towel dry my hair as Glass Houses by Bad Omens softly plays on my phone that sits on the bathroom counter.
Finishing up with my hair, I turn to put the towel on the hook when a loud bang sounds from downstairs.
It’s the front door slamming up against the wall.
Over the years, I’ve been able to tell what kind of a mood Preston is in based on how he comes through the door; how he walks, the way he stands, and use that to determine how I interact with him.
Slamming and stomping? Avoidance and silent compliance.
Opening the door like a normal person, but heavy footsteps?
Proceed with caution. And right now, I want to throw the fuck up and hide.
Fuck, I wasn’t fast enough.
Reaching over to my phone, I shut the music off and grip it in my hands.
Securing the towel around my body, I silently tip toe over to the door then open it slowly.
My heart races and I listen for movement on the floor below me.
From what I can hear, he’s rummaging through the refrigerator.
Glass bottles clink together and I can make out the sound of things being shuffled around.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door all the way and silently creep across the hall and into our bedroom.
After the last time he caught me in the guest room and threw me to the ground, I don’t sleep in there anymore.
As long as I stay right where he wants me, I might be able to get a full night's sleep.
With slow movements, I hang the towel up on the hook on the back of the door and tip toe to the dresser to get some pajamas.
I step into a pair of flannel shorts and matching top, then slide silently into bed.
Turning my back to the door, I pull the covers over my mid section and close my eyes.
Please don’t come up yet. Please. Don’t come up yet.
My hopes are smashed when I hear heavy footsteps come up the stairs and stop at the bedroom door.
The door knob turns roughly and I close my eyes tightly.
Doing my best to keep my breathing slow and even, Preston steps closer to the bed.
He stops at the edge and his fingertips make contact with my exposed arm.
He lightly trails them down the length of my body and I shudder.
I am not in the mood for this tonight. I just want to sleep.
Preston leans down and his hot breaths land on the back of my neck.
“Hey, Butterfly. Are you awake? I missed you.” His voice slurs softly in my ear.
“Hmmm?” Doing my best to fake a sleepy groan, I roll over to face him. The movement breaks the contact of his hand on my body and I relax a little.
“I’m sorry about this morning, babe. I didn’t sleep well last night, and you know how I get when I’m tired. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” Preston coos and his fingers make their way back to my skin.
Blinking up at him, I put on a show and give him my best sleepy smile. “I’m sorry, too.” I whisper. He squats down next to the bed and leans forward to kiss me. His lips touch mine and I barely return it, still trying to feign exhaustion.
Gripping the back of my head roughly, he pulls my face closer to his and forces my mouth open with his tongue.
Flinching, I force myself to return the intensity of his kiss, even though I don’t want to.
His free hand pushes the covers off of my body and he ghosts his fingers over the waistband of my shorts.
He starts to push them down, and I break the kiss.
“Preston, I’m really tired and don’t feel good.
Can we push pause? I promise I’ll make it up to you.
” I plead as I sit up to look at him. His movements pause and he stiffens in place.
Anger flashes in his eyes as he releases the grip on my head.
Before I can blink, that same hand wraps around my throat in a flash and he squeezes hard.
“Push pause? Push. Pause?!” He seethes through gritted teeth. His hand tightens, effectively cutting off my air. My eyes bulge and panic courses through my veins. I start clawing at his arm, but it’s no use. I don’t even think he feels it.
“I come home after a long day and I want to make love to you and you want to PUSH PAUSE?!” Spit flies from his mouth as he screams and my mouth gapes open, desperately trying to get air.
“You ungrateful, worthless fucking brat! You should be happy I even want to touch you anymore after all the shit you’ve done! ”
His hand tightens some more and black begins to creep into the corners of my vision.
My eyelids become heavy and just as I am about to pass out, he releases me.
Gasping desperately, I try pulling in breaths but I can’t stop coughing.
My throat burns and my head begins to pound with an intensity I’ve never felt.
I can’t even swallow correctly without white hot pain searing my throat.
Tears well in my eyes and my hands fly to my neck.
It hurts so bad. Finally managing to get in a breath, I wince as the air stings my vocal chords and I cough some more.
“P-Preston.” I choke out between coughs. “Why?” That's all I can get out.
“Why? Fucking why?!” He screams and raises his arm. Pain explodes on the left side of my face and my vision goes black. I’m knocked back into the mattress and I feel the side of the bed dip.
Did he just…punch me?