He's hurting me, and suddenly I'm forcing back tears. I refuse to open my mouth. "No," I say forcefully.
He jerks my head back to look him in the eye, and in the process I feel a patch of hair ripped from my scalp. I've never seen him look this crazed. He looks psychotic, eyes narrowed in anger and speaking through clenched teeth. "What did you just say to me?"
I'm scared, and my brain's warning mechanism is screaming at me. Get away! Run! Tears are forming in my eyes, I don't know if it's out of fear, anger, or pain, because I'm feeling equally intense amounts of all three. "Let go of me, Michael. We're done. That's why I came with you today, to tell you I can't and won't do this anymore."
He releases my hair, and before I can even process what's going on, he's outside the car running around to open my door. I beat him to it and try to make a break for it, but he's already there. He grips both wrists tightly. Too tight. It hurts. He knows how to inflict pain. In the past it's been done for his pleasure, but there were always boundaries. This is something else. He's trying to hurt me and it's working. He's twisting the skin back and forth against the bone. A pained sob tears from my throat.
His mouth is pressed up against my ear now; his breath hot and unwelcome. "You're mine, angel. Only mine. You're a good little whore, now come inside with me and stop making a scene. I'm going to fuck you senseless. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, it's up to you."
My skin is crawling and I can't hold back the sobs. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat from his threats, and before I know it, I've vomited all over the asphalt and his shirt.
He releases me immediately and recoils, but not before his hand meets my face. That was a closed fist. The force and sting takes me to the ground and has me seeing stars. I'm still crying, the tears streaming steadily down my cheeks.
"Stop the act, Scout. Crying isn't attractive on you." It's a flippant insult meant to hurt my feelings and my heart. As his words sink in, I realize I'm scowling at him. He's usually arrogant and self-centered, but I've never seen this side of him. And I'm still scared, but now I'm more mad than anything.
The menace is still in his eyes and I know he's about to say something awful before the words leave his mouth. "The crying only draws attention to your face." He smiles and his face twists into an evil grin. "Remember when I told you that you were beautiful?"
I don't answer. I do remember. He's the only person who's ever told me that.
"I. Lied." The evil smile spreads and it settles in his eyes. He's like a wild animal. "Why do you think we always fuck in the dark? Because I can't look at you and get off. You're easy. Easy," he spits at me. "And your pussy is so fucking sweet."
It's like another punch and my lips drop the scowl and part slightly. It's at that moment that I see this entire relationship for what it's always been. I'm prey. I've always been easy prey. An easy target. The damaged girl, inside and out. He must've seen it from the first time we met.
I scramble to my feet and I run. I run as fast as I can.
This time he doesn't chase me.
Halfway home my cell chimes in a text, I'll see you in a few weeks. Completely nonchalant, like what just happened wasn't completely psycho.
I don't respond.
I'll never respond.
He'll never treat me like that again.
No one's home when I get to Audrey's. It's just after noon. I've never been more thankful to be alone than I am right now. Inside my bathroom, I remove my dress. There's vomit on it, so I throw it in the trash can. My panties are next, I toss them in with the dress, wishing I could set fire to it all and watch them burn. Burn to ash, just like I wish I could do to the memory of him. To the memory of what just happened. This is the last time. Today was a twisted nightmare. I'm done.
I'm crying again. Or more likely, I never stopped. Standing in the shower under the scalding water, I let it burn my skin. The new pain takes my mind off the not-so-old pain. The physical pain that's still fresh. I hurt all over. He took no mercy on me.
The right side of my face is throbbing and tender.
My scalp burns where he pulled my hair.
My wrists are ringed in purpling bruises, a gift from his restraint. A telltale reminder of the size and strength of his hands. There's pain and tingling weakness.
I hurt.
I'm sobbing so hard that I'm nearly hysterical at this point.
I can't wash him off me.
I need to wash him off me.
I need to wash me off me.
I feel sickened by what happened. He's never gone that far before. Not even close.
But I can't help but feel responsible. I went with him, when I knew I shouldn't.
The blame keeps shifting from him to me. From me to him. I know it's all on him. I fucking know that. But my screwed up mind always turns everything back around on me. I'm always to blame for people treating me badly; it's how I've lived my life. People I love don't know how to love me back. They hurt me. That's how they love.
That's how they love.
When the water begins to run cold, I step out and just stand there dripping on the tile floor. I'm looking at myself in the mirror over the sink from afar. My right cheek is bruised, and my eyes are puffy and red. I tenderly touch my face. The bruises on my wrists look worse now that I see them next to my cheek, a vicious purple trio. As the wounds emerge, I gasp and take a few steps closer to the mirror. There's a fresh cut bleeding amongst the scarring and bruising on my right cheek. He punched me with his left hand. His left fucking hand. "That lying bastard." He was wearing a wedding ring and I hadn't even noticed, because everything deteriorated so quickly into a nightmare. His. Wedding. Ring.