Page 2 of No Strings
MORGAN
The hit comes quickly. Ethan’s go-to move; a backhand across my face. This time, he has put enough force behind it that my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. I stumble back, landing on my arse.
I fight back the tears. I worked out fast that he likes it when I cry. He keeps going when I break down. He gets aroused, and that never ends well for me.
This has been my life for the last three years. He wasn’t always like this. Not until he lost his job.
The fact that I earn more hurts his ego. And then he started drinking, which in turn made it worse. I swore I would never become my mother, but here I am, doing exactly that.
“You can’t fucking do anything right can you? All you’re good for is a fucking root, and even then, you just lay there.”
A retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it along with the blood that has gathered in my mouth. I’m not sure what has set him off this time. It could be as simple as me notreplying to his text in a certain timeframe or because I said hello to another man.
He walks up to me, and I hate that I flinch when he raises his hands. A sick crooked smirk takes over his face. I can't help when my eyes drop to his crotch, growing wide as I watch his pants become tighter as his cock starts to firm.
This isn’t new but that doesn’t stop me from silently begging no. Please no. Please, just walk past me.
As if reading my mind he clarifies, “Oh this isn’t for you, I’m saving it for Evie.” Grabbing a hold of his firm cock he thrusts his hips in a suggestive manner.
Who the hell is Evie? Why the hell do I care?
“This is for you.”
Before I can process what is happening, his hands are at either side of my head, and he is forcing my head down as he brings his knee up connecting with my nose. The pain is instant and radiates all around my head. He throws me to the side as if I’m nothing. Which I guess to him, I am.
I hold my nose, trying to catch the blood. It doesn’t work, the warm liquid runs between my fingers, dripping to the floor.
The tears I can’t hold back fall freely. Just like the blood from my nose.
“You’re a pathetic cunt.”
He lifts my head by my hair, forcing me to open my eyes. He spits on me as he lets go, letting the dead weight of my head hit the floor, bouncing on impact. As he turns on his heels to grab his keys, I let out a breath.
He looks at me, then at the blood on the floor from my nose. Before spitting on me again, he tells me to clean it up and finally leaves.
Once the room has stopped spinning, I sit up, my body protestingevery move. Stumbling to my feet I search for my phone and find the one name I didn’t have to hide or delete.
Hitting dial, I press the phone to my ear and wait. As soon as I hear the hey, I manage to croak out one word. “Spinifex.”
I busy myself with packing. Only essentials. I have a few hours, but I want to be ready. I’m ready to close this part of my life. Chalk it up to a learning experience. Can I call this learning? It sure as fuck was an experience.
Walking past a photo of us from our high school graduation I pick it up, allowing myself to remember when things were simple. Both young with the world ahead of us. How fucking naive was I? I don't register what is happening until I launch the frame across the room and watch as the glass shatters against the wall.
I fight the instinct to clean it and walk back to our room. Reaching up for my duffle bag pulls on my sore muscles, but I ignore it. I need to pack.
Throwing clothes, books, documents and my laptop in it. I don’t need anything else. Really, I could get away with just my documents and laptop. But I want my own clothes when I get back to Barrenridge.
While rummaging around I find the rose I dried. The first time he gave me flowers was after the first time he hit me. To say sorry, and that it wouldn’t happen again. I snort at the memory and then crush the dried petals in my hand and drop the dead flower into the bin.
No more.
Once I’m convinced I have everything, I sit on the couch. Waiting. Not too long now.
I close my eyes, letting my mind wonder. This wasn’t the plan. How did things go so sideways? We were in love.People in love don’t hurt one another. But my aching body says different.
My thoughts are interrupted by the pounding on the door of our apartment. It mimics the pounding in my head. It doesn’t matter that I took paracetamol, the ache is constant. I know who it is, I’m just surprised that he’s already here.
I open the door.
