You know those scenes in movies where you're watching the female character run onto the street and there's a car speeding towards her, and all you could do is yell at the screen 'move' 'jump' 'get the hell out of the way,' but all they do is stand there. The pure frustration you feel at how stupid a character could get is ridiculous. You never know why the girl that ran right into traffic won't budge away until you're put into a similar situation.
Fear.
Fear paralyzes a person, keeps them rooted in place, and makes it undeniably harder to jump out of the way of the car that's coming right at you. Once fear takes hold of you, it'll shake you to your fucking core, and everything around you blurs.
Fear instills inside of you, taking control of your entire body, making it near impossible to speak, to walk, to even run away from the looming threat that was standing right in front of you. In my case, the looming threat and the car coming towards me was my father.
I hadn't seen him or Ali since I left him the divorce papers, and I was thankful that the studio apartment I rented in Yorba Linda wasn't on my father's or my ex-husband's map. My father considered it a poor city, and I could see his distaste evident by the pure disgust painted across his face as he looked around the five-hundred-square-foot apartment.
He looked out of place in his Armani black suit and Edmond leather briefcase. His light hair was pushed back like always, and the green eyes we shared burned a hole right through me. I had just gotten home from work and barely slipped onto my pajamas before there was a knock on the door. I assumed it was the old lady who lived across the street who always baked cookies and apple pies and loved sharing them with me.
It wasn't Lucinda. It was him, my father, the man that ruined my life. The man that ruined everything.
"This is where you've been hiding out." He spoke. "Disgusting."
"What are you doing here?" I was surprised by how strong I sounded.
"Ali doesn't want a divorce. He wants a child." He spoke, kicking the box by his feet, as he stepped towards me.
I swallowed, my nerves coming back when I saw that familiar glint in his eye. "I don't care what Ali wants. I don't want a child."
Not with him anyway.
"Iris, you're embarrassing me." He shook his head, "You better not be whoring around like your mother."
"Not everyone who doesn't want to stay married is a whore." I muttered, subconsciously taking a step back.
"I left you for too long and look at you. Living in a fucking dump." He enunciated as he kicked another box on the floor, knocking out the books that didn't make it onto my shelf.
"I like living here."
"I'm taking you back to Ali. Go, and get dressed."
"No."
"Don't be stupid." He gritted out through clenched teeth, and I saw him close the distance between us.
I stayed where I was, half out of fear and the other half because I wanted to stand my ground. His hand came out before I could process anything; my head whipped with the force of the slap. The harsh sound echoed the empty living room, and I swallowed back a cry at the intensity of the hit.
Fuck.
My cheek was burning from the impact, and I held back the urge to raise my hand to cradle the pain. Each time he hit me felt like the first time. The pain was fresh, and it stung, but even all of that pushed aside, nothing hurt more than knowing it was my father who was emitting the pain, that it was my father who should have been the one protecting me from men like him.
YOU ARE READING
The Ache Between Us
Romance"Tell me what you want." He murmured, his finger trailing up and down my forearm. Goosebumps erupted at his touch and I shivered, my eyes fluttering shut at the trivial touch, and deep down I knew it was ridiculous that he still had any sort of asc...
