Page 3 of Stealing His Cupcake
More tears stream down my cheeks as I crouch by his chair. He’s still glaring at the offending mushrooms. How did I mess that up? I was so sure it was the right kind. No wonder Craig’s angry with me. But why would he think I would cheat on him? I don’t even look at other men. After Craig got angry with me when I attended a male colleague’s birthday party, I kept all work relationships strictly professional, and I don’t have any other friends.
“Craig, please,” I beg, not caring how pathetic I sound. “Please look at me. I swear, I never cheated on you. I love you.”
“Oh, really?” He scoffs. He jerks his hand from mine and stands up. “I should head home. I’m usually patient with you, but I’m not in the mood for a ‘How not to be a shitty girlfriend for dummies’ lecture tonight. I’ll text you.”
Barely even looking at me, he strides for the door. “No, Craig, wait! Please!” I cry, my vision blacking out on the edges with fear. I can’t let him leave like this. I can’t be alone. “I love you. Please, Craig. Don’t leave.” The door clicks shut, my words echoing in the empty apartment.
Chapter 3
Amy
Noisefromthefrontdoor jolts me awake and I squint around in confusion. It’s still dark and my eyes are gritty from all the tears I’ve shed as I cried myself into an uneasy sleep. Pain shoots through my neck as I lift my head. I fell asleep curled up on the floor by the door, hoping Craig would change his mind and come back.
Muffled cursing and scraping follow, as if someone is trying to unlock the door but keeps missing the keyhole. I spring to my feet so fast my head spins with a sudden bout of vertigo. Could Craig be back?
“Fucking bitch,” I hear just before the door opens. The weight on my chest lifts. Craig is back. He’s drunk and angry, but he came back to me. That’s what’s important.
Steadying himself against the wall, Craig looks at me. “Ah, there you are. Mygirlfriend.”
I don’t like his sarcastic tone but now is not the time to argue with him. “Yes, your girlfriend. I’m so happy you’re here.”
“You should be, babe,” he drawls. “You turned me down earlier, but I’m generous enough to give you a second chance. B—” He burps loudly. “Bedroom. Now.”
Seeing him barely able to cross the living room without bumping into the table, I doubt he’ll be able to do anything other than pass out in the bed. I speak before thinking. “Maybe we should just sleep? You clearly need to—”
“You think I can’t get hard after one or two beers?!” Craig shouts. He’s clearly had more than two, but I don’t point it out. “I manage to get hard every time I’m with you,” he continues, regarding me with a mean sneer, “even though you’re a fat, ugly bitch.”
More tears well up but I don’t argue because he’s not wrong. I’m not pretty and my clothes don’t come from the thinner side of the “plus sized” shelf, either. “Please, let’s just go to bed,” I whisper. “You’ll sleep this off and everything will be fine again.”
His hand moves faster than I considered possible in his inebriated state. My head snaps to the side as his palm lands on my cheek, confusion registering before the pain arrives.
He hit me. He’s never hit me before. There was that time I was too tired after a double shift at work and tried to say no to sex and he got furious, but he didn’t hit me.
My hand flies to rub my stinging cheek as I look at Craig in shock. Instead of looking remorseful, he’s smirking. “Should ‘ave done that sooner,” he slurs. “Shut you up nicely, didn’t it?”
I stare at him in disbelief. All of my instincts are screaming at me to ignore the slap. He didn’t mean it. He’s drunk and he’ll probably regret it tomorrow. But…
He hit me!
Memories of Kayla urging me to stand up for myself and define boundaries flash through my mind. She said Craig was abusive and that I needed to leave before things got worse, but surely this isn’t that. It was just one slap. I can handle a slap. After all, when my mother wasn’t passed out fromwhatever shit she shot up her veins, she slapped me around plenty when I was a kid. Craig didn’t mean it and he will surely apologize for it once he sobers up, but perhaps setting some boundaries isn’t such a bad idea.
“That…that really hurt,” I say, wishing my voice wouldn’t tremble. “I don’t care how drunk you are, Craig. You can’t hit me. That is not okay.”
“I can’t, huh?”
This time, I dodge the hit by hastily stepping back. Nearly losing his balance, Craig stumbles after me and grabs my hair. The stench of liquor envelops me as he leans closer. “Please, stop,” I whimper. “This is not you, Craig. We-we need to set up some boundaries. Kayla said—”
I realize my mistake even as the words leave my mouth. Craig despises Kayla. He strictly forbade me from talking to her, which was the only one of his wishes I ever disobeyed. Kayla is like a sister to me and I couldn’t simply stop seeing her, even if Craig didn’t like it. I just did it in secret. But now that secret is out and Craig is rightfully furious.
“Kayla, huh?” His voice is deceptively calm but the painful grip on my hair betrays his anger. “You’ve been talking to that meddling bitch again? Even after I told you not to? Seriously,babe, can’t you do anything right?” The foul stench from his mouth envelops me as he scoffs. “Alright, humor me. What did perfect Kayla tell you to do? Did she encourage you to sleep around?”
“I’m not sleeping around!” I cry out when his grip tightens even further. “She just told me to set boundaries. Please, Craig.”
With Craig still gripping my hair, I can’t avoid the slap this time. My ear rings and I feel my face swelling where Craig’s hand touched my skin. He’s a big man with big hands and, as a professional football player, he’s also strong. I always liked that he could pick me up and carry me to bed when he was feeling romantic. Right now, I’m far less appreciative of that strength.
“How’s this for boundaries?” he asks before slapping me again. Then he yanks on my hair, sending me tumbling to the floor. My head hits the edgeof the coffee table and pain explodes in my temple. I curl up on the floor, fighting the sudden urge to vomit.
A pair of boots appear in my blurred field of vision. One nudges my shoulder. “Useless bitch,” Craig spits out. “I never want to see your fat, ugly mug again.”
