“No, I’m not,Mila. I’m simply warning you. I’m not comfortable with you spending time with another man, especially one you’ve had a crush on for years.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “What did you think we were doing at his house with Jake around? We’ve hung out many times before as friends. This isn’t something new, and you know that. I don’t know why you’re overreacting right now.”
“I’m not overreacting. I’m upset. There’s a fucking difference, Mila!” he snaps.
“Babe, I never meant to upset you. I didn’t even know he’d be home early, or that he’d bring dinner home for us. What did you want me to do, just leave?”
“Yes!” he shouts. “You could’ve just told him you already made plans with me. I should’ve been your priority, not him!” he yells, jabbing his thumb to his chest.
“Oh my God. It was just fucking pizza, Dean! Get the fuck over it!”
I jump as he slams the empty tumbler on the coffee table, the force of it causing the thick crystal glass to nearly break.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” I yell, my voice shaking with fury.
“Careful, Mila. My patience is wearing thin.” His voice is calm but I can hear the slight venom in his tone. His face contorts with barely restrained anger, and I can tell he’s one step away from losing his shit. Rather than giving him a chance to unleash another tirade, I turn on my heels and march directly to my room, leaving him to seethe in his own anger.
As I step into my room, I hear Dean’s heavy footsteps charging towards me from behind. I ignore him, heading straight for my ensuite. But just before I reach the doorway, he shoves me hard against the edge of the doorframe, my forehead hitting the surface with a thud. He pins himself behind me, trapping me, and locks my hands behind my back. Everything happens so fast; it takes me by complete surprise.
I scream in pain, but that only makes him tighten his grip on my wrists, so hard it feels like he might crush the bone, sending a searing jolt of pain racing up my arm.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dean!” I shout in panic, trying to wriggle my wrists free from his vice-like grip. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Never,everwalk away from me. Do you understand? Nothing infuriates me more than being ignored. It’s childish and immature, and I fucking hate it!”
Tears well in my eyes as the pain in my wrists intensifies with each tightening of his grip. “Dean, please. You’re really hurting me!” My voice quivers with fear and desperation.
For the first time in our relationship, I feel genuine panic and fear rushing through my body. Dean has never once laid a hand on me, no matter how angry or frustrated he gets. Butnow seeing him like this—completely unhinged—fills me with absolute terror. I’m completely powerless against his strength.
“You completely disregarded my feelings tonight, Mila. You made it seem like hanging out with another man was no big deal!” He presses his forehead against the back of my head, letting out a pained sound as if the thought is cutting him up. “Then you tell me to get the fuck over it. Do you know what that does to me?”
“I’m sorry. Please, Dean,” I sob, tears soaking my cheeks, “I didn’t think it would upset you. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
He lets out a sharp sigh, then slowly releases my wrists. Turning me to face him, he gently wipes away my tears with the pads of his thumbs and kisses me softly on the lips, as if he hadn’t just hurt me. “Thank you, baby. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
He takes a step back, and I instinctively cradle my wrists to my chest, trying to rub the lingering ache left behind. Looking down at them, I instantly notice the raw, angry red marks on my skin. I’m pretty certain it’s going to look worse tomorrow.
“I’m sorry I lost control.” His eyes zero in on the marks around my wrists. “There’s only so much a man can take before he finally snaps, you know?”
He takes my shoulders and gently draws me into a hug. I tense at first, my body recoiling from his touch, but after a moment, I hesitantly wrap my arms around his waist. His hand moves in slow, soothing strokes along my back, but instead of calming me, the tension resurfaces. I just want him to stop touching me.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he continues, before pulling away and lifting both my wrists up to inspect them. “It doesn’t look so bad, but you should probably ice them, just in case.”
I nod, hugging my wrists protectively against my chest again.
“Just know I only react this way because I love you so much, Mila.”
I nod once more, my mind slipping in and out of a fog. “I love you too.” It takes every last bit of strength I have to speak those words, even though they feel heavy and foreign on my tongue.
Seemingly satisfied with my response, he flashes me a wide grin. “Wish I could stay tonight, but I have an early start tomorrow, followed by back-to-back meetings all day. I’ll text you before I go to bed, yeah?”
Without waiting for a reply, he cups my cheeks and presses his lips to mine, the kiss making my head spin fast. I feel lightheaded and queasy as the ache in my forehead throbs harder. My mind screams at me to pull away, to resist his touch, but all I want is for him to go, so I let him have this moment.
Once we break apart, I walk him to the door, sharing one last kiss before he finally leaves my apartment. As soon as I close and lock the door behind him, I slump against the wood, my back sliding down until I’m curled on the floor in a broken heap, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees. Only then do I release all the emotions that had been building inside, finally allowing myself to break down and cry.
The next day I arrive at Jason’s place just in the nick of time. After my breakdown last night, I collapsed onto the bed, drained from crying myself into exhaustion. I slept through the whole morning and afternoon, only waking up thirty minutes before I had to start work. That left me with just ten minutes to pull myself together and get ready. On the way to Jason’s, I could still feel the lingering effects of the night before. The soreness and bruising on my wrists and forehead had worsened overnight,and the redness and puffiness around my eyes were a dead set sign that I’d spent hours crying.
I opted to wear heavy makeup today, and a thick black sweater, with sleeves long enough to cover the bruises on my wrists. The last thing I need right now is for Jason to notice them and start a new round of twenty-one questions. God knows what he would do if he ever found out what Dean had done.
