Fated Mates: The Beta

Pen:Chapter Eight

Pen

I was at work when I got the text from Chandler that he was home. My stomach twisted in knots at that and for the rest of my shift, I was nervous as hell. After the bar on Friday night, I stayed home because I was afraid of what Chandler would say if he somehow knew I went out.

Which wouldn't be a stretch if he knew. I was sure he had my location set on his phone somehow because I received a call from him while I was at the bar, asking what I was doing.

Around friends and company, he acted all sweet and slick like he did before we got married. He knew I was around people so he used his sugared southern accent and told me to have fun and be careful.

I knew as soon as he told me that in the way he said it, that when he got home from his business trip there would be hell to pay.

And now, Monday night, as I drove home from work I was trying and failing to hope that he wasn't angry at me.

I could just picture his face as soon as I walked in, contorted with anger and his fists would be clenched at his sides and he would tell me how stupid and inconsiderate I was for not letting him know that I would be going out.

Then he'd tell me that I was a slut or some other thing for putting myself out there.

He used to not be like this. He was sweet and treated me like a gentleman. He always smiled at me and told me how great I was and encouraged me to finish my nursing degree and never, not once, laid a hand on me in anger.

And it had all been a farce. A big ploy of his to get me to marry him and as soon as we said our I dos, he flipped a switch and began treating me like a piece of property. He looked over and judged every piece of clothing I owned. He knew my work schedule inside and out and knew the names of every person I worked closely with.

He kept me on a strict diet and watched everything I did or said in front of people and critiqued me on every little detail of conversation he heard from me. As far as being seen with him in public, I was to be seen and not heard. I was a pretty piece of jewelry for him in public and a punching bag for him at home.

And I mean that in the literal form. He didn't hit me immediately after we got married. He saved that for our first anniversary. All he did in the beginning was call me names and tell me how stupid this thing I did or said. And then on the very day of our first year anniversary, we were out at a fancy dinner, I smiled at the waiter after he brought me my wine and when we got into the car and drove a bit away from everyone, he smacked me hard across the face and asked me if I meant to embarrass him in the restaurant.

It was the first time I saw the monster and I began to fear being around him. I had thought about leaving him before that, but after that, while he was at work, I began packing a bag, thinking of staying at my parent's place because I still couldn't wrap my head around the man that I married, hitting me.

I called my parents and told them that I would be staying with them for a while and when they laughed at me and told me that Chandler had already called them and informed them about the "prank" he pulled on me and how I was furious about it. They told me that I needed to learn how to take a joke and to settle down.

And because, at that point in my marriage, he had already made me stop hanging out with friends and isolated me from everyone else, I had no where else to go. I sat with my luggage on the bed until Chandler got home with a giant bouquet of flowers and an apology.

It was confusing at the time because in my head, he was the man I loved and cared about again for the next few days. He would cuddle me on the couch and let me eat anything I wanted and we would laugh and joke around. And then he was back again. Being the venomous, angry man that called me names and made sure I ate correctly and didn't step out of line.

It was a vicious cycle for the past three years. He would hit me, be all sweet afterwards for a few days, and then go back to being cruel until the next time he laid his hands on me.

It was also during this vicious cycle that I learned, the hard way, may I add, that I could never leave. I tried once and it was the worst punishment he ever gave me. Walking around with a broken finger because 'I fell' was the worst hell I had endured. I was used to him slapping me around, but the day I went to a hotel and he found me, and broke my finger for daring to leave him, was the moment I knew I was stuck.

And now, on my way home to him, I was afraid of what he was going to do to me. I was afraid that because I didn't tell him I was going out, that he was going to make my punishment so much worse than previous punishments.

My heart was beating out of my chest and my breathing hitched when I saw him at the front door, waiting for me.

I sat in the car for a little bit longer, prolonging the pain I was sure to feel soon. When I saw him begin clenching and unclenching his fists, staring out at the car, I knew I took too long. I swallowed back a sob and wiped my eyes.

It would be worse for me if he saw me cry. He hated tears. He always said tears were only for births and funerals. Never for anything else.

