The Me You Can't See (H.S)

69

Haven's POV:

My arms wobble as I begin to pull myself up. My stomach aching at every twist and turn, and I think it's safe to assume I've got at least a couple bruised ribs, if not broken. 

My legs threaten to give out beneath me as I struggle to my feet and grabbing onto the wall my legs stiffen beneath me.

Looking down at my knuckles, my hands are a mess but stretching out my fingers I'm glad to feel that none of them seem to be broken. At least not right now. Actually, if I'm being honest, my pinky is looking a little large. 

But all of that can't take away the attention from the cigarette burn right above the crease where my thumb and my index finger meet. The skin slightly blisters and the dried blood around it lets me know that this will be a bitch to get clean. 

Looking around the room, my first order of business is to clean up the papers that lay scattered. I know there was more to that file than the quick glance I gave it. But from what I saw, there is so much more that I don't know and if this interaction proved anything, it's that I need to catch up. 

God, I forgot how hard Malcolm hits. 

A faint buzzing pulls my attention, and it takes me several seconds to locate the sound, especially with the raging ringing in my ears. Walking over to it, having ended up on the floor amongst the commotion, I still when I see the name flashing. 

Harry's name adorns my screen with a photo I'd taken on our mini vacation not even a couple weeks ago. I push down the disgust as it butts its ugly head into my mind. 

But the disgust is almost entirely masked with anger, the pit of my stomach from his actions a testament to just that. I haven't allowed myself any time to process this, but hell, I don't even know the extent of it. 

My look through was brief and there is so much left to figure out. But I also can't have Harry walking in on my apartment in this state. 

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what was going to happen all along. Did he laugh at me as he drove off, knowing who was waiting for me? Knowing what he's done to me?

Or more so what he was going to do to me. 

Is that the kind of man he is? 

A week ago, I would have sworn my on my life that he would never, could never, do such a thing. And yet, here I am with nothing but proof that says otherwise. 

Making no move towards the phone, I watch the buzzing stop, and a little bit of me relaxes with relief that maybe I won't have to answer it. But my reprise is short-lived when the screen lights up almost immediately after. 

With a shaky hand, I quickly bend down and with my thumb hovering over the button, I will my voice to steady. 

"Hey!" I say happily, remembering that this day was supposed to be a happy one. 

Even this was ruined.

"Hey sunny, I'm so sorry, but this is taking a little longer than I thought. Might be home later than expected." he says, and I grip my phone in a vice at the use of the pet name. 

"No worries, give me a call when you're on your way home." I say, and that word feels like acid on my tongue. 

It feels wrong to say now...home. What home? This isn't a home. 

This isn't anything anymore. 

This is just broken. 

"Will do! I love you." he says, and I can't bear this any longer. This is wrong. This isn't what this is supposed to be, and I have to swallow the sob that threatens to escape.