The Baby Project

Chapter 5

I know it’s been a while, but I just didn’t want to rush this. Enjoy learning about Danny and expect more about him in the future.

I appreciate every comment, vote and fan so don’t be afraid if you have any questions or opinions <3

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“Happy Birthday, Danny.” I smiled at sat next to my beaming boyfriend as he laughed and pulled me closer. I didn’t care that I was dating a 20 year old. Our 6 year age gap didn’t bother me, nor did the fact that he wanted us to stay a secret. “Thanks Buttercup.”

Ten minutes later, he had left to go to the bathroom when his phone flashed on the table. I picked it up, curious about whom would be texting him at 10:30 at night. My stomach churned at the sight of his supposedly ex-girlfriends name that had popped up on the screen.

 

[Candace]

Babe, I made reservations for Marco’s at eight, hope you can still make it x

“What do you think you’re doing?” I looked up, startled at Danny’s voice as he entered the room.

“I was just-”

“Invading my privacy is what you were doing.”

“I-”

“Just shut up and go get me a beer.” I stared unsurely at the six empty beer glasses sitting on the table. Not wanting to disappoint him, I walked into the kitchen to retrieve another.

“Babe, there’s none left. You’ve drunken them all.” He turned and stared at me for a moment, and then all hell broke loose.

“What do you mean there’s none left? When I ask you to get me a beer, get me a bloody beer!” Striding over to where I stood in the doorway, he grabbed me by the arm and flung me effortlessly onto the ground. I yelped when I hit the wooden tiles, my head bashing cruelly against it.

Danny walked over to the fridge and opened the door, obviously looking for something much stronger then beer. Pulling out a large bottle of whiskey, he skulled the contents in mere seconds. He stood still for a moment before he tilted his head towards me. His eyes, which once held me captivated, now seemed dull and lifeless. Suddenly, he violently smashed the bottle against the marble bench, sending shards of glass into the air and covering me in dust.

Before I knew it, what was left of the bottle was being thrown in my direction. I brought my hands up, on instinct to cover my face, but not before the broken bottle wedged itself into my lower shoulder, and I felt the warm trickle of blood run down my arm.

I stood up slowly, removing the larger chunks of glass from my shoulder and staring my boyfriend disbelief. He laughed walked drunkenly closer to me, placing his hand on my bloody arm and punching me in the gut. I doubled over in pain, every inch of skin feeling like it was on fire.

“Get out.” His voice was no longer sweet and calm, but short and deadly.

“What?”

“I said,” He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to the door, opened it, and threw me out into the cold night, “Get out.”

The one man I thought would love me has beaten me within an inch of my life. I lay in the soft grass, my fingers digging into the dirt. I was alone, and all I could do was scream.