Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Deep down, I want to call him, to talk to Rogan and tell him just how wrong he was for doing what he did. But I know I can’t do that. I ran for a reason. Perhaps it was the clarity that hit me when he slammed me against the wall. Maybe it was just the exhaustion and my body had had enough. When I’m stronger—when I’m the woman I portrayed only moments ago to Sully, I’ll face my demon and end the tie Rogan has on me for good.
Pushing the earphones into my ears, I turn on the music playlist I’ve had on repeat for the past few days. I’ve always turned to music to allow my mind to forget my life, my mistakes, and my failures. I’d been with Rogan since I was eighteen. He was the perfect boyfriend for almost three long years. We’d grown close as friends, and when we started dating, it came easily. There was a comfort in being with someone I’d known for so long, but soon after we’d moved in together, it started.
It wasn’t long after I’d turned twenty-one that he noticed me changing. Not in a bad way, but I got an internship at a local company that allowed me to learn more about art, curation, and perhaps even find a career path. But Rogan was jealous. I noticed how he would watch me when I spoke about the opportunities coming my way. He didn’t like it.
Most of all, he hated that I would spend time around other men. Nothing ever happened. I was loyal to him. But he didn’t believe me. And it turned ugly. Something inside him snapped and there was no longer the man I’d first fallen in love with. He turned into a stranger.
Most people wonder why I chose to stay. I know strangers would question me. Why didn’t I pack a bag and leave, just walk out. The problem is, when you love somebody, there isn’t just walking away. You believe their promises, and you trust their lies.
And that’s why love is such a dangerous emotion.
It forces you to look through rose-colored lenses at the worst of times.
We accept those we love, for better or worse. Isn’t that what the vows of marriage tell us? And I did accept Rogan with all his faults because I believed he loved me as much as I did him.
I close my eyes as “The Wrong One” by One Less Reason starts, and the lyrics filter through me as I recall the moment I realized I’d fallen in love with the devil.
It’s almost five, and dinner is late. I worked all afternoon on a project that would mean the promotion I want would be in touching distance. The moment I see the time, I know I’m in trouble. And nothing is going to keep me from the wrath of the man I love.
He’ll be home soon, wanting dinner after a long day on the construction site, and I know he’s tired. The problem is, the reasons I have for being late aren’t going to sit well with Rogan, and I’m going to end up in knee-deep trouble. More than I can handle. He’s been good for a while, but the simmering annoyance he shows me is still there. I can see it when I talk to him.
Deep down, I know living in fear isn’t the life I want, but whenever he apologizes, I give him the benefit of the doubt. The door whispers open, and my anxiety tightens my stomach. Knots form as his boots clunk through the hallway and into our kitchen.
“I’m home, Clover,” he calls to me as he enters the space.
“Rogan.” I smile, padding up to him with my bare feet. But as soon as I reach for him, his eyes flit to the stove behind me. “Dinner is almost ready,” I tell him, hoping he’ll go shower first, but he doesn’t move.
“I’m tired, Clover,” he informs me in a tone that sets my nerves on edge.
Lately, he’s been angry a lot, cursing and calling me names, but he’s never hurt me.
“I know, baby. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll—”
My words are broken off when his fist meets my face in a harsh punch that causes my jaw to smart as I stumble backward into the kitchen table. The steel edge cuts into my hip, and I can’t help crying out as agony shoots through my body and my face. My butt hits the cold tiles with a thud, and pain radiates through every inch of me.
“I fucking asked you to have dinner ready!” His voice is rigid with rage as he reaches for my long, dark hair that hangs down my back in soft waves. “And your fucking hair is curly again,” he hisses, dragging me up from off the floor with one hand fisting my locks.