Chapter 3

How Could You - Jessie Murph

Coffee with Cece was exactly what I needed after the night I had. After she chewed me out about Christian, she filled me in on the latest tea that"s been happening in our small friend group—I say ours, but really, I mean hers. I don't get out much—not anymore, that is. After high school, my parents couldn't bring themself to understand my love for the fashion world. They refused to support me in my decision to make a career out of it, and cut me off entirely. Most of my friends from high school cut me off around the same time. With the loss of my parents' funding, I didn't have the money to hang out the way I did before, and so I was forgotten. By everyone except Cece that is. She's all that I have left. It's why these early morning coffee meets with my best friend mean so much to me.

However, I didn't expect this one to have me running into Sayshen Shaw, of all people. He looked good. Better than good if I'm honest with myself, and though his flirty personality used to drive me insane in high school, today I was thankful for it. Even if I didn't show it. It was nice, for once, to have someone just being playful and fun. His compliments weren't so bad either.

Christian used to be like that. But not anymore. Now, instead of compliments, I get criticism. It's always, "you need to work out more," or "that shirt makes your tits look too big, go change." It"s no wonder I don't have the confidence I used to have. Today, with Sayshen, even though our encounter was brief. I was reminded of the girl I used to be. His presence reignited a spark that has been snuffed out by years spent with Christian. Whether or not it's a good thing has yet to be decided though.

Heading through the parking lot of our condo complex, I spot Christian's truck, with the trailer and bikes hitched on the end. Part of me was hoping he'd left without me, but obviously not. I have no doubt he has been waiting for me, and I'm sure the fact that coffee with Cece went a bit later than expected, means he's probably in a bitchy mood. I don't enjoy being forced to spend the summer weekends at the track. It's not that I don't enjoy the sport, I do. It's just that I wouldn't mind having the time alone and away from him.

To do something that maybe, I enjoy. However, any sign of me not supporting his racing, becomes a big problem. Once I'll feel for weeks, and truthfully, it's just not worth it.

Making my way inside, I open the front door of our condo only to find the entranceway packed with all of Christian's track gear and suitcases. He rounds the corner just as I close the door softly behind me. His demeanor does little to hide his annoyance, and the moment his eyes meet mine, I know I'm in for it.

"Where have you been? For Christ's sake, I called you at least five times. We're going to be late. Where are your bags?" he asks sternly.

"They're upstairs. I didn't know I was going with you. I was kinda hoping to stay back. Cece said she─"

"Oh? You were hoping what? You could miss my race weekend to party it up with Cece in my condo while I'm gone? I don't think so. You know I can't stand her and the bullshit she puts in your head about me," he shouts aggressively as he steps toward me. Christian isn't a fan of Cece and everyone close to him knows it. Cece refuses to put up with anyones shit, especially his. But mostly, he hates her because he knows I tell her everything. It's hard to play the nice boyfriend role when the closest person to me knows the truth about all the shit that goes down between us.

As she says, ‘He hates that I know everything, because when you forget the dumb shit he does, I won't'.

She'll be there to always remind me.

To him, she's a threat.

"No, that's not what I was going to say," I add, my tone barely a whisper. "She said she'd come to hang out with me. We could get some school work done and watch some movies. There's this big show coming up in New York, and well, I've been putting together a portfolio of my designs, and I'm almost done. I really think I have a shot of getting in if I apply," I explain as I back myself against the door. Christian's eyes widen with anger as he brings himself to stand directly in front of me.

"And what? You think you're going to get into this show in New York and just take off there?" he scoffs. "You don't belong out there, Bexley. You belong here. You're mine, remember? You have responsibilities to me. You can't just dip out to do your shit, not right in the middle of my race season."

"Well, it wouldn't be in the middle of your race season. It's in the fall," I try to explain, but I know it won't make any difference. To Christian, no time is ever going to be okay for me to go and pursue anything I want. If it's important to me, it's irrelevant. All that matters to him is his racing career, and he expects that to be the only thing that matters to me, too. "The show happens in your off-season. You could even come with me if I got in."

