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“I called you three times,” he hisses, his voice low. Deep lines appear around the corners of his mouth. “I told you not to leave my side.”
I side-eye him. “Sorry.”
Elsa and Wayne shout something about going to the balloon-popping sideshow, and I go to follow, but Elliot’s fingers sink into my arm, pulling me back.
“What?” I growl at him. “What is your problem?”
“I saw the messages.”
“What messages?”
“The ones from your ex-boyfriend,” Elliot sneers, towering over me.
Anger boils inside me. This isn’t the first time Elliot has gone through my phone. He screamed at me about opening messages from people that reached out from my hometown. Friends. Apparently, I’m not allowed to have any.
I was so shaken and afraid at the time, I deleted them all. I had no choice. We lived together and I didn’t have enough money to move out.
I have to keep him happy. I always have to keep him happy.
“You went through my phone?”
“You never told me about them,” he continues, eyes narrowing.
“I never replied. Means nothing to me,” I argue, even though it means everything to me. “Let go of me.”
“Or you deleted them to make it look like you never replied.”
“What?” I exclaim, trying to yank my arm free. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go.”
I attempt to follow our friends, but Elliot drags me between two sideshows. I protest and stumble after him. He steers me somewhere secluded, the noise fading away.
“I do not tolerate cheating or lying, Josie. Ever.”
“I have not done either. You’re severely overreacting. Let’s join our friends and have a good time.”
“Not until we finish our conversation,” he snarls, grip tightening.
My hand snakes out, and there’s a loud crack as my palm hits his cheek. He staggers back in surprise, and I glare at him.
“When I say let go, I mean let go!” I say angrily. I whirl around, ready to stomp back into the fair when I feel his hands on me again.
He spins me around, and then suddenly, there’s a fierce ache as Elliot’s fist smacks into my nose. I slam back to the ground, dirt and blood spilling over my face.
I struggle to breathe. A thousand thoughts run through my head. Elliot has been angry before. He’s yelled, thrown things, plunged his fists through walls—but he had never done this.
“Baby?” he says, his voice completely different now as he crouches down beside me. He nurses my head gently, touching the side of my face. “I’m sorry. That was an accident. You hit me, remember? It was a knee-jerk reaction.” I swallow, pain radiating through to the back of my skull. “I’m sorry, baby.” More stroking. “But maybe next time you’ll think twice about lying to me.”
The water running over me has turned icy cold, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing in the shower. I step out and towel off, shivering, but not from the water.
I stare into the mirror. Wet hair clings to my skin. Dark circles under my eyes. I lightly touch my face, remembering the hit. It was the first one. I remember all of them. The pain. And everything after.
Quietly, in the background, I hear my phone ringing.
And I know it’s him.
* * *
When I breeze through the lounge room, Mum startles so violently that she spills her tea.
