He leans down until his menacing face is inches from mine, and smelling the beer on his breath, my heart sinks, and dread freezes me to the spot.
“I can have any woman in town, but I’m fucking stuck with your pathetic ass,” he complains. “You can’t even have dinner ready in time.”
I lower my submissive gaze to the shards of glass in my palm, trying to brace for whatever pain Trent chooses to unleash on me tonight.
Even though it’s happened so many times before, I’m still startled when the flat of his hand connects with the side of my head. “Show some fucking life, bitch!”
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from crying.
I want to fight back, but I know it will only anger Trent more, and because I’m much smaller, I’m no match for him.
He grabs hold of my sprained wrist, and when he yanks me toward him, a painful cry escapes me while the broken pieces of glass fall to the floor.
“Finally, some kind of reaction,” he sneers before twisting my wrist. The intense pain forces me down to my knees, another cry ripping from me.
Suddenly, he lets go of my hand, but before I can think to move, he plants his boot on my shoulder and shoves me backward.
The pain from the first kick blends with the second and third, and I’m barely able to curl into a small ball as a world of hurt is unleashed on me.
(The Present . . . )
Sitting on the side of the bed, one of many memories shudders through me while I grip my cell phone tightly.
After an awful night filled with nightmares and restless sleep, I feel drained and broken.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I unlock my phone’s screen. For a moment, I stare at all of the notifications before I open the messages.
Trent: Where are you?
Trent: You better get your ass home!
Fear seizes my heart in a merciless grip, and I can’t help but start to panic about what Trent will do if we ever come face-to-face again.
Trent: What the fuck!
Trent: Okay, fine. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
It always happens again.
Trent: In all fairness, it’s not my fault. You know not to push my buttons and that I always go out for beers with the guys on Wednesday nights. How fucking hard is it to make sure I have a clean shirt laid out on the bed when I get home?
How many times have I heard something like that from him?
Too many to count.
Trent: Come on. Don’t be like this.
Trent: Fine, be like that. But send money so I can pay the rent. Mr. Hicks is breathing down my neck, and you know how I hate it.
I spent half the rent money on gas to get to LA. I don’t have enough to send him.
Wait. I left Trent. I don’t have to pay for anything. The rent is his problem now.
Trent: I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass home, you’ll regret it.
My heartbeat speeds up, and my panic and fear spike rapidly again.
I can’t help it. Trent has beaten me so many times my immediate reaction to his anger and threats is to be terrified.
