5. Stella #2
While I waited for the bartender to take my order, I did another once over on the crowd.
I spotted what looked like it might be Dean over to the left-hand side of the stage, but there was a skinny, scantily clad brunette standing next to him with her hand resting intimately on his arm.
Because their backs were to me, I dismissed it as a coincidence and returned my attention to the bar.
I ordered my beer, paid my tab, and turned around to continue looking for Dean. The couple I’d spotted earlier had since made their way closer to the stage and I could see now that I was wrong - it was Dean. A quiet rage flowed through my system as I watched him head towards the rest of the band .
He jumped up onto the stage with finesse and the brunette stood on her tiptoes as he leaned down and gripped her behind the neck, planting an obscene kiss on her red painted lips.
What the actual fuck?
He retreated to his drum kit, wiping the lipstick off his mouth as he sauntered over and straddled his stool.
Despite knowing that what he was doing was wrong, his confidence suggested that he believed he wouldn’t get caught.
I guess that’s why he didn’t put me on the guest list. He wanted his plaything to see him play tonight.
The rush of fury that invaded my body had me vibrating as I chugged my beer.
I couldn’t believe him. I had undeniable proof that he was cheating on me; his actions left no room for doubt or any other explanation.
How long had this been going on? How had I not seen something sooner? Lastly, why didn’t it surprise me?
With a frustrated sigh, I turned toward the bartender, wiping the condensation from my empty bottle as I slammed it down onto the bar top, and ordered two more beers. I was about to get royally fucked up.
I left after Dean began his set; not staying to see the rest of the show.
I caught an Uber back to our apartment and paced.
I felt lost; my whole life revolved around Dean, and I didn’t know what to do.
Six years, a lifetime of shared moments, now felt like a dwindling ember threatening to extinguish.
All because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
The meager furnishings of the living room blurred through my tear-filled vision as I stumbled into our shared bedroom, the emptiness echoing the hollowness in my heart.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and untied my well-worn Doc Martens and slid them off one at a time.
When I got the first one off, I reared my arm back and slung it across the room.
With a deafening crash, it shattered against the mirror on the far wall, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor.
I slid off the edge of the bed and clutched my knees to my chest. Tears dripped off my cheeks onto my knees and I didn’t bother wiping them away. I felt stuck. I had intertwined my life so thoroughly with Dean’s that I couldn’t see a way out.
The sudden, sharp bang of a slamming door ripped me from sleep, my body stiff and aching from lying curled on the floor. I must have fallen asleep at some point and not bothered to remove the rest of my clothes or climb into bed.
Another slam came from the kitchen and I stood up, righting my skirt and wiping the salty crust from my puffy, tear-stained eyes. I didn’t bother looking in a mirror. Dean could see me at my worst for all I cared.
Tiptoeing from the bedroom, I entered the adjacent living room and open-plan kitchen; the silence broken only by the gentle hum of the refrigerator. Dean had his head in the fridge, rifling around for something.
“Looking for something?” I asked without hesitation.
He jumped, and in his haste to remove his head from the fridge, smacked the back of it on the shelf.
“Fuck, Stell. You scared the shit outta me.” He complained as he rubbed at the back of his sweat soaked hair. I had secretly hoped he’d have knocked himself out, but I couldn’t get that lucky.
To appear stronger, I pulled my shoulders back, the fabric of my shirt rustling slightly as my arms crossed tightly over my chest. I felt the tremor of insecurity bubbling beneath the surface of my forced confidence. My heart was racing and I could hear the beat thumping in my skull.
Dean walked over to me and put both his hands on my hips. His grip was not only firm but verged on painful, causing me to wince. I uncrossed my arms to push against his chest. He reeked of cheap perfume, alcohol, and cigarettes. A lethal combination of bad decisions.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he slurred as he pulled me closer, kissing down the slope of my neck. “I’m sorry I’m a little late, took us longer to pack up than we expected.”
I pushed against him again and took a fortifying step back. I steeled my spine and willed myself not to cry. If I was going to get through this, I was going to have to pretend that my entire life wasn’t falling apart at the seams.
“I saw you, Dean.”
“I’m sure you did, babe. We fucking killed it up on that stage tonight.”
“No.” I said firmly, leaving no room for interpretation or pacification. “I saw you with that girl before the show.”
A quick flash of fear crossed Dean’s face, but his self-control was swift and soon his expression was devoid of emotion again.