I got out of the car slowly, grabbing my coat and drink from the center console and made my way to him. He smiled at me, always making sure to keep up appearances, as I walked up to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. As soon as I was inside and the door clicked behind me, I closed my eyes for impact.

"You went out." His deep southern accent held me in my spot in the foyer of our house and I stared straight ahead.

"It was last minute. The girls wanted me to go for Jen's birthday. I have been telling them no for a while, they were starting to get suspicious."

"You never asked me if you could go. You never even told me. Were you intending on telling me?"

I turned to look at him and nodded quickly. "Ofcourse I was."

He raised his blonde eyebrows at me and when he lifted his hand I flinched. He smirked at me and caressed my cheek. I tensed, waiting for it.

"You were there for a full hour before I called you, Button. Are you sure?"

I took a deep breath, feeling his fingers stroke over my cheek and nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was going to tell you after."

His fingers moved down to the nape of my neck and I braces for impact. I squeezed my eyes shut and he began chuckling softly.

"I've got you nice and trained up, don't I, Button? You already know you're in trouble."

I don't dare answer him because he's taunting me. I wait for it, and for a split second, nothing happens and I wonder if maybe he's not as angry as I thought. I peek my eyes open and he's glaring down at me with his dark, brown eyes.

He moves his hand up and squeezes my chin and jaw roughly, making my jaw ache. Automatic instincts have me pulling away, which was a huge mistake. He squeezes harder and then shoves my face roughly so that I stumble over my feet and fall to the ground.

"Tell me, little sl*t, did you talk to any men while you were there?"

"No." I stayed on the ground and stared at the polished wooden floor of the foyer. My chin and jaw is aching from his hand, but it wasn't so bad. I have had worse than that.

"You're a lying b*tch. I know you couldn't f*cking wait to get in there and start shoving your t*ts in all of their faces. What did you wear?"

"A black blouse and jeans."

"The black blouse that shows cleavage?"

I take a deep breath. "I wore an under shirt with it."

"Yeah, you'd like for me to believe that, wouldn't you? Because I found the outfit in the hamper." He raised his eyebrows at me and shook his head. "I didn't find an undershirt."

"I needed it for today. I have it on right now. I washed it."

"Did you wash it because you f*cked someone else? Because if I find out that you were with anyone else...I'll f*cking kill you."

I shook my head and pressed my lips together to keep myself from crying. This was always the threat. He was always telling me he was going to kill me and I wonder if maybe one day he would finally snap and do it.

"No. I didn't talk to anyone but the girls." I looked up at him, knowing it was almost entirely true. The only other person I had talked to was the man that had the panic attack and fell. But it had only been like two minutes max. Nothing bad. Just being a nurse.

"You better not be lying to me, Penelope Pig. Because if I find out, you'll wish I hadn't."

"I didn't talk to anyone else."

He nods and holds a hand down to help me up. Stupidly, I take it and he jerks me up to his chest and glared down at me with all of the hate in the world.

He grips the back of my neck roughly and and turns me to the direction of our bedroom. "Go shower and I expect you naked in bed." He shoves me roughly and I swallow the thick ache in my throat. I wait until I'm locked away in the bathroom before I start crying. It wasn't bad. Atleast the holds weren't. But it didn't mean anything. I was sure he'd hurt me more later. He was going to take it out on me in small little ways. Probably those hard pinches in the side that leave bruises or a few slaps here or there until he thought the point was made.

And now he expected me to sleep with him like nothing. Like I didn't know he wasn't out f*cking other women while he was out on business. He didn't even bother hiding the hickeys on his neck or the condom wrappers in his suit jackets.

He even came home one time with lacy pink panties tucked into his pants and had laughed in my face as he swung them around his finger and sniffed them. Then he threw them in my face and told me, me, to go throw them away.

I stood in the scalding hot shower, trying to get myself together before I went back out to him. If he even saw that I cried, it would be so much worse. No need to poke the dragon even further.

Once out of the shower, I saw the small purple imprints left on my skin from his fingers. I would need to get more makeup to cover them up. I still needed to protect the monster because despite everything, I was stuck with him and I couldn't let anyone see who he really was.