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“What? What are you talking about?” I cry, still holding a hand over my eye, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Weston laughs. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Mason, that little bitch of a friend you have. You fucked him, didn’t you? Why else would he come after me to defend your honor?”
I swallow, keeping my tone flat as I wipe my face, honestly having no idea what he’s talking about. All Mason told me was that he dug up information on him, not that he confronted him. “No.”
Weston towers over me, then leans down and wraps his hand around my throat, nearly choking me as he slowly rises with my life in his grip. “How many times are you going to fucking lie to me today?”
I gasp for air, crying as I try to pull his hand off me. I’ve never been so scared for my life as I am right now. “Please,” I choke out. “Please, stop.”
He releases me, and I crash back down to the floor, sobbing. Weston walks away, placing my keys on top of a bookshelf I won’t be able to reach. I’ve never felt so helpless in my goddamn life as I do right now. Somehow, I pick myself up off the floor, feeling broken and not sure what I’m going to do.
I go to the kitchen and grab a bag of peas from the freezer as Weston sits at the table chugging whiskey straight from the bottle.
“Soph,” he says, meekly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” I tell him between gritted teeth, glaring and letting him get a good look at what he’s done to me. My arm is killing me because I landed on it, my throat hurts, and my face is throbbing. He could’ve broken my damn arm, too—my livelihood depends on me being able to play violin, and if he or any man tries to take that away from me, I don’t even want to think about what I’d do.
I go into the living room and sit on the couch, placing the bag on my eye, hoping it’s not swollen ans won’t bruise but knowing better. If I don’t show up to that reception tonight, Lennon will come looking for me, and if I do show up, it will be more than obvious what happened. I could get an Uber, but Weston is too unpredictable for me to even decide what to do. One wrong move and he could end me for good.
Weston follows me from the kitchen and sits on the couch next to me. “Please, Sophie.” Tears well in his eyes, and I’m not sure if his emotions are real or if this is another one of his acts. If anyone should be crying right now, it’s me, because the man I thought I loved isn’t the man who hurt me. The thought of what that means is absolutely frightening. There are times when Weston is so damn sweet and others when he’s a monster. Though he’s been the latter longer than I care to admit.
“I’m sorry. It will never happen again,” he says as if he’s rehearsed it. “I promise to get help. I promise to go to counseling like you asked. I can’t lose you, baby. You’re all I’ve got left in my life.” His voice cracks as if he’s truly sincere, but I’ve heard it all before.
He’s playing to my emotions, and I know it. I don’t know what to do at this point because his mood swings give me whiplash. I wanted him to get help so we can go back to how things were before, but he’s burned that bridge now. I wish I didn’t have to second-guess him, but it’s his fault I have those thoughts in the first place. He says he’ll get help, but after all this, I know it’ll only be to pacify me so I’ll stay.
I should call the cops on his ass and get him thrown in jail, but even I know the justice system doesn’t usually work in the victim’s favor. The second he gets out, he’ll be out for blood. My blood.
How the hell did I get myself into this situation? Because I wanted to be loved and have someone to love. How sad is that?
I close my eyes, letting the ice-cold bag rest on my eye until it’s numb. I tell Weston I’m tired and I’m going to take a shower. Once I’m done sobbing under the stream of water, I lie in bed, exhausted from the morning, though it’s not even noon yet. He doesn’t follow me, which I’m grateful. I’m not sure I could stand to look at him.
After staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour crying, I somehow drift to sleep. When I wake, I feel a huge hole in my chest where my heart should be, and my body still hurts from this morning’s shitshow.