“I’m not sure what you thought you saw, but it wasn’t what it looked like,” he said as he turned and walked back towards the kitchen in search of a beer, quickly dismissing me.
“I SAW YOU KISS HER!!” I shouted at his retreating form, not giving a fuck if the neighbors heard. I wasn’t going to stand here and be lied to again.
A chill coasted down my spine as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around.
For the first time in six years, a bone-chilling fear, sharp and sudden, paralyzed me.
A look of untamed fury, eyes blazing, flashed across Dean’s face, his jaw clenching.
His pupils were pinpoint as he stepped closer into my personal space.
Hoping to create distance, I took a step back. I was shaking.
I’d never once feared Dean before this moment; his presence had always been comforting, a familiar warmth.
He’d raised his voice to me a handful of times, but it was always something I did wrong.
Stalking toward me, his footsteps like drumbeats, he backed me into a wall.
He leaned close, hands framing my head. His breath coasted across my face, it’s warmth doing little to combat the chill that was washing over me.
His nearness was suffocating, the oppressive feeling of his authority weighing down. I turned my face away and squeezed my eyes shut.
He skated his nose from my collarbone up my neck to my ear, stopping to grab a handful of my hair hard enough to bring tears to my eyes and tilt my head back.
“Once more, I’m going to tell you this, you stupid fucking bitch. I’m not sure what you saw, but it wasn’t what it fucking looked like.” he hissed close enough to my ear that I could feel the humidity of his breath.
I kept my eyes shut, pressing my lids together so tightly that my head throbbed, and stood as still as a statue, my muscles tense.
“Are we fucking clear?”
I nodded, but apparently that wasn’t answer enough as he gripped ahold of my hair again and I let out a tiny whimper of pain.
“I said, are we fucking clear?”
“Yes.” I stammered out.
He released his punishing grip on my hair, and I sank to the floor in emotional agony. I couldn’t hold back the sobs that wracked my body upon release.
He stormed into our bedroom, his anger a palpable force, and slammed the door with a resounding crash, effectively sealing me out.
I tucked my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I felt like I was physically trying to hold myself together. Letting go would allow my complete collapse. A tremor ran through me as the first guttural sob escaped, each subsequent wrack threatening to shatter my composure.
I lost track of time while curled up on the floor until my lower half became numb and I ran out of tears. I padded my way to our bedroom door and silently twisted the knob.
Dean was naked, sprawled out on the bed face down. I padded my way to the bathroom and changed out of my grimy club clothes and into an oversized tee shirt and panties. I didn’t bother cleaning off my makeup. My tears, I figured, had sufficiently washed that away.
Tiptoeing to the bed, I eased myself down; the springs sighing softly beneath me, and curled into the smallest ball I could manage. Sweet release washed over me as I drifted into a dream where laughter and love reigned, a blissful respite from the harshness of truth.
For the first time, I was scared of my future.
Max’s face was a mask of indifference, but the barely perceptible twitch in his jaw betrayed his calm demeanor. A silent storm brewing beneath a calm surface. I didn’t need his sympathy. Charlie and I were safe - for now.
“Yeah, so.. Things were okay for the next couple years. I forgave him for cheating. He said it would never happen again. He only put his hands on me a couple more times. Most of the time it happened when he came home high or drunk. But, I stayed. Young, dumb, na?ve, hopeful, whatever you want to call me, I’ve probably already said it about myself.
” I took another sip of my coffee as I waited for him to respond.
When he didn’t, I looked up and was met with the blazing look of a man who was on a hair trigger and looking for a fight. He still didn’t respond, so I continued.
“Anyway, we found out I was pregnant. Dean stopped using me as his personal punching bag and I just became a verbal sparring partner. I knew I needed to get out. I knew if I didn’t, he’d end up killing me.
After we found out about Charlie, Dean got really heavy into drugs, cocaine, to be exact.
I always turned a blind eye to it, afraid to be on the receiving end of a junkie’s wrath.
But, about two days ago, things got bad.
” A nervous chuckle escaped as I sipped my coffee.
“I mean, I guess they got worse - they were already bad.”
This is the part of the story I dreaded the most. The thought of returning to that moment felt like drowning. I could feel that tightening knot of anxiety threatening to close my throat, urging me to keep quiet. I wanted to put the past in the past, but I knew that this wasn’t over.
They wouldn’t stop until I paid for what I knew, and I was realizing very quickly that I wasn’t going to be able to do this on my own.