Page 33 of Liberating Bells
“Mark, you’re scaring me,” I whimper, which only makes the situation worse.
Mark’s upper lip curls at my silence, and he steps impossibly closer. “Oh, I’m scaring you? Poor Izabel. Let me rephrase since youforgot how to fucking speak. Were you dancing with Ryan? After I gave you specific instructions not to go near him tonight?”
His voice gets louder and louder as he yells at me, echoing off the walls surrounding the area where we’re standing. Mark quickly takes this discussion from a zero to a ten. I clutch mywrist to my chest and cower away from him. Again, I can’t get myself to answer him, which is unacceptable.
“Were you, Izabel?” he asks again, slamming the palm of his hand against the wall right next to my head. “It’s a simple question. Yes or no.” I yelp and flinch away, blurting out my defense.
“It was only a dance!”
Mark backs up slightly, his hand still braced on the wall, caging me in. His eyes narrow at me. “Only a dance? What about whenIasked you to dance earlier? Hm?”
I look at him warily, still worried his hand is going to strike me like it hit the wall. Mark’s never hit me before. I would never imagine that he would, but I haven’t seen him this agitated in a while.
“I was busy. I had to work.”
“But you’ll always have time for Ryan, I see.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I?—”
He interrupts me with a scoff and pulls away as he begins to pace. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know what I don’t understand, Izabel? I give youeverything. I give you everything you want. A trip to Italy, a relationship, a fucking rock to wear proudly on your finger, a wedding to look forward to! And this is how you act?”
Mark motions with his hand back toward the ballroom, where the gala is still happening, and says, “The way you act is a fucking embarrassment!”
“I-I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, guilt creeping into my bones. I messed up tonight. I shouldn’t have danced with Ryan. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway.
Mark turns his head to me, and I lose my breath. His eyes are frostbitten, cold and detached. He takes another step and grabs my chin in his hands, tilting my face up toward his.
“Sorry?” he growls. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be better,Bells.”
“I will,” I squeak. My stomach churns with the use of Ryan’s nickname. It sounds so foreign coming from Mark, almost as if it’s dripping in poison. “I’ll be better. Please, can you calm down? You’re going to attract attention. Why don’t we talk about this?”
Mark is glaring daggers at me. “Fine, let’s talk. I’m not enough for you. You always make me feel like I’m never enough.”
“You are!” I exclaim. I feel like the situation is slowly getting out of my control. I glance around, apprehensive and worried someone from the Historical Society might round the corner and bear witness to this scene. Mark’s obvious hurt and anger are tearing at my heart. I never wanted to hurt him. Tears sting my eyes, one tear trickling down my cheek. “You are enough. You’re everything I want.”
He hits me with a hard frown. “I know you went to see him that night. Did you fuck him? Is that why you didn’t want to come up to my apartment? Would you rather go sleep with him?”
Dread crashes through me as I study him, trying to see through his anger, but I can barely recognize him at this moment—and that thought is frightening.
“No, of course not! Where is this jealousy coming from? What is going on with you?” I plead again, tears now streaming freely down my face.
“You know, I try really hard for you, Izabel. I try to be everything you need. Instead, you go off galivanting with him in public—dancing and flirting over dinner. Making me look like afool. But I still try for you. I try to get your friends and your family to like me, but it’s just never good enough. I’m never good enough.”
His eyes glint with something I can’t name, and it has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Against my will, my body trembles, and I take a step back.
“Iloveyou, Izabel. But you don’t love me back. You’ll never love me like you love him.” Mark trails his nose up and down my jaw, the same way Ryan did only half an hour ago. But it’s different. Where Ryan’s intimate gesture made me feel tingly down to my toes, Mark’s movement makes me want to vomit.
“I do love you, Mark. I love you!” I cry. “I don’t love anyone but you.”
Mark whimpers, burying his face in my neck. I feel the bile rise in my throat. I love this man, I do. Memories of all of our good times flicker across my vision—Italy, graduating college, Mark getting accepted into law school, summers abroad. All those good times are what led me to fall in love with him.
“But you don’t. You don’t love me the way you should. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even be giving Ryan a second thought. He’s in the past. I’m your present, your future. That ring on your finger proves it.”
I think about what he says, and I let it sink in. I would give anything to be anywhere else but here right now.
Mark’s fingers trail up the back of my neck and creep into my hairline. He grips the back of my head and cranks my neck back, so I’m looking up at him. I yelp as he pulls my hair from their roots. In a swift motion, Mark smashes his lips onto mine, smothering my cry. As he moves his mouth roughly against me, I try to push him off, desperation and fear clouding my vision as I struggle against him.
He pulls away, his breath heavy. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I cry out again, beginning to feel helpless.
