Safe In His Arms.

~CHAPTER ONE~

~CHAPTER ONE~

Jordan P.O.V

Everyone has heard the saying "A real man wouldn't hurt the women he can't live without" and I'm sure most of you understand that saying more than I do. For the past 2 years I have been on the run from my abusive ex-husband who doesn't seem to like the idea that I left him. I have dyed my hair, put in contacts, moved towns and don't get in any close relationship to anyone (especially men) for mine and their own safety.

Waking up and forgetting my new appearance has given me quite a fright sometimes. My old golden blond hair is now chocolate brown, and my bright green eyes are now brown as well. I have started to wear black jeans and black shirts now days, in hopes to draw as little attention to myself as possible. And I stay home, only leaving for work or food.

I hate living in the constant fear that he will one day find me. I hate waking up in the night screaming and shacking while breathing hard, from another nightmare. I hate all the memories that won't seem to leave me alone no matter how much I need them to. I hate my life, and I hate him for making me this way.

He wasn't always so protective and he wouldn't dare raise a hand against me or any other women. He was against domestic violence and was disgusted in the men that would harm a lady. I loved that man. I loved him for the nice, funny, caring and outgoing man he was. WAS!!!

On our 4th anniversary, we had planned a romantic dinner at home when he gets home from work at five. Five O'clock came by and I had placed our lovely dinner on the table, smiling to myself as the aura of the juicy brown chicken and the variety of green vegetables filled the room. Not bragging or anything, I was a damn good cook!

Five O'clock came and gone. Then six O'clock and then seven and by then the food had gotten cold. I had tried calling his mobile several times but it had gone straight to voicemail. I was mad. How dare he forget about our anniversary and how dare he ruin our dinner that I took ages creating to perfection. I paced around the dining room with the house phone in my hands, calling him every 2 minutes, but only to get put to voicemail.

As minutes went by, my boiling anger didn't seem to die down. I could have sworn steam was coming out from my ears and nose. But then an hour went by and then another and then four more and I was now sitting on the couch at one O'clock in the morning waiting for my husband.

My anger was replaced by fear and I rocked my feet back and forth from the couch as all the horrible things that could have happened to him raced through my mind. I continued to call his number but he still wouldn't pick up.

As the sound of his voicemail ringed in my ears for the thousandth time, my fear increased and I started biting my short nails (which I always do when I'm scared or nervous.)

It was three in the morning when I heard the familiar manly laugh echo outside my apartment hallway. It was then joined by roughly four other male laughs as they came closer and closer to the door, hitting the walls and tumbling on the way. When the laughs were loud enough to tell me that they were right outside my door, I slowly stood up, dropping the forgotten house phone and ignoring the crash as it hit the floorboards. The silence was filled by the jingling of keys and then followed by the door being unlocked and thrown open, banging against the wall and knocking down a glass vase filled with roses my husband gave me the week before.

Five men then walked in through the door, one of them being my husband. A few stumbled against each other, throwing them all forward, crashing into the expensive glass lamp and table closest to the door. This brought all the men in hysterics again. I took a step back, forgetting that I was in front of the couch and tripped into a sitting position on the sofa cushions. If possible (being in a room with five tall and muscular men), I felt more vulnerable sitting down, so I scrambled back onto my feet, making sure to keep an eye on the men in front of me who were now attempting to get up but kept falling onto each other again, causing more laughter.

"Hun... What's...? Where were you?" I stammered. All men stared at me, as if only now realizing there was someone else in the room. "You..." My husband pointed at me. "You... Need to shut up... I was having f-fun with my f-friends at the b-bar... A-and I was having f-fun... A-and... You, shhhhhh" He slurred placing his index finger to his mouth before pitching forward and falling flat on his face, the men all laughed again, some holding their stomachs and rolling around the floor, while he lay there groaning.

"Baby... You're drunk. Why? Why didn't you answer my calls, I was worried sick about you. Oh! And dinner. We had plans, wh-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" He screamed, stopping me in mid-sentence. I yelped and I could feel my body start to shake. Something is wrong. He is never like this. Even when he is drunk. He jumped to his feet, only falling twice before walking towards me with an evil glare in his eyes. His friends had all stopped laughing and turned to grin at me, as if they already knew what's going to happen.