He knows what he’s done.

He’s Ryle again, and he knows what he’s just

done to me. To us. To our future.
I utilize his panic to my advantage. I shake my head and I whisper, “It’s
okay, Ryle. It’s okay. You were angry, it’s okay.”
His lips meet mine in a frenzy and the taste of scotch makes me want to
puke now. He’s still whispering apologies when the room begins to fade out
again.

•••

My eyes are closed. We’re still on the bed, but he’s no longer fully on top of
me. He’s on his side, his arm wrapped tightly over my waist. His head is
pressed against my chest. I remain stiff as I assess everything around me.
He isn’t moving, but I can feel his breaths, heavy with sleep. I don’t
know if he passed out or if he fell asleep. The last thing I can remember is
his mouth on mine, the taste of my own tears.
I lie still for several more minutes. The pain in my head begins to worsen
with every minute of consciousness. I close my eyes and try to think.
Where’s my purse?
Where are my keys?
Where is my phone?
It takes me a full five minutes to slide out from under him. I’m too
scared to move too much at once, so I do it an inch at a time until I’m able
to roll onto the floor. When I can no longer feel his hands on me, an
unexpected sob breaks from my chest. I slap my hand over my mouth as I
pull myself to my feet and run out of the bedroom.
I find my purse and my phone, but I have no idea where he put my keys.
I frantically search the living room and kitchen, but I can barely see
anything. When he head-butted me, it must have left a gash on my
forehead, because there’s too much blood in my eyes and everything is
blurry.
I slide to the floor near the door, growing dizzy. My fingers are shaking
so hard, it takes three tries to get the password right on my phone.
When I have the screen up to dial a number, I pause. My first thought is
to call Allysa and Marshall, but I can’t. I can’t do that to them right now.
She just gave birth to a baby a matter of hours ago. I can’t do this to them.