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I nod, then walk to my truck, and back out of the driveway. As I watch Sophie’s car round the corner as she leaves, all I can hope is that I got through to her before it’s too late.
Chapter Twelve
Sophie
PRESENT DAY
Things have been rocky with Weston, and I wish our relationship could go back to how it was in the beginning. Carefree and happy. Since he lost his job a couple of days ago, he’s been drinking nonstop. His temper has flared on more than one occasion, and I feel as if I’m a burden to him. Things have escalated to the point where my feelings for him have faded, and I wonder if I was really in love with him at all or just the thought of him. He changed once I let him in, and he knew how to use my compassion against me.
There are times when I try to be on my best behavior because I don’t want to upset him, knowing it might set him off. Moving in with him was obviously a mistake. I would leave if I had money and somewhere else to go, but I’m afraid he’d come after me.
I’m scared he won’t let me leave without a fight.
Living with him has become unbearable. For every good day we have, there are a handful of bad ones. This man is destroying me from the inside out. He manipulates my emotions every chance he gets, and now that I’m aware of it, I see it constantly. I know I promised Lennon I would tell her if he hit me again, but I haven’t found the courage to say anything to anyone.
I want to break up with him and get out of this fucking house. I even tried to call it off a few weeks ago after Mason and Liam tricked me into coming over for what I imagine was an intervention of sorts. As soon as the words left my mouth, Weston slammed me against the wall and held his hand to my throat. He promised me if I ever left him, he’d kill me.
I haven’t been able to shake those words or the look in his eyes when he said it.
He really is a monster.
Learning that he lied about his job plus having a record was a hard pill to swallow. I didn’t want to admit I was wrong about Weston, especially to Liam and Mason, who’ve disliked him since the beginning. I’m embarrassed and just want my life back.
Leaving won’t be easy. I’ve been trying to plan, doing and saying exactly what he expects to stay under his radar. It’s safer that way.
The last time we were intimate, I told him I was too tired, but he ignored me and pushed for it anyway. He reminded me if I ever left, he’d find me and make sure I’d regret it. It was another threat, one I don’t doubt he’d follow through with, which is why I haven’t figured out how to get out from under his power.
Living in this house, constantly being tormented by him, is a prison.
Regardless, I push the thoughts to the back of my mind and am taking it one day at a time, hoping it will be a decent one. Hoping I can get the courage to walk away for good. Hoping I’ll survive him.
This evening will be the first time we’ve left the house together in weeks. We’re going to Hunter’s brother’s wedding reception, and I can’t wait to see everyone. I’ve felt trapped, and Weston has made it very clear he doesn’t want me around anyone but him. For the past few days, he’s done nothing but drink nonstop, and I’ve tried to stay out of his way and let him do what he wants. It’s easier. Every response I’ve given him has been a supportive one, and I just agree to whatever he says.
I roll over and see he’s still sleeping, so I sneak out of bed to make us breakfast. When I look at the clock, it’s barely past nine, and I’m shocked we slept so late—well, shocked I did. He passes out from the alcohol he’s consumed, and some days, he doesn’t wake up until noon. I’ve asked him to speak to a counselor and get help instead of drinking his worries away, but he refuses. He insists he doesn’t have a problem, and the only issue he has is when I bitch about it.
After I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a ponytail, I head to the kitchen, then make some coffee and grab the ingredients for breakfast from the fridge. It doesn’t take long before the meal is ready, and I’m placing bacon and eggs on two plates. Weston stumbles from the bedroom and plops down at the table, his eyes barely open. He looks like absolute shit, and nothing like the man I met six months ago or the man I’d fallen in love with just shortly after. I put a mug in front of him, knowing he’s still drunk from the night before.
