7. Sutton

SEVEN

SUTTON

“I heard you,” Shane sneers as he delivers his statement. I’m walking through the house ready to start my day, and wouldn’t you know it, the cleaning I did last night was all for nothing. There are more food containers and beer cans as well as dirty laundry. How, literally how, does one person make this mess in a matter of hours? On my break today, I’m going to have to make my way to the police station or the courthouse and figure out the procedure to evict him from my home.

I’m tired of walking on eggshells.

I’m tired of not being able to use my whole house.

I’m tired of Shane Sullivan screwing with me.

I’m just plain tired.

“Excuse me?” I’m taken aback by his harsh words. Last night after coming home, cleaning the house up, going through what Ms. Catherine gave me, having a bit of a meltdown, and taking a shower, I passed out.

“I heard you.” Shane takes a step toward me. There’s malice in his eyes, his body is rigid, and the tone of his voice is the one I’ve tried to stay away from. I try as hard as I can to come up with a reason on why he keeps bringing up that he heard me.

“And?” I’m not picking up what he’s putting down. I study him. He looks like he’s been ridden hard and put up wet. I’m not sure the last time he’s changed or taken a shower. His hair is greasy, the strands sticking up every which way, and the deep circles beneath his eyes are purple, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Even his skin looks pale and sallow. Alarm bells are ringing, telling me I’m in a really bad predicament.

“Heard you, Sutton. I heard you say his name in your room,” Shane says with malice, taking a step toward me. I watch as the veins in his forehead appear and take a step backward. There’s nowhere for me to go. A few more paces, and the wall will be to my back. As it is now, I’ll have nowhere to run and no one to turn to. The neighbors are all at work, and my phone is buried in my purse along with my gloves, scarf, and knitted beanie.

“I’m not sure what you heard or why it matters. We’re divorced, Shane. You’re not even supposed to be still living here.” I probably should remain quiet. Talking isn’t going to get me anywhere. I mean, it has worked in the past, biting my tongue and biding my time. Yet somewhere along the way, I’ve decided enough is enough. Maybe it’s from seeing what healthy relationships look like and realizing I deserve more. Truthfully, had I opened my eyes to really see how people treat one another, whether they’re in a committed relationship or just friends, I’d have witnessed it. Sadly, when you’re still going through the motions of grieving and healing, you take what you can get. Good, bad, or indifferent.

“It matters if you’ve been fucking someone while we were married.” My back meets the wall, unable to do anything else.

“Nnnn…no, never.” My teeth chatter, and it’s not from being cold. I watch as his hand rises. This is it, the worry that he’d progress into some kind of monster. I mean, the verbal and emotional abuse have been something I’ve handled. Albeit hiding from Shane isn’t the best-case scenario, it’s been my self-preservation.

“You’re lying. You’re nothing but a filthy fucking liar. As for me leaving, that’s not fucking happening.” His hand comes down. I raise my arms, duck my head, and brace for impact. Even with Shane drinking himself half to death, he’s double my size in muscle and is a good six inches taller than me. I don’t stand a chance in fighting back. The only thing I can do is pray for it to be over quickly.

There’s a blow to my stomach, knocking the wind out of my sails. The shirt and jacket I’m wearing do nothing for the protection from his fist. I sink to the ground, clenching my teeth, trying not whimper.

“You’re good for nothing. Never even put out.” He gets in my face, not that my eyes are open. Nope, they’re firmly shut, but I can feel his presence. It’s not like Ryland’s; this feels more ominous.

“But you put out for him, moaning his name like the whore you are.” Spittle flies out of his mouth, landing on my chest as he delivers another punch to my stomach, this one harsher than the last. Standing up is becoming impossible, and I know the minute I hit the floor, the beating is only going to get worse.

