The next day, he came back and was his sweet, loving self again.
And so the cycle started. Cory would bring up the idea of mating, I would say I wasn’t ready, and he would explode. His explosions took different forms. Sometimes, it was yelling, sometimes grabbing and shaking. Most often, it was guilting and insults.
My ex did his best to break me down.
But it was my last bit of control. The piece of me I held on to foryears.
And it was hard. There were so many times I almost convinced myself that this was the one and only thing upsetting Cory. That if I agreed, if I just said yes, then he would remain the charming, caring man I’d first fallen for. That he would never have a dark moment again. There were days when I convinced myself thatIwas the problem.
Still, I never gave in.
And over time, it clarified that, while my refusing to mate him was his biggest set-off, there were plenty of other things he was happy to pick at me for.
But even with the realizations I’d stumbled onto over the years, for the longest time, I couldn’t fathom leaving him. The good moments were really good. But more than that, I was sure, if I ever tried running, he would hunt me. He would find me. And the pain and humiliation I’d known would be nothing compared to what he’d do then.
The abuse wasn’t what drove me to act.
It was condoms.
Three condoms had broken. Cory made excuses, claiming that our lovemaking was simply getting more passionate.
But after the third, I’d realized the truth.
He was tampering with the contraceptives. Cory was trying to get me pregnant. Because if he couldn’t tie me to him with a mating bond, then a kid would probably do it.
And that caused an avalanche of fearful images of my future. Mine and this phantom child’s that I luckily wasn’t going to get knocked up with when I had my birth control implant in my arm. But the implant would run out of juice eventually, and then what?
Even if Cory was the most wonderful man in the world, I still felt young and vulnerable and not in any way ready to be a mom. And Cory wasn’t that man. Not only would a child create an unbreakable tie between us, but it would also place an innocent life in the same house as a supernatural being with no interest in controlling his rages.
That fear was finally enough of a push to set off my planned escape.
But even though I got out, the damage is done. Even the wordmatingtwists my stomach. I hear it, and I think of the way Cory would whisper harsh accusations or yell cutting insults. Thesubject of mating meant I would be wearing long-sleeved shirts the next day to cover bruises.
Roderick didn’t scream at me. He didn’t grab me.
But I could see he was angry.
And, gods, the way he said it.
“When we mate?—”
As if it was decided. As if I had no choice in the matter.
I want to scream again. I want to sob.
My house’s silence starts to hurt my ears. I need noise, something, even if it’s just the hoot of an owl or the squeak of bats flying overhead.
I shove out the back door, and the cold night air stabs at my exposed skin and even finds a way to pierce the fibers of my sweatshirt. Shivers rattle through my body as I wrap my arms around myself. For warmth. For support.
I feel broken.
A light tickles the edge of my vision, and down the way, I realize there’s a glow from the kitchen window at my neighbor’s house. The warmth of it calls to me, and I find myself stepping over my crumbling back fence and jogging through the grassy expanse separating our houses.
Reaching her front door, I knock, knuckles hitting the door hard enough to hurt my pathetic human skin.
I hold my hands to my lips, pressing them hard as the sobs threaten to return. My throat aches from holding them back.
Then the door opens.
