Page 59 of Between Regrets and Promises

I go to the kitchen and grab a bag of peas from the freezer as Weston sits at the table chugging whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Soph,” he says, meekly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“Don’t,” I tell him between gritted teeth, glaring and letting him get a good look at what he’s done to me.

My arm is killing me because I landed on it, my throat hurts, and my face is throbbing. He could’ve broken my damn arm, too—my livelihood depends on being able to play violin, and if he or any man tries to take that away from me, I don’t want to think about what would happen.

I sit on the couch, placing the bag on my eye, hoping it’s not swollen and won’t bruise but knowing better. If I don’t show up to that reception tonight, Lennon will come looking for me, and if I do show up, it will be more than obvious what happened. I could get an Uber, but Weston is too unpredictable for me to decide what to do. One wrong move and he could end me for good.

Weston follows me from the kitchen and sits on the couch next to me. “Please, Sophie.” Tears well in his eyes, and I’m not sure if his emotions are real or if this is another one of his acts.

If anyone should be crying right now, it’s me, because the man I thought I loved isn’t the man who hurt me. The thought of what that means is frightening. There are times when Weston is so damn sweet and others when he’s a monster. Though he’s been the latter longer than I care to admit.

“I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again,” he says as if he’s rehearsed it. “I promise to get help. I promise to go to counseling like you asked. I can’t lose you, baby. You’re all I’ve got left in my life.” His voice cracks as if he’s truly sincere, but I’ve heard it all before.

He’s playing to my emotions. I don’t know what to do at this point because his mood swings give me whiplash. I wanted him to get help so we can go back to how things were before, but he’s burned that bridge now. I wish I didn’t have to second-guess him, but it’s his fault I have those thoughts in the first place. He says he’ll get help, but after all this, I know it’ll only be to pacify me so I’ll stay.

I should call the cops on his ass and get him thrown in jail, but the justice system doesn’t usually work in the victim’s favor. The second he gets out, he’ll be out for blood.Myblood.

How the hell did I get myself into this situation?Because I wanted to be loved and have someone to love. How sad is that?

I close my eyes, letting the ice-cold bag rest on my eye until it’s numb. I tell Weston I’m tired and I’m going to take a shower. Once I’m done sobbing under the stream of water, I lie in bed, exhausted from the morning, though it’s not even noon yet. He doesn’t follow me, which I’m grateful for. I’m not sure I could stand to look at him.

After staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour crying, I somehow drift to sleep. When I wake, there’s a huge hole in my chest where my heart should be, and my body still hurts from this morning’s shitshow.

I glance at the clock and it’s nearly five p.m. I can’t be late to the reception, so I get dressed.

When I walk into the bathroom, I’m horrified by how awful I look. I barely recognize myself with my disheveled hair, puffy face, and swollen eye. There’s no way I’m going to be able to cover up the bruising and no amount of lying will convince Lennon otherwise.

But maybe, if I’m smart, they can save me tonight.

It might be my only way to get out of this house and away from Weston for good. Maybe things would be different if we didn’t live together. Maybe we rushed into this, and things moved too quickly. Regardless, his abusive, manipulative nature isn’t a fluke or a one-time thing. This is who he is. Since I moved in, his physical and mental abuse has only gotten worse.

As I’m getting ready, Weston comes into the bedroom and stands in the doorway with bloodshot eyes. He must’ve been drinking the entire time I was asleep.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the reception, remember?” I say in the reflection before turning around and facing him. “You should get dressed, honey.We don’t want to be late.” I’m walking on thin ice, hoping it doesn’t crack and I fall through.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he spits out.

Instead of showing my cards and getting upset, I swallow it down and give one of the best performances of my life.

“Baby, they’re expecting us,” I remind him as I walk toward him, hoping he buys my act. “If we don’t show up, Lennon will get worried, and we don’t want any extra attention on us. Just me and you, remember? Just me and you. It will be fun to get out of the house together.” I smile wide.

He seems to buy it, wrapping his large hand around the nape of my neck, then smashing his alcohol-soaked lips against mine. I force myself to kiss him even though I hate every fucking second. His hands move down my body, and as he squeezes my breast, he moans in my mouth. I’m disgusted by his touch and have to fight back a gag.

He moves his sloppy kiss down my jawline, ruining my makeup in the process, then sucks on my neck. He sucks hard, causing me to wince and pull back. That’ll leave a mark.

Weston’s eyes meet mine, his flaring with control. “I want to show every person there that you’re mine. You’re fuckingmine, Sophie.”

“Of course. They all need to know,” I lie through my teeth.

“Even Mason, your little fuck boy,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes as if he’s studying me.

I nod. “He knows, baby. He knows I belong to you. I’m yours, Weston.” I tell him what he wants to hear, and this seems to please him. He rubs his body against mine, and he’s hard as a rock. I swallow back the bile begging to come up.

Just as he’s convinced, my phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it, not wanting to lose his attention. I want to keep his focus on me and my words.

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