His jaw clicks as he looks down on me with darkened eyes. "Come with you? Why?"

"To support me? If I get into the show, that is."

"What makes you think I want to spend my off-season in New York at some stupid fashion show?" he scoffs.

"I don't know…" I whisper, "I just, I didn't think you'd need me during the off-season." The moment the last word slips from my lips, I realize my mistake. His fist flies past my face, slamming into the door behind me. My body begins to tremble uncontrollably, and my eyes follow my iced coffee as it slips from my hand and crashes to the white tile floor.

"Oh? That's what you thought, is it?" he spits with agitation.

He grips my chin firmly with his hand, forcing my eyes back to his. "Don't look away from me when we're talking, it's disrespectful." His thumb brushes over my swollen lip, wiping the concealer I used to hide it away before leaning into me. His hand glides down until it's wrapped around my throat. "Look at you, trying to hide the marks of your punishment," he whispers with heated breath against the shell of my ear. My heart races in my chest, and my head begins to throb as the hand around my throat tightens, cutting off my air supply. "I am not going to New York, Bexley, and neither are you. Is that clear?"

Desperate for air, my hands find their way to his in an effort to free me from his hold, which only makes him tighten his grip even more. I dig my nails into his forearm and pull on his arm, but it's no use. Christian is bigger and stronger. He laughs, mocking my attempt to free myself. "Is that clear?" he asks again, slapping my cheek with his other hand. The contact of his hand on my flesh stings. Unable to reply, I briskly nod my head in agreement. Hot tears begin to form on my waterline as he releases me and backs off. My body slides down the door as I slump to the tile floor, completely unbothered by the fact that I'm sitting in a puddle of ice-cold coffee that has surely ruined my outfit.

I gasp for air, filling my lungs with each panted breath as sobs slip from my lips. I lift my hands to my throat, running along the tender and burning skin. I can still feel him. Feel his hand like they're still holding me there.

"Stop your whining. I barely touched you. Clean up the mess you made before you pack your shit, and hurry the fuck up. You've had me waiting long enough," he snaps, kicking one of the small bags by the door. "And change your clothes. You're not getting in my truck looking like that," he adds before heading back out to the garage.

The door closes behind him, and with the click of the latch, the dam of tears break. They stream down my face as silent screams rip through me. A mix of fear, anger, and hatred. I hate myself for staying. For allowing him to treat me this way, but I know if I tried to leave, it would be even worse. I'll never escape Christian. Not alive anyway.

Pushing my trembling body from the floor, I head to the closet and grab a towel to clean up the coffee mess. When I'm done, I toss the cup in the trash and the towel into the laundry before heading upstairs to pack. The last thing I want to do, especially now, is spend the weekend at the track pretending everything is okay, but I know I don't have a choice.

Reaching my mirror, I lift my shirt over my head to reveal more of the deep purple bruises he left on me last night. They cover my rib cage and spread out around my back like stripes on a tiger. My neck, now sporting a bright crimson hand mark to match. Inspecting it, I can already tell it will also bruise, and neck bruises are among the hardest to hide. Especially in the Florida heat. The slap to the face only made my already busted lip swell and stand out even more, meaning I'm going to have to ice it on the way to the track.

Perfect.

Sliding out of my pants, I toss them in the hamper by the door before heading to my closet. I pull out black LuluLemon leggings and a simple nude color LuluLemon long-sleeved running shirt. The long sleeves will hide the marks on my arms and ribs, but not my neck. Shuffling through the hangers in the closet, I pull out an oversized black Balenciaga hoodie and pull it over me before heading back to the mirror. I free my thick, raven hair from the messy knot bun on the top of my head and brush it out quickly. Between my hair and the hood from the hoodie, I can hide most of the marks on my neck, thankfully.

