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Did Doc change me?
Did he strip me so he could put me in one of his shirts?
Because that’s the only explanation I can think of to explain what I’m wearing, and it’s so fucked up it’s barely conceivable.
But this is the man responsible for my aunt’s death, and the one I’ve spent my whole life being told to hate. So I guess it doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch.
I don’t bother carefully trying to wriggle to the edge of the bed, because at this point it’s pretty evident that he knows how we slept last night, and I’m not interested in playing into his bullshit this morning.
He groans as I throw his arm off me and slip from the bed before he can reach for me. I’m not certain he would, but I’m also not willing to risk it.
I huff as I start rummaging through my suitcase because the asshole still hasn’t cleared out any space for me inourbedroom, throwing possible outfits in the general direction of the bed. I don’t give a fuck about making a mess. I need to get out of this apartment.
The thought of the first day of school is just as daunting as it was every other time I’ve had one, but at least this time it means I get away from Doc for a few hours, and maybe I can figure out an escape plan that will get me back to Boston without dying.
Wishful thinking perhaps, but I’m nothing if not an eternal optimist.
I shower quickly, turning the water up as hot as I can handle. Not that I spend enough time in the obscenely large space to enjoy it.
Once I’m dressed, I apply a light layer of makeup and dry my hair before styling it into messy curls while trying desperately not to think about the tank of a man sleeping in the room beside the one I’m in or the fact I’m starting classes a few weeks into the semester, meaning I’ll already be behind and likely have no chance at making friends.
By the time I’m ready, I pair my jeans and simple black long-sleeve shirt with a leather jacket and boots, allowing my raven hair to fall down my back.
I make my way into the bedroom and find Doc sprawled out in the middle of the bed, his eyes open and a smirk playing on his lips. The sheet has been discarded, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs, showing off every chiseled muscle and perfectly inked skin.
My eyes move down of their own accord until I’m face to face with the biggest hard-on I’ve ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve seen many. But Jesus.
His cock stands straight up, the tip barely covered beneath the waistband of his underwear.
“Like what you see, spitfire?” He chuckles.
I open my mouth to respond, but instead, I turn on my heel and leave the room. I had the foresight to pack my bag last night and pick it up as I make a quick exit from the apartment.
And here I was thinking things couldn’t get any worse. Boy was I wrong.
Ihad planned to stop at the coffee shop on the corner before getting the train to campus, but my need to escape has me hailing the first cab I see.
What the hell was that?
Yesterday he couldn’t stand to look at me, but somehow he moved me to the bed, stripped me while I slept, and spent the whole night pressed up against me. Only to flaunt his huge dick like he thinks I’m going to jump on it any second now.
I mean, we are technically married, and the ring that weighs heavily on my hand is all the evidence I need of that, but we never discussed whether we were going to do all the things that are usually expected of a married couple.
Is it my fault that I didn’t assume this would be the outcome?
Was I naive to think a man like Doc would be forced to marry me and not expect sex?
As soon as I’m settled in the cab, I slip my wedding ring from my hand and shove it into a pocket in my bag.
I rest my head against the cool window and watch as the city passes, finally having the chance to take some of it in.
I’ve never been to Chicago, but it’s always been on my list of places to visit. I just never thought I would live here.
It’s a beautiful city, and that’s coming from someone who was born and raised in Boston. I thought it would be hard for anywhere to compare, but from the limited amount of the city I’ve seen, I think I could come to see this city as home.
The cab stops in a parking lot, and I hand the driver a few bills to cover the trip and tip before climbing from the car.
It’s still early, but there are still plenty of people bustling around. A couple sitting under a large tree, a few guys kicking a soccer ball around, a girl reading on a bench beside one of the old stone buildings that form the school.