I keep myself in an upright position, barely, and think about what he basically just screamed through my small home. I drift away while he continues to rain down on every square inch of my body, dropping to the floor and curling into a ball. Meanwhile, I’m in the place I was last night, in my bed when I thought the house was empty. I never allow myself to dream of a future when I’ll have the husband, the children, and a happy home. Last night, I let myself go there, only this time, it was with Ryland. My fingers may have been doing the work, but in my mind, Ry was the one in on the action.

We were in bed, the house was shut down for the night, Case was tucked in bed, and it was our time. Yes, I went there. For the first time in my adult life, I went to a place where maybe one day I could have exactly what I’ve always yearned for.

I’m not sure if I’d ever be as brave as I was in my fantasy. We were naked, me lying flat on my back, feet planted, and my legs spread apart. Ryland Johnson stood at the foot of the bed, hand wrapped around his thick cock, and he told me verbatim how to get myself off. It didn’t take much—the heat in his eyes, the way our combined groans echoed through the room, my fingers sliding in and out of my center, wetness coating my thighs, hands, and pussy. The whole time Ry watched me, my own eyes were glued to him. Up and down, a twist of his wrist, the head of his cock wet with precum, him sweeping his thumb along what I’m sure is velvet to the touch. While I might have been doing all the work in my bed and in my head, Ryland was there with me. And when he crawled between my spread thighs, uncontrollable need consumed me. I couldn’t hold back, and my orgasm took over when his hand gripped my thigh, the contrast of his deep olive tone to my pale skin. My head tipped back, and I came, long and hard, and obviously with repercussions.

“Answer me!” Somehow, I’ve lost my footing; holding myself up was no longer an option. The worn carpet is abrasive against my cheek, tears cloud my vision, and my arms are no longer blocking my face. I’m holding my stomach, my side, anywhere Shane decides to destroy me bit by bit. Which means when his booted foot meets the side of my head, I’m done. Stars blur, pain explodes, and there’s no way to hold back my groan of pain. He’s not done yet either; I’m not sure he ever will be. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill me, and if he keeps beating me, he’ll succeed.

“Please,” I plead. My voice comes out garbled.

“I should have never married you. You’re worthless. All you do is walk around like you’re tired and it’s too much for you to work. Can’t even do simple things like pick me up a six-pack.” I ignore his words. Shane Sullivan is a coward, beating a helpless woman, belittling her, and he’s not the only one wishing he didn’t marry me. I wish I’d never said yes to him. I knew the moment the ink was dry that I’d made a mistake. Now, I’m stuck here, defenseless, and I know if I can’t get away or grab my phone out of my purse, he’ll never stop, not ever.

“Stupid fucking cunt.” Shane is still on a tirade. Damn, if he hates me so much, why is he still hovering over me? “Get your ass up and clean this house before I get back!” I let out a heavy breath, but there’s no relief, only more pain, unbearable at that. Still, I can’t remain where I am. I need to drag my body to where my purse is, which takes more energy than I thought it could. Adrenaline is pumping through my body. The moment I rest, I’ll really be down for the count. The front door slams shut, rattling the windows in its wake. I count each second. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi… Once I get to thirty, the squealing of his tires tells me he’s gone.

“Oh god, this is what you get for having a bleeding heart.” My words come out more like a slur. Drool is no doubt sliding down my chin. One eye is swollen shut, and my other isn’t much better. Still, I drag myself to where my purse lies on the floor. The contents are spilling out, and each movement makes me realize just how badly damaged I am.

Painfully slowly, I dig through the contents, fumbling and mumbling. My hands ache, and I’m not sure why, but then again, my whole body feels like one big ball of aches and pains. Shane is not coming back here, and I’ll be surprised if I don’t land myself in a hospital bed tonight.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Thank god for voice assist. My finger didn’t want to work, and my face must really be a sight. Jesus, this is bad, really freaking bad.

“I need the ambulance and police, please. This is Sutton Rawlins.” The dispatch on the other end of the line asks more questions. I try to respond, but I’m crashing. The pain is too much, my eyes close, and the last thought I have is hoping they hurry before Shane comes back to finish the job of beating me to death.