Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of abuse and sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.
June.
I lay on the floor. I didn't dare move. If he caught me stirring, he'd think my punishment hadn't been enough. So I stayed there—naked, broken, pressed into the cold tile of the bathroom floor—waiting.
When his phone pinged, relief slipped in sharp and quiet. That sound meant he was leaving. I listened as his boots crossed the apartment, crunching over the shattered glass that had once sat neatly on our dining room table.
He'd had a bad day at work. He got another complaint. The police chief was already tired of dealing with him. Something about roughing up a prostitute. And her pimp. I didn't know the details. I wasn't really listening. I'd been serving dinner when it started—placing the plate down carefully, like that might somehow matter.
His voice still rang in my ears.
"What the fuck is this?"
I'd looked up at him, at the pork chop and potatoes I'd made.
"Dinner," I said quietly. "I thought you'd like it."
"I know," he said, teeth clenched. "But you're eating it too."
"Yes. I don't understand."
"Of course you don't."
He reached out and flipped the table.
The crash was sudden and violent—glass shattering, plates breaking, food scattering across the floor. I stayed in my chair, frozen, too afraid to even flinch.
"I don't understand," I said again.
"I cannot believe I got myself involved with such a dumbass."
He was in front of me in seconds. One hand wrapped around my throat, the other clamping down on my arm. His nails dug into my skin as he yanked me out of the chair.
I couldn't breathe. His grip tightened, crushing my airway until panic drowned everything else.
"I'm sorry," I tried to say.
It came out wrong—broken sounds, gasps scraping at my throat.
"You've gained so much weight since we moved in together," he said calmly.
"Let's go check, shall we?"
He dragged me toward the bathroom. I tried to pull away, but he was stronger. My feet slipped. I went down hard.
Glass bit into my legs. My arms. My side. My dress rode up as I slid across the floor, blood blooming where the shards found skin. Then there was nothing but cold tile beneath me. He threw me down.
"Get on the fucking scale, fat ass."
I tried to push myself up, but my palms were slick with blood. I wasn't fast enough. Pain exploded through my ribs as he kicked me. Then my stomach. The air left my lungs in a sharp, useless gasp.
"Since you're too stupid to figure it out," he said, "let me help you."
His fist closed in my hair. He hauled me up until I was shaking on my feet. I felt strands tear loose as I was forced upright. I stepped onto the scale. He stared at the number and smiled.
"One pound heavier than yesterday," he said. "I told you salads would be best for you. If we're going to get married, I can't be embarrassed by having an orca at my side."
He released my hair. My knees almost buckled. I kept my eyes on the number, willing it to change. It didn't. His fingers dug into my side, pinching hard enough to bruise. Not that it mattered. There were already so many. Then his smile widened.
"Well," he said, undoing his belt, "you're going to have to make it up to me."
"No," I whispered. "Not now. Please."
I backed up until the wall stopped me.
"Did you just tell me no?"
The punch came fast. White light burst behind my eyes. I barely felt my body being shoved forward, forced down, stripped of what little protection I had left.
I stared at the counter and counted my breaths. I always thought I could prepare myself. I never could. I felt him push his way into me. I screamed with pain. He smashed my head off of the sink as he continued to pund away at me. When it was over, he laughed and let me slide to the floor like something discarded.
I heard him in the living room, talking to someone on the phone like nothing had happened. Then the familiar chime of a text message. Boots crossed the apartment. The door opened. Closed. Locked.I stayed where I was and counted to one hundred.That was how I made sure he was really gone.When I finally stood, I didn't look in the mirror. I couldn't face myself anymore. I turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stepped under the water, letting it burn.
He was going to kill me if I didn't run.