Escaping Parker - F.T. Zele Page 0,28

I know now that it wasn’t, but he always made me feel like it was.” I let out a long, slow breath.

“You don’t just snap, it’s was always there. And it’s definitely not something you did. There isn’t anything in the world that a woman could do to make me abuse her, physically or verbally. It’s just not what you do.”

“I guess so.” I look down at my hands, nervously picking off little fuzz balls on the blanket. “Excuse me.” I leave to go use the bathroom, splashing cold water on my flushed face, and triggering another memory.

I cower in the corner of the room, shielding my face. He promises he won’t ever do this again. I shouldn’t believe him. I don’t even know what I did to bring this on; all I told him was that I was tired and really wanted to go to bed. He came in late, and I was already asleep. That wasn’t acceptable to him.

He says I should have been waiting for him like a good wife would’ve done. I have no clue where this is all coming from, and all I want to do is run far away from here. The yelling starts again, and before I know it, he grabs me by my hair, his face inches from my own, screaming words I can’t make out. Liquor oozes from his breath, and he starts pulling me to my feet, dragging me to the bathroom.

He pushes me into the shower, turning on the freezing cold water. My sorry pleas fall on deaf ears, and I know that he can’t even hear me through his own rage. Fresh tears cascade from my eyes, mixing in with the icy water, and I start to shake harder.

He walks out of the bathroom, but I’m too scared to get up, fearing it will only make him angrier. I stay put, my heart starting to die inside.

I stay like this for God knows how long until he comes back in and turns the water off, throwing a towel at me and telling at me to dry off before I get in the bed. Once I’m dressed, I walk carefully over to the bed.

He mumbles, “Maybe next time you’ll think of me and not be so selfish.” He quickly turns over with his back to me and doesn’t say another word.

I’m startled back to the present moment by Rig, who stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders.

“You’re shaking.” His eyes are full of pity, but understanding.

I can’t hold the stare, dropping my gaze from his. These mixed up feelings are getting too intense. Hurt and pain, but a longing for this pain to go away. Craving his lips on mine, I know better than to force myself on him again. I don’t need the rejection on top of everything else. That will only break me.

“Stop looking. It’s not there.” He calms me, and his hands start to rub tiny circles on my skin, igniting a need so strong that I can’t walk away.

I’m sure the combination of desire and alcohol is fogging my brain, making me unable to decipher right from wrong. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m drunk and I have no control over what might happen if you show me even a fraction of attention,” I admit.

“We’ve been over this before: I don’t like to mix business with pleasure, it’s a deadly cocktail.” His hands go still, but the fire is there.

I put my hands on the sink in front of me, lowering my head, trying to breathe away these feelings.

“What do you want from me?” Rig asks. “I don’t want you to make a huge mistake while you are not thinking clearly. I don’t want you to hate the person I am because you thought I was someone else, then have to sit in a car with me for God knows how long.” His voice sounds like a mixture of conflict and lust.

“I want you to take this pain away, just like you are taking me away from everything. I want to feel for once and not be scared. Make my own decisions about what I want, and how things should be, without being told I’m incapable of making any right choices. Is that too much to ask?” I say, slapping my hands down on the counter.

In one fluid motion, he grabs my hips, spinning me around to face him, and lifts me up on the counter. His lips crash against