Page 92 of Meant to Be

“Your phone rang.” I go rigid in my seat, my breath ceasing. “I answered.”

I’m frozen under his gaze.

Sam looks stricken as he nods. “What thefuckhave you got yourself into?”

* * *

Sweat dots at my forehead and my upper lip. I glance around the pub, feeling like the walls are closing in.

Elliot called me. Sam answered.

Last night Elliot screamed in my face. He was drunk. He caught me talking to one of his co-workers when I stopped by to have lunch with him. Apparently answering a question is considered a betrayal.

His face reddened. He was so close, spit was flying from his mouth and hitting my face.

He grabs the glass of wine from my hand and hurls it at the wall. The glass shatters, raining onto the carpet. A blood-red stain covered the wall, dripping down it.

“Listen to yourself!” I yelled back. “Can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? You sound like an insecure jerk! And a childish one at that!”

He moves so fast it was like lightning. He cracks his hand against my face, my nose and eye soldiering most of the damage. I fling backwards, smashing into the glass coffee table behind me. Bits of glass stab into me as I blink up at the ceiling, my mind trying to catch up with everything that just happened.

Elliot’s fingers sink into my neck and he pulls me to my feet. My knees knock together and he presses harder, keeping me upright.

“You ever speak to me like that again, I will kill you.” His eyes look black in the reflection from the window. He glares at me, those eyes I’d stared into many times before, now glowing with fury.

Abruptly, his hand moves from my throat and I collapse onto the floor. My chest heaves and hot tears spill down my face. My face throbs from the hit and my skin stinging from the glass. I fumble, trying to dig out the glass but my hands shake violently.

The lock of our bedroom door clicks shut. I sit still for a few moments, gathering myself. I wash myself off as much as I can in the guest bathroom, before collapsing into the lounge, shivering and crying.

The next morning, a croissant and coffee greets me. Elliot’s gaze rests on my face. It’s so sore I can barely move my lips.

“Here,” he says. “How did you sleep?”

My head pounds as I sit up. I want to yell. I want to cry. How does he think I fucking slept?

My eyes are crusted from crying. Everything hurt.

“I told your work you’re not coming in. I’ve got Marie coming over to spend the day with you, she knows you had a fall.” He adjusts his tie and runs his hands over his suit jacket, smoothing it. “I have that work dinner tonight, but I’ll be home before it to check on you. And then we can spend the weekend together. I’ll take you somewhere nice.” He leans forward and kisses the side of my head. I’m frozen, last night’s events spinning through my mind.

A fall.

He closes the door behind him but his scent lingers everywhere as if he is still here, hiding in the shadows. I wince as I stand. I shower and pull out the first-aid kit. As I dab over my cuts and bruises, I tell myself this was the last time. I need to get out.

Knowing I only had limited time, I slowly started to pack some of my things. Things that wouldn’t be noticed missing. I stuff the bag right into the back of the closet when I hear Marie let herself into the apartment.

Marie is Elliot’s cleaner, who also likes to spy on me and report back to him, not that I’m here often when she is.

She shrieks when she sees my face and pulls me into the kitchen to nurse me, although I had just done that myself. I put on a brave face. Laugh about my clumsiness. She even helped me pick out and order a new coffee table.

I lay on the lounge and read most of the day, taking it easy. We eat lunch together and watch an episode of a housewife show she is obsessed with.

When she starts vacuuming in the bedroom, I search for my car keys. Angry tears well in my eyes. The bastard has taken them. I have a spare in my work handbag, buried in a zipper compartment full of lipsticks. I’m hoping he never found it. I’ll search later, when it’s safe.

Elliot returns from work a little early, to get ready for his dinner. He’s back to acting like the doting boyfriend. It’s unnerving how caring he seemed. How last night isn’t a blimp on his radar.

“Should I stay home?” he asks, gathering my hands in his.

I shake my head. “This is important for your work. You should go. I’m happy here with my book.” I gesture to it. “I’m getting up to the plot twist.” I force a smile. “And besides, Marie has got me hooked on one of her shows. We’re going to try and finish the season tonight.”