I hate it when people notice them. I hate when their eyes fill with pity and concerns they won't mention for fear of upsetting me because usually, that's the looks I get. Sayshen's reaction today was new. It was different. His reaction reminded me more of Cece's. Where other people try to avoid asking about it but clearly struggle to take their eyes off the marks that paint my skin, Sayshen's eyes filled with anger. Rage. It was probably the most genuine expression I've ever seen from him. Like one small bruise on my skin and the fuckboy attitude was gone. Replaced by a boy, no, a man, who seemed to want to hurt whoever had touched me.

But why?

Sure, Sayshen always had a little thing for me in high school, but it was just a game. It was never serious enough for him to care what happens to me, especially so many years later.

Pulling my suitcase out from under my bed, I quickly pack enough clothes for the weekend, along with my toiletries and a couple of books to keep me entertained in the trailer. I grab my cosmetics bag and touch up my makeup, ensuring people won't be able to tell I am crying and hide the swollen and bruised lip as best as I can before tossing it into my oversized tote purse. I will most definitely need it to survive this weekend in public. I take one last look around the bedroom to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. This bedroom has never really felt like mine or like home.

Before Christian, I had a small walkup on the beach strip with Cece. We'd spend our mornings on the cute little patio having coffee and bagels in the ocean breeze. It was beyond perfect. But then he insisted I move in here so we could have more time together since I'm always busy with school and he's busy with racing and training. It made sense at the time, but it wasn't long after that he changed, and his true colors began to show.

"Bexley!" Christian's voice echoes through the halls from downstairs, causing me to startle and jump. "Get a move on. I don't want to be stuck setting up and unloading the bikes in the fucking dark."

The track is about an hour drive from where we live, and I'm not looking forward to spending that time alone in a car with Christian. Grabbing my suitcase, I head down the hall to the stairs. The front door is wide open, and some of Christian's bags have been loaded into the truck. I leave my suitcase by the door, I head to the kitchen quickly to grab an ice pack. Pulling open one of the drawers, I wrap the ice pack in a small dish towel before grabbing a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge and making my way out to get in the truck.

Christian tosses the last bags in the back before locking up the house and climbing inside. Pressing the cool ice pack to my lip, I hiss at the contact, which causes Christian to look over at me.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Bex, okay? You know I don't like being rough with you. I don't mean to be. I'm just under a lot of stress, and when you talk about leaving me, I just…I get upset, okay?" he adds as he places a soft hand on my thigh. "You don't need to worry about a career. I make enough money for both of us,"

His touch sends a chill down my spine, and I instantly feel sick to my stomach and the tiny spark Sayshen's encounter reignited, blows out. But I don't react. I turn my attention outside. To the beautiful sun as it begins to lower along the horizon. The way the wind blows through the tall palms that line the parking lot. He always apologizes. He never means to hurt me, and yet he always does. No matter how many times he says he's sorry, or swears he didn't mean it and that it won't happen again, we both know it will.

We both know in some sick and twisted way, he enjoys it. But what's worse is we both know I'm too afraid to do anything about it. I'll take it again and again because at this point, it's all I know.

Turning my eyes to his, I force a fake smile, "I know, it's okay. I'm okay," I reply with a shaky tone. "It's okay."

He smiles back, brushing his knuckles against my cheek before he starts up the engine.

"Let's go, baby. Time to kick some ass this weekend." With that, Christian pulls the truck out of the parking lot and onto the main street. I turn my eyes back outside as I curl up in my seat. Instinctively, my thoughts make their way back to Sayshen. To the look in his eyes today at the cafe. Part of me wonders what would've happened had I told him who they were from. How would he have reacted if I hadn't pulled away and he had seen just how bad they really are?

My eyes flutter closed, and my chest rises and falls with deep breaths. It doesn't matter. Even Sayshen Shaw can't help me. Not now.