Page 35 of Bells

“You hurt me,” she whispered. “You pushed me.”

“I didn’t push you. It was an accident. Let me help you.” I made to reach for her, but she shoved me away, tears rushing down her cheeks.

“You hit me. Stop. Just stop!”

I pulled my hands away from her. “I definitely didn’t hit you. What the hell is going on?”

She got to her feet and wiped at her eyes. “Leave me alone. You’re always hurting me. Pushing me. Making me fuck you when I don’t want to. Getting me pregnant.”

My pulse roared in my ears.

“Did your meds change?” I asked softly. I had no idea why she was behaving like this and saying shit that wasn’t true. “Because this isn’t normal, Isabella.”

“So now I’m just Isabella to you? Typical. Just used me, knocked me up, and then you abuse me.”

I was really getting pissed. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” I demanded. “I love you, but I’m not going to have you saying this shit about me.”

“Why? Don’t want the truth to get out?” She scoffed at me, her eyes red from crying.

“That’s not the truth and you know it,” I said. “Come back to bed and we’ll talk, OK? It’s probably just stress. . . right? I love you. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just want to talk. Come lie with me. I won’t hurt you.”

I was grasping at any ounce of hope to get her back in bed. She wasn’t safe right then. Something was happening, and I didn’t want her to be hurt because of it.

She eyed me, her bottom lip jutted out.

“Babe, come on. Come to bed. We can rest tonight. If you’re still angry tomorrow, I’ll let you leave, OK? I want to hold you tonight.”

She stared me down for a moment before moving past me and sliding back into bed. I breathed out a sigh of relief. The fact she could flip her moods on a dime was scary. I hated it. I fucking loathed everything about it. When it was good, it was great with her. When shit was bad. . . well, it took everything I had not to completely lose my mind with her.

Every damn time she said shit to me, it dug beneath my skin, embedding itself there and making my chest ache. It put doubts in my head on whether she loved me. Wanted me. Whether I was good enough for her.

I got back into bed and held her against me.

“I love you so much,” I whispered. “I want us to be OK. I’m sorry for anything I did.”

She didn’t say anything, but it was fine. It beat her screaming and losing it on me. Tomorrow, I’d try to get her to go into the clinic and get checked over.

For now, I’d hold her and pray I wasn’t the fuck up she made me feel like I was.

* * *

I wokeup to blinding pain and Bells leaning over me.

It took all of a moment to realize she had a knife and had cut my arm with it.

“What the fuck?” I shouted, nearly falling out of bed to get away from her. She was fast and followed me, knife in hand.

“Bells,” I warned. “What are you doing? Put down the knife.”

“Did it hurt like you hurt me?” she demanded, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. “When you hit me earlier? When you pushed me down? You tried to hurt my baby!”

What the actual fuck was happening?

I backed away, knowing I was probably going to have to get physical to get the knife away from her and already hating myself for it.

“I’m asking you to please put the knife down. We can talk, OK?”

“No.” She lunged at me and caught my arm again. The pain burned through me, but I captured her wrist and we wrestled. She was stronger than I thought she’d be, but when push came to shove, she was no match for my strength.

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