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It wasn’t always like this though.
When I met Liam, he was so sweet, so kind.
I was taking a deposit for the bar into the bank, and he was the new relationship manager for business accounts. Charming and sweet, he made me laugh with his corny jokes and goofy demeanor. No man had made me laugh in a really long time, not truly. I’d been acutely aware that I’d spent way too long numbing the pain of my past with partying, clubbing, and meaningless sex with strangers, so when he asked me out, I answered with the intent of finally moving on with my life.
The early days were absolute bliss. Flowers, jewelry, dinners, and saccharine laced declarations of devotion. He listened to me, really listened. I was able to open up to him about my past. Telling him things that no one but Travis knew, and it was then that I realized how much I’d grown to trust him.
I don’t know when it all went so terribly wrong though. See, it wasn’t just this one pivotal, defining moment, rather hundreds of little fragments of time, scattered throughout the course of our relationship. It started with the occasional comment about my weight, and I quickly found myself skipping meals to appease him. He began pulling me away from my family, making little comments about how he wanted to spend more time with me. He needed more of me, because he loved me so much; that my family should understand that and want me to be happy.
Then there were the moments where he criticized my clothing for being provocative, or made digs at how much makeup I was wearing. He would remind me over and over that he loved me despite all of that, and no one else would ever feel the same.
Then came the digs about my past that would creep into conversation every once in a while when he’d been drinking. Words that stung like the snap of a rubber band against my flesh. Reminders of all that had been stolen from me. The secrets I confided in him, used to tear me down. Things I thought I had healed from.
He always apologized though. It was the alcohol, not him. He didn’t mean it. There were gifts, kisses, dinners, and stretches of days where things would be blissful once again. We would be happy. But it never lasted long.
Sometimes he gripped me a little too tight, or pushed me around just a little too much, but he would always make it better. Then the sex began to get rough, and not in a good way. It hurt, and sometimes I cried during and after. He didn’t care about my pleasure anymore, just my tears. It’s almost like my tears got him off. They were just what he needed, and I was left feeling disgusted, lonely, empty. Sometimes I didn’t even want it, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t allowed to say no.
The first time he really put his hands on me though was six months ago, when I made it home after being abducted. He apologized for days. He told me I was his entire world, and that he was so distraught in my absence, he had drank himself into an oblivion and he just wasn’t himself. He had never hit me before, never took it that far, so when he apologized, I believed him.
I believed him every time after that too, when he’d smack me around and then beg for forgiveness.
Rinse and repeat.
Until last night.
Last night he came back early from his trip. He confronted me about the app, and insisted that the excuse I fed him about falling asleep at Mimi’s was a lie. He insisted that I was cheating on him.
I assured him I wasn’t. I told him how much I loved him, while he told me over and over what a stupid whore I was. I never saw the back of his hand swinging toward my face.
From the floor, I sobbed and begged him to stop as he punched me in the ribs several times, screaming that if I ever tried to leave him, he’d hurt my family first and then he’d come for me. When I fell to my knees, he wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed until I blacked out entirely.
I don’t know what else happened, but I woke up naked on the bathroom floor this morning with a harsh ache between my thighs. He was sitting on the edge of my bed crying, holding his head in his hands. He told me that he was sorry. He pleaded with me, and promised me that he could be the man I loved again, just to give him time. He swore he would make things right. Promised he would never hurt me again. He threw away all the bottles of liquor that he kept at my house, and swore to me he would do the same at his and get sober.
On his knees, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his face into my stomach. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he begged me for my forgiveness.
And like the pathetic piece of trash that I am, I forgave him.
Because no one else could ever really love me anyway.
Sniffling, I wipe my face with the back of my hand, and straighten up my posture. Holding my head high, I chuck the bottles into the trash bin. Grabbing several new bottles from boxes, I take in a deep breath, plaster a smile across my face, and walk back out to the bar.
“How’s Echo doing these days? I miss my girl!” Sal hollers over the music, as I set two pitchers of beer on the bar-top.
“Oh my god she’s doing fantastic! She moved to the beach with her boyfriend,” I reply with the biggest, fakest smile that I can muster. I’m glad she’s happy, but she’s my best friend in the world and I miss her. Not that I didn’t push her away long before all the shit went down though. “I miss her, but, she’s happy.”
Grabbing a stack of pint glasses from beneath the bar, I hand them to Sal. Taking both pitchers in my hands, I walk around the bar to the other side where he’s waiting for me. Walking together over to the high tops where his crew is set up, I give him the rundown on her and Declan. We set the pitchers and pint glasses on the table and Sal turns, pulling me in for a hug.
Sal’s motorcycle club, the Havok Hellhounds, have been regulars of Rico’s Bar since far before I came along, and once Echo came along, she became their favorite bartender. She’s the one who would dance with them, kick their ass in pool now and again, and hang out to chat on the slow nights. They are all basically like extended family so I know they really miss her. Shit, Sal even tried to set her up with his nephew Xander at one point, but she was already head over heels for Declan by then.
I don’t have it in me to be her replacement though. Not tonight. It’s taking everything in me to maintain this fake grin on my face and keep the pep in my step going tonight.
“I’ll let her know all of you said hi,” I say as he releases me from his arms.
“Thank’s Aria, give her a big ass hug from the old man too!” he replies before spinning around on one heel and pouring up pints for his crew.
Slipping back behind the bar, Rico is on my heels quickly, having just come out from the back office. Rico is the “dad” around here. Him and his wife Mimi took me under their wing when I was new in this city, and all alone. I started out waiting tables at Mimi’s Diner, and once I was old enough, I came to work at the bar. A few years ago, I started managing the day to day for Rico so he could spend more time away.
They never pressed for answers about my past, even when the holes in my story were blindingly apparent; they simply became the family that I needed them to be. Then when I met Echo, I brought her into our fold. Of course then there is Cole. He’s part of us, but he has his own, relatively normal, functional family. Parents that love him, and didn’t fuck him up ten ways from Sunday.
