Always There

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

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Songs for this chapter:
• Wrong Direction - Hailee Steinfeld

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen:

Lexi's POV

"All right. Thank you for tonight," I tell Liam quietly. It's late, Mac and James are likely already asleep, and I don't want to wake them up.

He holds my gaze. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

I shrug. "I have work tomorrow, but I'll try to stop by your place on my way home. I really need to get to bed, though. Goodnight."

Liam nods and pulls me into a quick hug. "Goodnight, Lexi. I love you."

I give him a small smile before slipping into my apartment and shutting the door after me.

I only have enough time to twist the lock before my back slams against the door and I slump to the floor.

Our first date was nearly a year ago, and yet I'm not in love with him. Not even close. He's been telling me that he loves me since a month after we started dating, but I just don't love him back. At all.

We haven't even made our relationship official. Every time he asks me to be his girlfriend, I always tell him I'm not ready, that I can't commit to a label yet.

But it feels like I'll never be ready.

With a deep sigh, I push to my feet and slip off my Converse. My legs feel heavy as I drag myself into my bedroom, and once inside, I don't even bother to shut my door before dropping my purse onto my desk and heading to my floor-length mirror.

I gasp at my reflection.

One thing I learned about Liam very early on in our relationship is that he has severe anger issues.

Soon after, I learned that he thoroughly enjoys to take his anger out on me.

Usually, it isn't this bad. Usually, he pushes me into a wall or shoves me against a table and screams in my face until his anger has been dispelled, and then we go to his couch and lay down and he holds me until I'm done crying, and then we go about our lives as though nothing had happened at all.

The marks usually aren't too bad. A bruised hip, a scraped knee, a deep scratch down my thigh or arm.

Today, I wasn't so lucky.

He slapped me across the face so hard that he knocked me off my feet and onto my knees, which are both now bruised. He then grabbed my by the neck, hauled me onto my feet again, and pinned me against the wall by the throat. He spat in my face and left me with fingertip-shaped bruises along both sides of my neck and one cheek much pinker than the other.

I pull my dress up and over my head with a sigh. My purple knees will be easy to hide because it's early November and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for me to wear tights under my dresses and skirts and jeans rather than shorts, but the bruises on my neck will be far trickier to conceal, especially when I'm in costume during the show.

I toss my dress in my laundry basket and plop down onto the stool in front of my vanity. I reach for a small makeup brush and a tube of concealer before tying my hair up into a knot so that I can practice how I'm going to cover these bruises tomorrow.