“SERIOUSLY, Jenna! Why the fuck haven’t you called me?” His voice is sharp, slurred, cutting through me like a ten-inch blade. “I’ve been worrying. All fucking night!”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stuttering each word. “I… I was about to—”
“Don’t you dare pull this shit. Is this how you treat the only man who’ll ever put up with you?” The words hit hard like they always do. But he’s not wrong. He’s the only man who’s ever loved me. So I take it.
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning. Answer this time, unless you wanna piss me off again,” he snaps, and then, click. The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand. Angry at myself for not calling. Angry at him for acting like this. Then I plaster on a smile and go back to the girls like everything is fine.
The next several months blur together in a haze of fights, apologies, and brief moments of calm with Ryan. Izzy’s home has become my sanctuary—rare moments where I almost feel normal. We don't talk about Ryan. We don’t talk about her parents’ drama. And it works.
But Izzy wasn’t the only one there for me. Jacob was too. At first, it was subtle. Watching movies. Helping me clean up the mess of takeout containers and beer bottles after Izzy crashed. We’d talk about random stuff. Well, mostly I’d talk and he would listen. He never tried offering empty advice, just made me feel safe in a way I hadn't felt in years.
One night, Izzy was passed out on the couch after way too much wine and ourTrue Bloodmarathons. Jacob was slouched on the floor beside me, laughing at a dumb story I shared, while I was curled up in a blanket on their fancy leather couch.
“Why do you do this?” The words jumped out of my mouth before I could think.
He glanced up, brows raised. “Do what?”
“Stay. Watch bad movies with your sister and her friend. Listen to me ramble about my mom… school… everything.”
He paused, meeting my eyes. “Because I want to,” he said gently. “Because… I don’t think you should be with Ryan. But I won’t tell you to leave. I’ll just be here, whenever you’re ready.”
I wanted to thank him, but the moment was wrecked by a sudden bang on the door.
“Jenna! I know you’re in there!” Ryan’s slurred voice echoed through the house. My heart practically jumped out of my chest as I braced myself for the fight… for his rage.
Jacob shot to the door, shirtless and stone-faced like he was ready for anything. No matter the cost.
“It’s okay,” I tried to reassure him, even though nothing was okay. “I’m alright. I’ll talk to him,” I added, my voice and legs both shaky as I threw the blanket off and jumped from the couch.
Izzy woke up and reached for my hand. “Jenna, don’t—”
“I got this.” I forced a smile, gently pulling away.
I walked toward the door and turned the knob. The stench of whiskey hit me first—sharp and sour. Then came Ryan’s icy cold stare. Before I could say anything, his fingers clamped around my arm, hard enough to leave a bruise.
“I told you… to stay… the fuck… away from here,” he stuttered, tightening his grip. “You trying to turn into a whore like your mother? Get your stuff. We’re leaving. Now.”
Jacob stepped forward, his voice calm but lethal. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word cut through the air as Izzy rushed in, trying to hold her brother back.
Ryan’s lip curled, his eyes laser-focused on Jacob. “This isn’t any of your fucking business.”
The shove came fast. Jacob’s hands were on Ryan. The impact sent him stumbling back onto the porch railing. Shouts erupted. Accusations. Fists. Izzy screaming.
Then silence.
I don’t remember the exact words we exchanged. Only the look on Ryan’s face—angry, hurt… maybe even desperate as he walked down the driveway and disappeared into the darkness.
That night should have been the end. The moment I finally walked away. But it wasn’t. The next morning, a dozen red roses waited on Izzy’s doorstep. And a note in his handwriting.
I’m sorry. I love you so much, Jenna. It won’t happen again.
This is what he does. What he always does. These flowers weren’t an apology—they’re a reset button. A way to erase everything. A promise. A lie. A warning I never listened to.
I should’ve burned those damn roses and left the ashes in his car.
But I stayed. Again. Like my mother always did. And I hated myself for it. The cycle was familiar. Comfortable, in a sick, twisted way. If only I could bottle up the worst nights and hold them in my hands when the good moments came. Then I could remind myself not to get lured in. Maybe then I wouldn’t fall for his promises. I wouldn’t believe him when he swore he’d change. But I was desperate for love. For validation. So I clung to the scraps of his affection and kept going back for months.
