“I’m done,” I said to myself in the mirror. “I’m so fucking . . . done.”
I began to cry and laugh as soon as the words left my mouth, even as my body began to tremble.
I’d given up my entire fucking life for this man, and for what? For him to beat me whenever I questioned him or did something he didn’t like? For him to control every little thing I did, from who I spoke with to the activities I took part in? Somehow, he had even convinced me that having a relationship with my parents was toxic for me, and that cutting them out was the only option if I wanted to have an open, healthy mind.
“Stupid,” I snapped at myself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
I had options; I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to . . . I just hadn’t realised that until now.
I wasn’t sure what had brought on this frame of mind. This thought process had never occurred to me before, I had always been so scared. Scared and never angry. Today, I was angry. Maybe the punch Anderson had landed on my face had knocked some sense into me. I’d allowed him to hurt me and drain me for far too long. He was evil. He’d manipulated me when I was at my most vulnerable. He’d used the heartache of the end of my relationship with Elliot against me so he could worm his way into my life and take over every little aspect of it.
At the start he was so wonderful – my knight in shining armour. He came to me when I was at the lowest point in my life, when getting out of bed became harder and harder to do every day. Everything I had lost in Elliot, I seemed to have found in Anderson. He worshipped me, told me he loved me, that he wanted to marry me, to have a family with me and be with me forever. I could now see that I was severely depressed and only saw the things I thought I wanted to see in Anderson . . . By the time I found out who he truly was, it was too late. I felt broken inside whenever he laid his hands on me, but once his anger subsided, he would return to the wonderful, kind man he was when we first met, and he would cry and cling to me as he apologised and swore it would never happen again.
But it would always happen again.
I dropped my hands and examined my face. The swelling and reddening of my flesh were nothing compared to injuries I had sustained before. I glanced at the white scar that cut through my eyebrow and recalled one of the first times Anderson hit me – he’d punched me so hard that my eyebrow busted open and I was knocked unconscious. That injury was the first time I’d woken up in a hospital because of my husband – the man who was supposed to love, cherish and protect me.
“Bollocks,” I grumbled. “What a load of fucking rubbish!”
I left the bathroom and headed straight for my bedroom. I felt myself begin to rush as I realised what I was doing. I was leaving. I was leaving Anderson, this flat, this godawful life I had with him, and I wasn’t looking back. I felt sick to my stomach as I kept jumping at every noise. I grabbed a bag and shoved some clothes inside, followed by my purse and a spare pair of shoes. My gut was churning, and I looked over my shoulder every few seconds out of blind fear.
After our fight Anderson had left the flat, saying he needed to cool down before he did something he would regret. Punching me in the face and making me cry were apparently not things he regretted doing, but he would regret them later. I knew what was going to happen next. He would come back to me with a gift, likely flowers, and he would be on his knees, crying, as he apologised for hurting me. But this time he wasn’t getting my forgiveness.
When the small bag was packed, I got dressed. I changed out of my pyjamas and put on a pair of thick leggings, a T-shirt and a hoodie, followed by my coat. I slid my feet into socks and my trainers, and put my hair up into a bun on the top of my head. I didn’t need anything else, but I hesitated because I had nowhere to go. I knew in my heart that my parents would come for me, but I couldn’t trust my father not to attack Anderson if he showed up. I couldn’t risk him getting arrested, because Anderson would spin the situation in his favour. He was a master manipulator; he could argue with God that He was really the Devil and he would somehow come out on top.
“Elliot,” I whispered.
I had no right to call him. Just the simple thought of him caused my chest to ache with need. I loved him – I loved him so much and I always had – but I’d ruined everything with my own stubbornness. I couldn’t call AJ as I’d cut him off too. I’d cut everyone off, because Anderson made me. He was the only person I needed – that’s what he’d said. And I’d believed him too. I shook my head as I left the bedroom and then paused by the house phone.
“Bailey.” I blinked. “Bailey.”
I hadn’t spoken to her in years, but she would help me, I knew she would. I picked up the phone and dialled the number I remembered, and hoped it was the one she still used. The phone rang a few times, and I held my breath as I waited for an answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” I cleared my throat. “Hey, Bailey?”
“Hiya,” came her response. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Noah,” I said. “Noah Ainsley.”
Using my maiden name felt good, and also like a big fuck you to
