Page 12 of Guarding The Phoenix: Vol. 1

Kylie

Thestormoutsidewasas depressing as my current mood. It had been gray and cool all day with the rain. It made me wonder if nature was reflecting my feelings. Like I had superpowers or something. The reality was far less thrilling.

My marriage was over.

This was it for Carlos and me, the end of the road for this sadistic mind-fuck of a relationship. I couldn’t handle being in this relationship any longer. It was too hard. And it wasn’t love. I didn’t know if Carlos ever really loved me or if I was a means to an end.

The shift from the doting, smooth charmer into an abusive, uncaring asshole still left me shaken. How had I not seen through his lies?

I never should have married him in the first place. When he first began flirting with me, I’d been so naïve and hadn’t seen the monster that lay beneath the surface. He had charmed me with gifts and attention, making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. The seductive campaign had given me hope that I would finally have a family. For someone who had grown up in foster care, the temptation had been too good to resist. He offered me the world on a silver platter, always bringing me expensive gifts and taking me to the best restaurants and clubs.

He had even proposed in grand fashion. He sent a gorgeous cocktail dress and designer shoes to me at work, along with a hairstylist, makeup artist, and nail technician, with instructions that I was to let them pamper me. I was picked up in a limo, dressed to the nines, and ferried to an airport, where Carlos stood before a sleek private jet, holding a rose, and wearing a tux.

When he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, to fly with him to Vegas that night and be his forever, I said yes without a thought. I’d been star struck and in love. I thought he was my prince come to rescue me.

If only I had understood what he would really grant me—hell.

In the year since our marriage, I had become a shell of my former self. The abuse and the control began slowly. So slowly at first that I didn’t even realize it was happening. But that’s what narcissistic abusers do. They gaslight you until you think you’re crazy. They make it seem like their anger was your fault. If you had only listened better, behaved more in the manner they deemed appropriate, stopped being who you were and let them mold you into what they wanted.

I hated him even more than I had ever loved him. It was a devastating truth I could no longer avoid. But the real secret was I hated myself most of all, because I fell for his lies hook, line, and sinker. I’d been so desperate to have someone give a shit about me that I ignored all the red flags and warning signs. I had watched him ridicule wait staff and be dismissive to people he considered beneath him, never once thinking he would turn on me.

As long as I lived, I would never forget the first time he hit me. I had gone out with girlfriends from my old job. When I returned home that night, I was a little tipsy, thinking I would seduce my husband. Instead, Carlos had taken one look at the dress I’d worn and went into a fit of rage. He called me a whore. Accused me of sleeping around. When I stood up to him and told him that just because we were married, it didn’t mean he could dictate what I wore, he backhanded me so hard I fell to the ground. But the nightmare hadn’t been over, because he followed me down and raped me on the floor of our bedroom. Afterward, he was apologetic, saying he loved me and had been blinded by that love.

And I forgave him, thinking I must have done something wrong. Ihaddressed like a slut and deserved it for making my husband appear weak.

It was the first time, but not the last. No, that happened last week. Most of my bruises had healed, but my hopes and dreams lay torn and scattered over the debris field that was our marriage. I was heartbroken because I really had loved him—until he turned on me with fury and fists, much more Jekyll than Doctor Hyde.

Shoving my makeup bag into my suitcase, I zipped it up. I was only taking what was absolutely necessary with me. I wouldn’t even take my wedding ring. I didn’t want any reminders of him or this marriage. He could keep all of it. It was time I made a fresh start away from the heartache and pain. Rebuild myself into someone I could respect instead of the terrified shell I’d become.

“What the fuck is this?”

I spun around at the venom-filled snarl. Carlos’s wrathful expression promised pain as he stalked my way. Fear clasped a tight hand around my throat and squeezed. His approach was scarier than if the Grim Reaper had appeared. I retreated one step, then another, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. My heart leaped into my throat, and my heart rate sped up. My palms were sweating, but somehow, I straightened my spine and found the courage to speak. “I’m l-l-l-leaving you. Getting married was a bad idea. I think we’ll both be happier if I just leave. I don’t want anything from you. Just let me go, and then we can both be free. You won’t get so mad all the time and will be happier.” I hated the pleading tone in my voice. The way it trembled instead of sounding assertive. Fear roiled in my belly like an angry sea.

His eyes narrowed menacingly as he pursued me. “I think not, wife. The only way you’ll ever leave me is in death. Our vows are till death do us part.”

He backed me up against the wall with a snarl, and I wanted to pee in my pants. I had witnessed this expression more than once, and it never ended well.

A despondent tear slipped down my cheek. And then another. “Please.” I couldn’t stop the tremors or the fear as it grabbed hold. Would he kill me this time? How much pain could I endure before I decided to end it all with a bottle of pills?

I stared into his eyes. All I spied was madness and hatred with a side heaping of evil.

“Carlos, please be reasonable,” I pleaded, trembling.

Rage contorted his face, and he backhanded me. The force snapped my head against the wall with a violent thud. My jaw throbbed so painfully that I whimpered and brought my arms up to protect my face. Not that it would do any good. He always got his hits in. The painful blows left me staggering in agony.

If I didn’t escape, he’d kill me. I knew it within the depths of my soul. Whether it was this beating or the next. One day, he would fly into a rage, and I would die.

The unfairness of it ripped my soul to shreds.

Air escaped my lungs at the hammered fist to my belly. I sucked in air, but the pain, oh god, the pain overrode everything else. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t escape. Carlos knocked me to the ground with a vicious blow to the head. I crumpled to the floor, holding my head, praying it would all stop. Excruciating pain erupted like a tidal wave of agony as his foot connected with my midsection. I screamed, my tears falling like rain.

At the soft touch of a hand against my shoulder, my eyes snapped open, and I bolted up in bed. My heart raced as if I had run the hundred-yard dash in four seconds flat. My skin was slicked with clammy sweat. And my bedroom swam into focus.

“Whoa. It’s just me, Kylie. You were having a nightmare and screaming in your sleep.”

Axel stood at my bed in his dark green cargo pants and gray tee shirt, leaning over the side. His jade-green eyes were wide as they searched my face. Gone was the stoic mask he normally wore, and in its place were worry and concern.

“S-s-s-sorry,” I replied, my throat hoarse and teeth chattering from the aftereffects of the nightmare.

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