Page 8 of Hold Me Before You Go

My father never told me anything about his career or his life.

All I knew was he was trying to run for Mayor of St. Louis, and he’d told me I needed to look my best for Robert. We had to make a good impression on the people, of course.

“I don’t know,” my husband sighed, correcting his glasses. He wasn’t looking at me. Then again, he stopped looking at me the second I finished walking down the aisle.

“I thought it would be nice if we had dinner and then sat out on the front porch. You know? Like we used to.” There was so much hope in my voice, it was almost embarrassing. All I wanted was to spend time with my husband. Was that too much to ask?

“Carrie, the last thing you need to be thinking about is dinner,” Robert said, his upper lip curling slightly as he shook his head in disappointment. Not looking at my face, his brown eyes dropped to my legs. I’d worn a pair of black biker shorts to the gym this morning. I knew it was going to be a hard workout, and I wanted to be cool.

I remained frozen as my husband, the one who was supposed to love me, did his assessment of my body. My spine stiffened, and I put my tongue to the top of my mouth, just in case he wanted to actually look at my face.

When the sound of his clicking tongue filled the air, my heart sank, and I braced for his next words.

“Your thighs are too big, Carrie. Jesus, your father is about to run for Mayor. We have events to attend,” Robert said, his voice filled with disgust.

My eyes stung with tears as a sharp pain sliced through the organ in my chest. This man was my husband. We slept beside each other every night. He vowed in front of God and everyone in that church that he’d love and cherish me for the rest of his days.

Was this love?

Had I gotten it all wrong?

There was no love in my home growing up, only judgment. Dammit, I had hope that when I was finally away from my father, things would be different. One day, I’d find out was love was supposed to be.

Was this it?

Maybe the books and movies had it wrong. Maybe love, true love, was only this…a twisted version of disdain and ridicule.

The truth was, whether or not Robert chose to see it, my legs were the smallest and most toned they’d ever been. My trainer, who Robert hired, worked me to the bone on leg day. There wasn’t even any cellulite, not even on the back of my thighs or underneath my butt. I was smooth everywhere.

And still, it wasn’t good enough.

“What are people going to think when I have a wife with thunder thighs on my arm this campaign season, huh?” he bit off, raising his voice a bit. He moved then, checking my shoulder in the process. “Fucking unbelievable,” he muttered behind me. I heard him open the coat closet and shut it. Then, he was in front of me again, putting on his suit jacket. Clicking his tongue once more, he said, “Instead of spending all your free time thinking about food, how about you worry about how fucking overweight and worthless you are?”

I flinched and looked up at him, studying his handsome features. Once upon a time, he was like a prince in a fairytale, sent from heaven to rescue me from the prison I’d grown up in. Now, I was starting to understand I merely traded one prison for another. The only difference was…this one hurt me so much more.

“You never touch me anymore.” My words came out as a ghost of a whisper, slipping out on accident as I bared my heart to him. I just wanted his love, the love he promised me when he proposed, the love I felt when he kissed me after we were declared husband and wife. That was all I wanted.

His eyes were directed into the living room, and I watched as his throat bobbed up and down. I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to be quiet. I didn’t need to embarrass myself any further. Moments passed in silence, and I finally dropped my head, giving up. Perhaps, I could try again another day, when he was in a better mood or when work wasn’t stressing him out so much.

“I haven’t touched you because I am repulsed by you.”

My husband’s words cut through me like a sharpened sword as my head snapped back up, eyes wide.

He was looking at me now, the hatred in his eyes burning right down into my soul. “You want your husband’s attention, Carrie? Then fucking earn it,” he snarled.

A single tear escaped my eye, landing on my cheek, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy walking away to see the pain, the damage he just caused.

I didn’t eat for the rest of the day, and when he didn’t come home for dinner that night, I sat out on the porch by myself and cried.

How was this my life?

Chapter Three

Grayson

“Who are you?"

“Humbly, I don’t like repeating myself,” I said before sighing. I rose from the chair, heading toward the window of his office to watch the winter mix cascade down from the gray heavens above.

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