1. C H E L S I E

ONE

C H E L S I E

ONE MONTH AGO

They say reality is like a slap in the face.

A figurative term, so to speak.

A metaphor that depicts the burning sensation of one’s touch making an impact against another.

But this… this is no figurative reality.

This is reality.

A reality that stares deep into my eyes, backs me into a corner, and leaves me desperately trying to find a way out.

I swallow deeply.

These outbursts happen so suddenly. So unsolicited and far too often.

I resist the urge to raise my palm to help soothe the stinging sensation that refuses to rid itself from my left cheek. Instead, all I can seem to do is look right back into the eyes of the perpetrator responsible for it.

There’s a silence.

There always seems to be a silence.

That’s the problem.

He never resorts to talking things through—it always just comes down to this.

“Simon.” Calling my boyfriend's name is a pitiful attempt to ease his tense frame as he towers over me. “You’re drunk.” I lower my voice as the tears threaten to pool from my eyes. “Please… stop. This isn’t you.”

For a moment, I’m na?ve to believe that my plea is enough to calm him down. But I’m desperate. He needs to calm down.

There’s over 150 people outside, comprised of my parents’ closest friends and family, all here to celebrate my father’s retirement.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebrating new beginnings, and for a while, it was. Until Simon caught a glimpse of me talking to another guy—one who is nothing more than a friend to me yet what he deemed a threat to him. And so, what I thought would be a day full of fresh starts has transpired into this vicious recurring cycle.

Simon’s abrupt tug on my arm as he pulled me away from the party somehow guided us into my parents’ greenhouse at the end of the garden, where we were out of sight and out of earshot.

Simon knows better than to act like this in public. Only behind closed doors will he behave this way… treat me like this.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what he was saying as he screamed at me. The ringing in my ears as a result of his impact forced my whole world to go mute. Now, as I come back to my senses, I watch as his mouth moves slowly.

“Excuse me?” he grimaces, clenching his jaw with a twitch in his eye. “You… you think I’m drunk?”

The disillusionment in my mind hardly masks the regret I feel for my choice of words, despite how true they prove to be. The party started only a few hours ago, but Simon has been the most receptive to the open bar. I wanted to tell him to slow down, but hell, I know better than to stop him.

I attempt to speak, unsure of what exactly I’m about to say to mitigate this mess, but I know that anything is better than nothing, yet before I can muster so much as a single syllable, I’m cut short.

“You fucking answer me when I’m talking to you!” Simon’s fist slams into the wall behind me, subsequently forcing little shards of glass to shatter in every direction. I squint my eyes, using my hands to shield my face, but it’s no use. The damage is done—the wounds have begun.

With reluctance, I eventually reopen them, and through my blurred vision, I take into account not only his bloody knuckles but just how intensely his eyes have transformed into a fit of rage.

This is a mess.

This is a nightmare.

One that I only wish I could wake up from.

But that’s a false sense of promise. No one is coming to rescue me. I need to find my own way out. I have to find my own way out.

I swallow the lump in my throat and peer up at him, shaking my head ever so softly. “You’re not drunk,” I wearily attempt to invalidate my own words. “I was wrong, Simon. I don’t know what I was saying. You’re not drunk.”

Cautiously, I reach for his bloodied hand, and when he allows me, I shrug off my white cardigan from around my shoulders and wrap it across his knuckles to help control the bleeding.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I apologize. “In fact…” I solemnly meet his face once more, tightening my pressure on his palm. “How about I go get you another one, okay?”

Waiting for his response is like waiting for his promises to actually mean something.

“I promise I’ll be better.”

“I promise this won’t happen again.”

It’s all fake.

It’s all for show.

It’s all at my expense.

His silence gives me no indicator as to what he’s thinking, yet his receptiveness to my touch tells me that he’s settling. He’s calming down.

“Hey.” I subtly attempt to brush past him, though he gives me no room to get by. “Let me go get you another one, okay? Please?”

Simon diverts his gaze away from his palm and assesses me. As he does, I freeze in place, paralyzed by the instability of his presence.

I can feel just how glazed over my eyes are, and as my hands start to shake from his daggering stare, I know I can’t hold out on this pent-up emotion a second longer. That’s when all at once, the tears come falling down my cheeks, no matter how hard I try to stop them.

In a controlled motion, I shy my face away. The saltiness of my tears against my hot skin is a not-so-friendly reminder that the second I do manage to get out of here, I’ll need to make a bee-line back into the house. I can feel the bruise beneath my eye forming, and if what I know from the last time this happened is true, it’s probably already there.

“Chelsie,” Simon murmurs my name, and as his hands gravitate towards my face to brush away my tears, instinctively, I flinch backward.

He sucks in a breath, holds it there for a second, and breathes out, demanding that I look into his eyes—eyes that have since switched.

He’s back.

“Chelsie, darling.” The calluses of his fingertips brush away my tears one by one, pleading for me to stop. “Don’t cry. You… you know how much I hate it when you cry.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, pinching it tightly beneath my teeth as I attempt to slow down the tears, but I can’t. They just keep flowing, and what hurts the most? He’s always the reason for them, and his remorse? Pitiful. For there have been more times Simon’s made me cry these past few months than he’s ever made me smile.

