Is he crazy?
Yes. He is.
“Arianna, I…” He searches for the right words and for just a split second there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He steps toward me and lifts a hand to my face quickly, making me jump. My nervousness clearly pleases him as his smile widens, and any hint of humanity I might have seen is shut off by his dark side. His finger lightly strokes my cheekbone, and then he presses his lips to mine. Instinct fights with me to pull away, but experience tells me not to. Jonny is at his most dangerous when he is quiet and gentle. As if sensing my hesitation, his hand moves to the back of my neck and applies a little pressure in the muscle. I feel all the muscles of my spine tense as I am reminded what it’s like to live in fear.
He pulls away and licks his lips. “Not bad. But we’ll have to work on your enthusiasm later.” He sneers.
I inwardly cringe. I don’t know if I can be compliant enough to be with him. I don’t want to be in the same room as him, let alone the same bed. I don’t want to be with him, in that way, or any other way for that matter.
“Here,” he says, offering out a closed fist.
He nods encouragingly. I place an open palm underneath his hand and he uncurls his fingers.
I screw my eyes up tightly, wishing myself away from here, praying that this moment isn’t happening because I don’t know what to do next.
When I open my eyes, I feel like the world has collapsed on me.
In my palm, sits an engagement ring. Not just any engagement ring. But the one Jonny gave me all those years ago. The one I left behind when I started over. The one I never thought I would see again, let alone place on my finger again. It doesn’t symbolize an eternal unity of love; it symbolizes a lifetime of fear and pain.
I stutter and struggle to find not only the right words, but any words at all.
“We’re getting married, baby,” he says quietly.
Then the words start to come involuntarily. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it,” I whisper over and over.
“You can do it, and you will,” Jonny says impatiently, taking the ring from my palm, and yanking my left hand so he has access to my finger. He jams the ring on roughly, the discomfort has me instinctively pulling away, but this just makes him push harder until it finds the groove in my skin where it nestles comfortably, betraying my reluctance.
“We don’t have all night,” he grumbles as a warning.
“I just, I need a minute. This is all so sudden,” I whisper on a shaky breath.
“No, Arianna. You’ve had enough minutes. There’s nothing to think about. We are getting married this evening. Now, go and get showered and dressed.”
Jonny doesn’t like to be challenged. He doesn’t like not being in control of everything.
Eighteen months of trying to find me, then having me defy him has turned him into a raging bull.
“Jonny, I—”
“Get your sorry ass in that bathroom, and GET DRESSED,” he yells, grabbing my hair in his fist and dragging me there. My legs get in a tangle, and the awkward angle that he’s pulling me means I can’t follow easily.
“Jonny,” I cry, “Please, I’m sorry, I—”
My hands claw at his, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but it doesn’t have any effect.
“What? You’re sorry? Why?” he yells, stopping abruptly in the doorway between the two rooms. He stands in front of me, giving me enough time to right myself on my feet. One of his hands stays fisted in my hair, the other grabs my jaw roughly. His chest is heaving with exertion and anger, and his eyes are black.
“Tell me, beautiful girl,” he says in a way that’s too controlled for this situation. “Why are you sorry? Are you sorry that you fucked another man? Are you sorry that you gave someone else your body when you know it’s mine and mine alone? Or are you sorry for being such a fucking idiot that you couldn’t even run and hide from me properly? Are you sorry I found you? I was always going to find you, Arianna…and you should have known that I wouldn’t have been happy knowing that someone else’s hands have been on your body. Your hesitance to marry me tells me that King is still in your head. Well, let me tell yousomething…he doesn’t want you. You’re broken and useless.” His nostrils flare as his hand slides along my jaw and over my throat. His grip then tightens as I swallow. “Well? What’s the matter, Arianna? Not so bold now, huh? You made me jealous,” he whispers, and I tense. “I don’t like this feeling…I don’t like knowing someone else’s hands have been all over your body. Say you’re sorry…”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out between choppy breaths. His grip is getting tighter, and I’m struggling more with each breath to get air.
“I don’t hear you. Say you’re sorry for letting him fuck you…”
“I can’t…Jonny…I can’t…” Stupidly I’m trying to tell him I can’t breathe, which is crazy because he already knows that.
My breathing start to become faster and shallower, the pressure increases, and my eyes start to blur, and it blackens around the edge of my vision. I try not to panic, after all, it would be far better for me if I was unconscious, but my body is fighting for more oxygen.
“Say you’re sorry for. Letting. Him. Fuck. You…” he insists.
