Prologue
Lexi
3 Weeks Ago
“Hurry the fuck up and get out here. Clean this shit up right fucking now,” Jason yells as he bangs his fist on the bathroom door once again.
I’m shaking all over. My hands are shaking so bad it’s difficult just trying to clean the blood off of my lip and chin. My lip is cut just inside my mouth from my tooth when he hit me. I wince a bit as I lean closer to the mirror to get a better look. The pain in my side radiates through my whole body. My hand wraps around my middle to alleviate the pain. I just know that my ribs are bruised again, possibly fractured this time. Another bang on the door echoes through the small room. I flinch, closing my eyes tightly, trying not to cry.
“Now, Lexi,” he shouts. I hear him stomp away from the bathroom door. I release my breath slowly.
He loves to see me cry. I think it’s what he craves the most and why he does what he does to me. When it first started acouple of years ago, I always cried. I couldn’t stop the tears. But now, I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
For the longest time, I felt this was what I deserved, and it’s the reason I have stayed for so long. I have been with this man for five long years. The beginning was good—great, actually. Around our second year, I was told how worthless I am and how he’s just trying to make me a better woman so I could be his wife. But around our third year, it started with a simple smack up against the head, then pushing and grabbing me, leaving little bruises. Then, it slowly progressed to slapping, punching, and choking. Trying to hide the bruises is getting more and more difficult.
My best friend Shayna knows a little bit—very little. She’s been around when he’s called me, yelling and berating me. She has seen a few of the smaller bruises, which I have tried to explain away, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
I finally open my eyes, looking into the mirror, and I can see the resolve in them. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I will pacify him for now until he leaves the house, and then I’m gone.
I finish cleaning the blood from my face and toss the cotton pad into the garbage can. Again, I look into the mirror and tell myself that this will be the last time he puts his hands on me. I’m going to disappear and he will never see me again.
Slowly I open the bathroom door and hesitantly exit. I can hear the television on in the living room, and I’m hoping that’s where he is. I make my way to the kitchen where our fight happened. I’m going to clean it up just to appease him right now.
I pass by the entry to the living room and see he’s watching the basketball game. That should keep him occupied for at least a bit. Just as soon as I pass the doorway, the game's sound is muted.
“Are you done?” He raises his voice but doesn’t turn to me. I can tell he’s still angry, but he is trying to tone his voice downto lower my defenses. This calm anger scares me more than anything. He can be unpredictable.
I step back to the entryway and cross into the living room, just a few steps with my head bowed. I know he expects my submission and my apology. My arm is still around my middle, trying to relieve the pressure and pain from walking.
“I’m going to clean it up now,” I say in a hushed tone. His head turns to me, looking me up and down, probably trying to gauge the damage caused and to be sure I will comply.
“Come here,” he says, spreading his thighs wider on the couch and setting the remote to the television on the side table, never taking his eyes from me. I know what he wants. This is where he blames me for the argument and expects an apology. Which I always end up giving him to get past it.
I have found that if I just apologize when he expects me to, he feels like he’s won, and then I will have at least a few days of peace from his anger. Sometimes, I’m granted a week or so and, in a rare case, a month, but nothing really longer than that.
I stay rooted in my spot, terrified of the unknown as well. There is always the chance of him lashing out even more. I never know with him, honestly. I have brought up the possibility of him being bipolar, but only one time. That was a beating I will never forget. I still bear the scar above my right brow from that one. He claims his mood swings are all because of me. If I were a better girlfriend, he wouldn’t always get so angry.
“I just want–” I start to say, pointing over my shoulder towards the kitchen before I’m interrupted.
“I said come here. This isn’t up for discussion, Lexi. Unless you want to piss me off even more,” he says, raising his voice and furrowing his brow.
I drop my head and slowly walk towards him. He sits forward, leaning his elbows on his spread thighs. I stop when I’m standing directly in front of him and clasp my hands in frontof me, trying to look smaller. I’m not small in any sense of the word. I stand at five foot eight inches tall to his six foot three. He’s bigger in size and in height. He looks up at me through his lashes.
“You know I hate when you make me do that to you. Why do you always insist on angering me?” he asks me, shaking his head. “Hm? Why?”
“I-I’m sorry, Jase,” I say softly. My voice is just above a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear me. “I knew you had a long day at work and I shouldn’t have provoked you,” I lie. The words taste bitter on my tongue. I know he’s sleeping with the girl at his office, and I should have just let it continue to happen. It keeps his focus off of me. But my jealous nature won’t let me just allow something like that.
He lifts one hand to gently grab my wrist to pull me between his thighs. Even though it’s gentle, his grasp is still strong and there is no escaping it. I take a step forward letting his inner thighs touch my knees. Both of his hands start to move up and down my outer thighs attempting to soothe me, but all it does is make me nauseous. It’s such a contradiction to what just happened. And this is why I always end up letting the abuse go. The makeup. The apologies. I have fooled myself to believe it’s all worth the bruises and busted lips.
“You know I love you, Lexi. There isn’t anything going on between Sara and me. We just sometimes have to work late to get the reports done on time,” he says pulling me even closer. “There is no one for me but you. You know that right?” he questions, finally looking back up at me.
I give him a small smile and nod my head.
“You believe me… don’t you, baby?” The pet name makes me want to vomit. He doesn’t know that I’ve seen their text messages to one another. That’s what he calls her too. The sick part is she knows about me. But he’s told her that there arecomplications that are currently keeping us together right now but as soon as he can, he will be with her. And she believes him. She’s as big of a fool as I am.
Nodding my head again, I try to give him a small smile. When he pulls me even closer I have to place my hands on his shoulders. He moves to the edge of the couch and rests his head on my stomach, making me hiss slightly from the pain. Either he didn’t hear me or he just doesn’t care. I’m guessing the latter.
He looks up at me again with his smirk well in place. I already apologized but I guess it wasn’t enough. I can tell by the way he’s just looking at me, he wants to hear it again. So I will oblige just to get him away from me. Hopefully, while I’m cleaning up the messhe made, he will want to go for a ride or something, like usual, to clear his head.