A part of me can’t remember the last time I have.

“Hey, stop.” Simon wraps his less-than-comforting arms around me tightly as I heave in for air, the same way he’s done all these years. Only the man I met when I was 19 isn’t the man I know at 22.

He’s changed.

We’ve changed.

This is no longer what it used to be, and in no way, shape, or form is this what I want for the rest of my life.

“You crying like this is making me feel like I’m the bad guy.” He caresses my hair as it falls down my spine. “You’re making me feel like this is my fault!”

The inflation in his tone is enough for me to receptively wrap my arms around his body, attempting to settle him once more.

I shake my head, wiping my tears away on his shoulder before I peer back up at him. “No… you’re not the bad guy, Simon.”

The words are like poison—making me sick with each syllable.

“I… I shouldn’t have been talking to someone else. I was in the wrong. It was my fault.”

I take the blame only because it’s the easy way out. It’s the only thing I know how to do. Apologize for something that, deep down, I know isn’t my fault.

This is just a strategy, a way to escape.

Visibly receptive to my words, Simon leans in, rests his forehead against mine, and plants a tender kiss. “Just… don’t do it again,” he grumbles while attempting to soothe the tension in my shoulders. “You know I don’t like to see you talking to other guys, Chelsie. You know how upset it makes me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over, considering it’s the only thing that’s prompting him to release me from his grasp. “I won't do it again,” I assure him with a false sense of sincerity as I take a slow, controlled step away from him. “I won’t.”

His breath hitches the second he takes in my attempts to create some distance. “Where are you going?” he snaps. “Did I say you could leave?!”

I clear my throat to not appear nearly as afraid of him as I am right now, and reluctantly, against my better judgment, I walk back towards him and place a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I was just going to get you another drink,” I try to explain. “I’ll come back.” I do my absolute best to make this lie as believable as possible, even kissing along his stubbled cheek in agony as I mumble these final two words. “I promise.”

Simon watches me carefully as I peel away for a second time, gazing into my eyes for a heightened sense of reassurance.

“I’ll be back,” I tell him once more with a subtle nod of my head. “Alright, babe? I’ll be back.”

“Fine,” he eventually hums. “Just… don’t be long, okay? You hear me, Chelsie? Don’t be long.”

I manage to force out an agreeable nod as I slowly back away and turn around, yet the very second I do, the pent-up emotion creeps its way back onto my face.

I have to choke it down. There’s no other choice. I still have over 150 yards to get through before I’m completely out of sight, and no one can see me.

I reach for the door handle of the greenhouse, momentarily peering back over my shoulder in an attempt to reassure myself that Simon’s stayed put.

He has, and when I close the door faintly behind me, I catch myself exhaling a sigh of relief before, all at once, I begin pulsing my way through the crowded bodies of the garden, brushing past them one by one, all the while meticulously trying to hide my face.

I’m nearly out of sight, using a wall to steady my frame as I approach the front of my family home when, unexpectedly, I collide with another.

No.

“Chelsie?” The voice inflates in question, prompting my heart rate to intensify. “What are you doing out here without a jacket on?” they ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

The voice of concern is immediately identifiable as none other than my older sister Ruby, who desperately rubs along my arms in an attempt to warm me.

“It’s okay, Ruby.” I shy away, keeping my eyes and face locked towards the ground. “I… I was just going to go inside and get one.” I attempt to side-step around her, but before I can, her voice demands that I halt in place.

“Chelsie,” she speaks. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

I don’t have to look her in the eyes to know the sheer level of concern that’s reflected in them. Ruby has always been the closest person to me. In fact, she’s the only person I’m relieved to have run into out of everyone here. Why? Because I know she won’t go run off and tell our Mum and Dad that something is up. She’ll do exactly what she’s trying to do right now, understand what’s going on, and try her best to help me without involving other parties.

“Hey, look at me.” She places a delicate hand underneath my chin and guides it upwards, and before I can resist the motion, she tilts my head up and draws my eyes in.

“Chels…” A gasp radiates through her voice as her eyes fill with shock, and her thumb grazes along my swollen cheek.

I wince in response, yet all I can think about is, “How the hell am I going to be able to talk myself out of this mess?” I’ve become the most compulsive liar over the past few months in an attempt to cover Simon’s tracks.

I hate it.

“Who did this to you? ” Her voice turns frantic, yet her brows crease in concern. “Who did this, huh?”

“No one.” I gulp, attempting to shake my head in denial. “It was no one. I just… fell and banged my cheek off of ? —”

A door slamming shut in the distance is enough to cut me off mid-lie, prompting my eyes to dart backward where not only do I see Simon escape the greenhouse, but I watch the way he’s scanning the crowd for me in agitation. I cower inwards, desperate at this point to get out of here.

“It was him.” Ruby follows my gaze, mutually staring over at Simon as he parades his way back towards the party without a care in the world. His posture is tall, his face is relaxed, and his knuckles are completely out of sight as he tucks his hand into either pocket, all the while, my cardigan is nowhere to be seen.

“Grab your things.” Ruby tugs on my arm and pulls me out of sight. “We’re leaving.”