Page 83 of Liberating Bells
“Your father and I are so proud of you, Izabel. I hope you know that. We couldn’t have wished anything better for you,” my mom says. I can hear the pride laced in her voice.
If only she knew...but that was Mark’s whole game. Mark’s a professional at appearing like the perfect fiancé. The only exceptions are Juliet, who never liked him to begin with, and Ryan, who has seen the bruises Mark has left on me. He won over my parents right away, and they haven’t doubted him since. I know they would come to my defense the minute I said otherwise, but they had no reason to question Mark. I haven’t ever given them a reason. And Mark would quickly throw me up against a wall if I even thought about ruining that perfect image of his.
My stomach churns as I finish our conversation and then hang up the call. I close my eyes and lean my head back one more time, letting the sound of the raindrops on the windshield soothe me. I’m still concerned that I could throw up again.
Your father and I are proud of you.Will they still be proud of the woman I’m slowly becoming? The woman who feels like a prisoner in her own life? Who’s about to marry a man who is holding her in shackles? No, I don’t think they would be proud of me if they knew everything that was going on behind the scenes.But I’ve always been good at putting up a front—just like Mark. You could say I learned from the best.
It’s exhausting, though. Pretending that everything is perfect when it’s not.
I finally put the car into drive with a sigh and stop at a gas station to get a Sprite before going home. I take baby sips and let it settle my stomach.
Dropping my bag by the garage door, I walk into the house. Mark is waiting for me in the kitchen with his arms crossed. His eyes are hard as he takes in my rumpled appearance.
“Where the hell were you?” he grits out.
I look at him with a weak expression. God, please, not tonight. “I was at the gym.”
He scoffs. “Right. The gym. Is that codeword for Ryan’s bed?”
I close my eyes and shake my head, uncertain if I heard him correctly. “What?”
“I know you’ve been hooking up with him.”
My eyes are wide as I stare at him, at a loss for words. “H-how?”
My words fall flat, and I can see the consequence before it even happens.
That was indubitably the wrong response.
Mark pushes off the counter with his hips and takes a few steps toward me. His hand grips my jaw too tight, his fingers digging into the soft skin as he forces my eyes to his. “If you’re going to lie, you might want to make sure your accomplice is on the same page. Nashville? His secretary told me he had a meeting in Nashville over the Fourth of July. Convenient, seeing as you happened to be there too. Do you think I’m an idiot, Izabel?”
“N-no,” I fumble. My brain feels fuzzy, and my ears begin to ring with the implications of Mark knowing I was with Ryan in Nashville. I don’t have the energy for this.
“And how about this weekend at the hospital, hmm?” he growls, turning and walking a few steps away. “You know one of my clients is an ER nurse there? She stopped by today for a meeting and saw your picture sitting on my desk. Imagine her confusion since she saw you lovey-dovey with Ryan and his family there this weekend. I had to practically pry it out of her, but she said you were making out as if you were horny teenagers.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I squeak. “P-please, don’t hurt him.”
In a swift motion, Mark picks up a glass flower vase and throws it at me. His arm strains as he puts all his strength into hurling the glass piece. I skirt to my left, and the vase hits the wall, shattering into a million pieces. “You’re sorry?” He laughs darkly and goosebumps erupt over my skin, my palms growing clammy. “This kind of behavior is unacceptable. I’ve never been more disgusted with you. I can barely even look at you right now. You’re so fucking lucky I’m the one marrying you, ’cause any other guy wouldn’t put up with this kind of behavior. I should go over to Ryan’s house and put a bullet through his head right now. At leastthenyou might actually show up for our wedding on Saturday. I’ve never met such a sad excuse for a woman as you.”
My hands are shaking again, my stomach roiling. Mark already made this threat, and now he’s reinforcing it. I have no doubt he means business, and that thought is frightening. I don’t think I could live with myself if something happened to him because of me.
“You’ve had your fun with him, but this shit’s gotta stop. Do you understand me? I’m not going to have my wife make a fool of me,” he snarls. “If you don’t get your shit together, I’m going to do it for you, starting with that sad excuse of a boyfriend of yours. And trust me, baby, I’m not bluffing. I’m doing you a favor right now. Don’t fucking mess it up. Got it?” I nod, keeping myeyes trained on the ground like a scolded child. The corners of my eyes sting with tears. “Good. Clean this shit up.”
Then he stalks out of the living room, leaving me alone. The master bedroom door closes with a loud slam, making me jump from the loud noise. I lean against the wall and let my back slide down until I’m sitting. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I take a few steadying breaths. Then I turn to the shards of glass beside me. I pick a couple of pieces up with my fingers and set them in the palm of my hand. I need a dustpan and a broom.
Standing up, I walk over to the closet where we keep cleaning supplies, but my right foot gets tangled up with my other one and I start falling. My hands go out to brace myself, and as I fall, my palm lands directly on one of those glass shards. I feel it slice into my skin, and I cry out. I slowly turn my hand around to observe the damage. I gasp when I see the huge gash across my palm that is bleeding profusely. Blood pools in the palm of my hand and drips onto our hardwood floor beneath me.
“Shit,” I whisper. It’s deep. I scramble to my feet and grab a paper towel, pressing it to the wound. “Mark!” I call out. He doesn’t respond. “Mark, I need you!” He still ignores me.
I swear and then pull the towel away. I get a quick glimpse of the injury before it starts bleeding again. I’m going to need stitches to close this. I make myself a temporary bandage, so I won’t bleed all over my car and grab my keys. There’s an Urgent Care right down the road from us I can go to.
My hands shake as I pull out of the garage and drive to Urgent Care. I keep glancing down at the paper towel covering the gash. It’s slowly turning from white to red. This is now the third time Mark’s hurt me. This time, it ended with me needing stitches. He didn’t directly hit me, but he is responsible for this injury just as much as the others.
As I drive, I start to question myself: how much longer can I survive living this way?
30
IZABEL
