Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,96

for us. We had similar interests, and where we differed made us stronger. He had his designated areas in the apartment where he could put his sports memorabilia, and I had mine. We worked. We were happy. We were in love. Or so I thought.

As they say, time flies when you’re having fun. Four years zoomed by. Not that it was all bells and whistles. Like any couple, we started to learn what didn’t work for us. One was messy, while the other was overly tidy. One worked all the time, while the other spent too many nights sitting around watching dinners turn cold. And out of nowhere…time slowed down. I guess we weren’t having fun anymore.

I started becoming jealous of his busy work life and his work buddies he spent more time with than me. We fought about him not making time for me, and he’d argue his job was what would secure our future. In my head, I had to ask what future? I barely ever saw him and we weren’t having sex as much anymore. To be honest, his interest in me had taken a dive, and I’m an idiot not to have seen the signs earlier.

You know, if your younger self knew what your older self knew now, she’d tell that naive idiot to run for the fucking hills—fast.

But I wasn’t very athletic, so I stuck around. I hid behind all the neon signs and played dumb. Because I wanted our happily ever after.

The first time he got physical with me was the first time I accused him of cheating. He’d left his phone out, and when I went to grab it to read the incoming text, he pushed me. Pushed me. I stumbled back and fell into the coffee table, severely bruising my tailbone. He realized his mistake too late and spent the entire night explaining why he panicked and put his hands on me for checking his phone.

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Why did you get like that when I was going to check your phone? What are you hiding?”

“Babe, nothing. It’s just…I’m setting up a surprise for you and didn’t want you to ruin it.”

Anyone want to guess how many surprises I almost ruined? Too damn many. He really should have been a bit more creative with his lame excuses.

And then there were all the war wounds from his temper. The countless number of bruises on my arms from when he handled me too roughly, to the sprained ankle when his anger was in full force and pushed me down our stairs. He was sorry. He was stressed at work. He didn’t mean it. He loved me so much, it made him crazy. His weak apologies were like cheap band aids barely covering the damages he inflicted.

I never pictured myself in a relationship where violence was a concern. I never imagined I would lower myself to make excuses for a man I clearly knew was cheating. But my heart seemed to hate me, and I listened to it, so I kept on keeping on, staying with a man who was violent, not in love with me, and unfaithful.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to take the hits just to keep him. How stupid was I to confuse abuse with love? Four years into our relationship, I finally decided to call it quits. I’d been beaten and battered. Broken down mentally and physically. And I couldn’t lie to my friends and family any longer.

But James was a predator. He could smell out my fear, panic. He always knew when I was ready to run, and he was always ready to make me stay. Maybe that’s why he pinged me that day at the stadium. He saw a weak girl who just wanted to be loved—one who would endure anything to have it.

Weakness is not a crime, but it should be. Why the hell did I think him putting a ring on my finger would change him? I was too caught up in a fairytale, thinking he had to love me if he wanted to marry me, that things would get better. Hello? Didn’t anyone else’s momma embed in them you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Mine sure as hell did. So when I said yes, with overjoyed tears running down my cheeks, I knew…I had finally lost my last marble.

The wedding planning kept me happy and busy. The wedding planning also kept him busier at work and