I hate feeling like this. Helpless. It’s a feeling I only enjoy in very specific circumstances, and only when submitting to Liam.
Outside that, I’m darkly reminded of lying awake at night and listening for my father to stumble home, because if he started fighting with Mom, I wanted to make sure I could step in to protect her.
Helplessness outside my previously sturdy cocoon of trust with Liam sits in the pit of my soul like a sour ball of curdled milk.
From my dresser, I get pajamas and pull them on. If I’m naked under my robe it’ll be too easy for Liam to maybe try to suck me in, sweet-talk me, even though I’ve told him not to speak to me until morning.
I hate fighting with him. We don’t fight. We’ve neverneededto fight.
I’ve never stepped out of his control before, and he’s never given me a reason to. I’ve always felt loved and cherished, protected, even. And like a partner, not like an outsider. Not a mere possession with no say or will of my own.
I’m almost to the bedroom door when I realize the reason my stomach’s been rumbling is because I’m smelling something tasty.
Fucker.
I don’t know what Liam cooked, but it wouldn’t shock me if he made himself something and didn’t bother to make me anything. In fact, I’m so convinced that’s probably what he’s done that when I storm downstairs and into the kitchen, I pull up short when I see two plates and sets of silverware on the counter. He’s just plating two steaks he pan-fried—which I’d put in the fridge yesterday to defrost for tonight’s dinner.
The microwave dings and I realize he’s nuked a bag of frozen mixed vegetables.
He’s pulled on sweats and a Celtics T-shirts and while he doesn’t speak, he looks at me withI’m sorryin his eyes.
It nearly breaks me but I cannot bend.
Not yet.
I suck in a deep breath and give him a curt nod, step around him to the microwave to grab the veggies from it, and then dish some out for myself.
I grab a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and carry everything back upstairs to our bedroom, where I lock the door behind me and then cry as I eat every perfectly cooked bite of steak.
If Liam’s weakness is Ward Callahan, then mine is Liam.
After I got my heart broken right out of college, I swore I’d never give someone multiple chances to hurt me. I saw what Mom endured.
Here I go, handing my heart over to a man who might break me in bad ways. This is exactly why I was against ever getting married. If we weren’t married, I could simply move out while he’s at work and have an attorney get in touch about splitting joint assets. We each have our own bank accounts, and a joint account we transfer money into for household expenses. I needed that security and Liam never fought me about it when others might have been jackasses.
Before now, he always did everything I asked of him to make me feel secure.
Always.
Worse?
What happens if I do fall for Ward? Then I’m vulnerable times two.
I don’t think I like those odds.
