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CHAPTER ONE
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I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom as I get ready for my day. Morning light filters through the half-closed blinds, washing the room in a muted gray that makes my bruises look even darker. The kids are at my parents’ house, so it’s just Mitch and me today.
My cardigan falls off my shoulder, exposing the bruises Mitch left when he pinned me down and fucked me so hard I cried. I run my hand over them, willing them to disappear. But they don’t. They match the ones on my cheek and throat that I cover up with makeup.
But that’s love, right? Being so consumed by one another that we forget ourselves and lose all control… he loses control, and I end up with bruises that I have to hide from the kids.
I pull up my cardigan to hide the evidence and grab the counter to steady my shaking hands. The cold granite bites into my palms. That’s when I hear a crash from the kitchen.
Not again. Today was supposed to be a good day.
“Every fucking time the kids leave the house, they leave their God damn mess,” Mitch screams from the kitchen. The loud clatter of something metal hitting the tile echoes down the hallway.
A small bucket of slime flies past my head and hits the wall behind me. It leaves a streak of neon green sliding down the off-white paint. I freeze.
“Mitch, please calm down. You almost hit me with that,” I say softly, trying not to make him even angrier. I don’t want him to turn his anger on me, but if I don’t say something, he’ll destroy the house. His anger issues are getting worse.
“Almost?” He comes around the island and scoffs. His heavy footsteps thud against the hardwood as he approaches. “I should have fucking hit you with it, then maybe you’ll teach your kids to clean up around here.” He advances on me, and when I step back, my back hits the wall.
Not again. Not another bruise I have to cover up.
“Please don’t,” I beg with a shaky voice as he braces his arms on either side of me.
He leans down and snarls, “You’re the reason they’re like this, you realize that, right?” The scent of beer washes over me. His bloodshot eyes narrow on me. He punches the wall, and I cower. Dust sprinkles down from the fresh dent. Please don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me. Not again.
“They’re just kids, Mitch.” Pain shoots across my jaw and mouth as the back of his hand collides with my face. My ears ring, and the tang of iron fills my mouth.
“Just kids?” He steps back and seethes. “They have no fucking manners. They leave messes. They back-talk constantly. They’re just as worthless as their father.”
“How fucking dare you! Don’t talk like that about my kids… or my ex. At least he didn’t hit me.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. It’ll only get worse from here. It always does.
I don’t want another bruise to have to cover up or explain to the kids. I don’t want the pain anymore.
He swings, but this time, I duck and run for the living room. My socks slide on the hardwood, nearly taking me down. He growls, tackling me to the floor and wrapping his hands around my throat.
“If you didn’t like it, you’d have left.” He laughs.
This is it. This is where I’m going to die. Will the kids be okay without me? Will my ex blame me for my own death because I left him, and this is the life I chose?
“You’re a worthless whore who needs me to do everything for you.” His grip tightens, and my breath catches, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. “Well, you all can die for all I care,” he says, looking around. His eyes land on the counter. My stomach drops.
He grabs his holster from the counter and lets me go to pull the gun out.
I buck my hips and shove when he falls forward. He tumbles to the side, and I scramble back, nails scraping the floor.
My nails scrape against the floor as I crawl. I scramble to a sitting position and jump to my feet. He grabs at my ankle, but I kick him away from me. I stumble, nearly falling when I reach the chair where my purse hangs.
I grab my phone from inside it.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher says. The device is knocked from my hand before I have the chance to answer. It lands face up, clearly showing who I called.
Mitch presses me against the wall and shoves a gun in my face.
He leans in, pressing his lips to my ear, and whispers, “Are you that stupid? You think the police will be able to save you from me this time?” His laughter makes me sick to my stomach. “Poor girl. You’ll be dead before they arrive.”
I close my eyes as the barrel of the gun presses against my cheek.
I just wanted someone to choose me. In the end… no one did.