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He’s so drunk he can barely walk.
“Did you drive like that?” I ask, concerned as hell.
“Why do you care?” he throws back at me.
“Weston. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve picked you up.”
With narrowed eyes, he turns and looks at me. “I don’t need you mothering me. Okay?”
“I’m not. I just worry about you and don’t want anything terrible to happen.” I try to explain, but he’s not hearing me, which only pisses me off. Instead, he rolls his eyes and stumbles into the kitchen, but this conversation isn’t over at all. The last thing I need is to lose the love of my life after I’ve found him, but he doesn’t seem to understand that at all.
Weston opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and begins to drink even more. When I walk toward him and try to pull it from his hands, it’s as if he transforms into a completely different person. A monster. His hard fist connects with my face as he rips the bottle from my hand and slams it on the counter.
He. Hit. Me.
I’m in shock and might be seeing stars. My mouth falls open when I put a hand over my cheek, too shocked to speak. He grabs my arms as hard as he can and pulls me forward, close to him. He doesn’t seem to notice he hit me; he doesn’t even seem to care. My face is pounding, but I can barely focus on it with his tight grasp on me.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” he demands.
His fingers dig deeper into my skin and pain courses through me. “You’re hurting me, Weston.”
He tightens his grip like a vise on my arm and jerks me forward. I nearly gag from the smell of alcohol and stale cigarettes drifting from him. For the first time since we met, I’m actually scared when I see the dangerous look in his eyes.
“Do you understand me? Do you understand you don’t fucking control me? I do what I want, and as long as you live under my roof, you do what I want too. Got it?”
His words rock through me, shaking me to the core. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t.
“Let go of me,” I say between gritted teeth as tears being to spill down my cheeks.
As if the tears woke him from his drunken stupor, he looks at me with sad eyes and releases his hold on me. “Oh my God, Soph.” He blinks, then scrubs a hand down his face.
Night and day.
I pull my arms back and rub the area where he held on to me, but I can already see it’s going to bruise. The tears continue to fall, and I walk away from him, but he follows me.
“Sophie, I’m sorry. Baby, don’t leave,” he begs. “Please.”
I turn and look at him but can’t find the right words. I don’t want to upset him further because he’s been drinking so much, but I can’t have him thinking it’s okay to put his hands on me.
“That can never happen again,” I tell him flatly.
He closes the gap between us, opens his arms, then pulls me into them. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He holds me against his chest. “I’ve had a really bad day and didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’d never do anything to hurt you, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry.” As we release our embrace, he leans down and kisses me and apologizes again. I want to believe him. I have to.
Before we go to bed, I walk into the bathroom. When I look at what he’s done, it causes me to cry even more. Never, in my life, did I think he’d do this. I’ve seen him in a new light. I try to let my emotions out quietly, but eventually, he knocks on the door.
“You okay in there?” His soft voice sounds like the guy I’ve fallen for and not the monster I saw tonight.
I quickly wipe my tears away and turn on the water to splash my face. “Yep, almost done.”
By the time I enter the bedroom, he’s already passed out, still fully dressed, and snoring. I undress him so he’ll sleep comfortably, though, at this point, I’m not sure if he deserves to. After he’s down to his boxers, I pull the blankets over him and crawl into bed. It takes a while for me to fall asleep, but eventually, I do, with sadness in my heart.
The next few days are awkward between us, but I’ve been trying to forget it as he shows me how sorry he is for what happened.
A few mornings after, I stir to Weston kissing my cheek and telling me goodbye. It’s early as hell, but he makes sure to wake me anyway. He’s really been trying, as much as he can, and I appreciate his effort.
