Maybe I deserved some of it. I should have left the first time he hit me instead of believing him when he cried and promised it would never happen again.
He started off so sweet, so charming. Everyone loved him. Only my mom didn’t buy his act. I wish I’d listened to her. That’s what made it so confusing when he started changing the rules. When loving him meant walking on eggshells and apologizing for things I didn’t even understand I’d done wrong.
First it was just wanting to know where I was all the time. Then controlling who I could see. Next, the yelling started. Then he threw the bottle, and I told myself it was just one time, that he was stressed about work.
But it kept getting worse. And I kept staying. Kept believing him when he said he was sorry, that he loved me, that I was the only good thing in his life.
Even when sorry stopped meaning anything. Even when love started feeling like fear.
I finally left after he broke my arm, but only because the look in his eyes afterward scared me more than staying ever had. I knew if I didn’t run then, he was going to kill me eventually.
And now he’s making sure I pay for leaving. Making sure I know that even broken, even gone, I’m still his to destroy whenever he wants.
A knock at my door drags me out of my spiral. I toss the papers onto my desk.
I peek through the peephole. A delivery guy? Probably got the wrong address, because I didn’t order anything.
I open the door. “I think you’ve got the wrong apartment. I didn’t order anything.”
The guy pulls out a paper from his pocket and squints. “Nope. Says Kelly Francis Mackey, apartment 6A.”
“Maybe it’s a mistake?”
He sighs. “No mistake. Just sign the paper, buddy. I need to go back to the truck and get the bike too.”
Bike?
“What bike?”
He basically throws the clipboard and pen at me, then jogs down. I stare at five different grocery bags, all filled to the top with actual food.
The man, in his forties maybe, returns with a sleek black bike that looks more expensive than three months of my rent.
My eyes go wide because yeah, I’ve been a little out of it since I got hurt. But there’s no way I accidentally ordered a week’s worth of groceries and a damn bike when I’m broke as hell and can’t afford any of this.
He drops it right in front of my door. Yanks the clipboard from me which I haven’t even signed and mutters something. Then walks off.
I scratch my head and stare down at everything scattered around my doorway.
Did Alexei do this? But why would he buy me groceries and a new bike when I didn’t even tell him I left my mangled one somewhere on the street after David and Mendez destroyed it.
I wipe my hands over my face and let out a frustrated sigh, then start dragging everything inside. I unpack all the food and shove it into my fridge, my hands shaking slightly.
What does he want from me? People don’t just buy expensive things for nothing. There’s always a price. There’s always something they expect in return.
Is this how it starts?
Nice gestures that make me feel grateful, make me feel like I owe him something? David used to bring me flowers after he hurt me. Said it proved he loved me.
I don’t need Alexei buying me things like I’m some charity case. I can take care of myself. But what if saying no makes him angry? What if he’s keeping track of everything he’s spent and expects payback later?
I’m so anxious about the whole situation, so afraid of what this means, that when I’m done putting all the groceries away,I walk to the bathroom and turn the shower to cold, rip off my clothes, and step under the freezing spray to shock myself out of this spiral.
The water hits my bruised skin. I hiss, but I don’t adjust the temperature. I need to feel something other than this paranoia that people only help when they want something back.
I stepout of the shower and grab my towel to dry off. The cold water did absolutely nothing to help me process this insane Russian who entered my life and flipped it completely upside down. He constantly violates my privacy and made a spare key behind my back, which I chose to just ignore like a complete idiot.
I groan at being unable to find my hairbrush. Seriously? I swear all my things have been disappearing lately. Maybe I’m finally losing it.
