What Love Isn’t

Chapter 9

December arrived with the first snow and a false sense of security. Marcus was on his best behavior—attentive but not suffocating, affectionate but not possessive. He went to therapy every week and would tell me about what he was learning, how he was working on his anger issues.

"Dr. Chen says I need to work on my communication skills," he said one day as we studied in the library. "That I need to express my feelings before they build up into anger."

"That's good," I said, not looking up from my textbook.

"So I'm going to try to be more open with you. About what I'm feeling."

"Okay."

"Like right now, I'm feeling anxious because you've barely looked at me in the last hour."

I glanced up. "I'm studying, Marcus. We have finals next week."

"I know. I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong. I'm just... expressing my feelings. Like Dr. Chen said."

"Okay. Well, I'm feeling stressed about finals, so I need to focus."

"Right. Of course." He went back to his own textbook, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.

This was the new normal—Marcus constantly monitoring his emotions, constantly checking in, constantly needing reassurance. It was exhausting, but I told myself it was better than the alternative. Better than the anger and the violence.

My friends noticed the change too.

"He seems different," Grace said one day at lunch. Marcus had gone to get food, leaving Grace and me alone for the first time in weeks. "Calmer."

"He's been going to therapy."

"That's good. I'm glad." She paused. "Are you happy, Jules?"

"Of course I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just seem... tired. Like you're always walking on eggshells."

"I'm just stressed about finals."

"Is that all it is?"

I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw genuine concern in her eyes. For a moment, I wanted to tell her everything. About the bruises and the choking and the constant fear that I was one wrong word away from setting Marcus off again.

But then Marcus was back, sliding into the seat next to me with a tray of food.

"What are we talking about?" he asked, his arm going around my shoulders.

"Just finals," I said quickly. "Grace was asking about the English exam."

"Right. That's going to be brutal." He kissed my temple. "But we'll study together, right? Help each other out?"

"Sure."

Grace watched this exchange with an unreadable expression. "I should get going. I have to meet with my art teacher. Jules, text me later?"

"Yeah, definitely."

But I didn't text her. Because by the time I got home, I was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed.

The first time Marcus forced himself on me, I told myself it wasn't r**e.

We were at his apartment, supposedly studying but really just making out on his couch. Things were getting heated, and Marcus's hands were everywhere, pulling at my clothes.

"Marcus, wait," I said, pushing at his chest. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Come on, baby. We haven't had s*x in weeks."

"I know, but I'm just not feeling it right now."

"Why not?" His hands stilled, but he didn't move away. "Don't you want me?"

"Of course I want you. I'm just tired."

"You're always tired lately. Or stressed. Or not in the mood." His voice had an edge to it. "It's like you don't even want to be with me anymore."

"That's not true."

"Then prove it."

"Marcus—"

"Please, Julia. I need this. I need to feel close to you." His hands started moving again, more insistent now. "Don't you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Then show me."

And because I was tired of fighting, because I didn't want to make him angry, because I didn't know how to say no without starting a fight, I let him.

I lay there while he pulled off my clothes, while he pushed inside me, while he moved above me with his eyes closed and his breath hot on my neck. I stared at the ceiling and tried to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

When it was over, Marcus kissed me and said, "I love you."

"I love you too," I whispered.

But I felt dirty. Used. Like I'd given him something I couldn't get back.

It happened again a few days later. And then again. Each time, I'd say I wasn't in the mood, and each time, Marcus would push until I gave in. Sometimes he'd get angry. Sometimes he'd get sad, saying I didn't love him anymore. Sometimes he'd just ignore my protests and keep going.

I stopped saying no. It was easier that way.

James knew something was

wrong. I could see it in the way he looked at me—like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

We were at the coffee shop, the same one where Marcus and I had our first date. James had texted me three times before I finally agreed to meet him. Marcus didn't know I was here. I'd told him I had a doctor's appointment.

"You look tired," James said, sliding a hot chocolate across the table to me. He'd remembered I liked extra whipped cream.

"Finals week," I said automatically. "You know how it is."

"Jules." He leaned forward, his voice gentle. "Talk to me. Really talk to me."

"I am talking to you."

"No, you're giving me the same bullshit answers you give everyone else." He reached across the table like he was going to take my hand, then seemed to think better of it. "I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"You've lost weight. You have dark circles under your eyes. You barely smile anymore." He paused. "And you flinch every time your phone buzzes."

As if on cue, my phone vibrated on the table. Marcus's name flashed on the screen: Where are you?

My stomach clenched. "I need to go."

"Julia, wait—"

But I was already gathering my things, my fingers fumbling with my coat zipper. "I'm sorry. I just—I have to go."

"Is it him?" James stood up too, his jaw tight. "Is he the reason you're like this?"

"Like what?"

"Scared. You're scared all the time now."

"I'm not scared." But my voice shook, betraying me.

James stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Whatever he's doing to you, it's not okay. You know that, right?"

"He's not doing anything to me." The lie tasted bitter. "He loves me."

"Love doesn't look like this, Jules."

My phone buzzed again. Then again. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, making it hard to breathe. "I really have to go."

"At least let me drive you—"

"No!" The word came out too sharp, too loud. A couple at the next table looked over. I lowered my voice. "No. I'm fine. I'll text you later, okay?"

I didn't wait for his response. I practically ran out of the coffee shop, my hands shaking as I unlocked my phone.

Five missed texts from Marcus:

Where are you?
Julia, answer me
I called your house. Your mom said you left an hour ago
Where the f**k are you
If you're with James I swear to god

I typed back quickly: Had to run an errand. On my way to your place now.

The three dots appeared immediately. Then: You better be.

When I got to Marcus's apartment, he was waiting by the door. He grabbed my wrist the second I walked in, pulling me inside and slamming the door behind us.

"Where were you?"

"I told you, I had an errand—"

"Bullshit." His grip tightened. "You were with him, weren't you?"

"With who?"

"Don't play dumb, Julia. James. You were with James."

"I wasn't—"

He shoved me against the wall, his face inches from mine. "Don't lie to me. I can always tell when you're lying."

My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might burst. "Okay. Okay, yes. I ran into him at the coffee shop. But it wasn't planned, I swear—"

"You ran into him." His laugh was cold. "You just happened to run into him."

"Yes! I was getting coffee and he was there—"

"And you just had to sit down and have a nice little chat with him? While I'm here waiting for you?"

"It was ten minutes, Marcus. That's all."

"Ten minutes too long." His hand moved from my wrist to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. A threat. "I don't want you seeing him anymore."

"He's my best friend—"

"I'm your boyfriend. I should be your best friend." His thumb pressed against my windpipe, just enough to make me gasp. "Do you understand me?"

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

"Say it."

"I understand."

"You won't see him anymore."

"I won't see him anymore."

He held me there for another moment, his eyes searching mine. Then he let go, stepping back. "Good. Now come here."

I didn't move.

"Julia. Come here."

My legs felt like lead, but I made them move. Marcus pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair like nothing had just happened.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just love you so much. The thought of losing you to someone else—it makes me crazy."

"You're not going to lose me."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He tilted my face up, kissing me softly. "Let me make it up to you."

He led me to the bedroom, and I knew what was coming. I tried to summon some enthusiasm, some desire, but all I felt was tired. So tired.

"Marcus, I'm not really—"

"Shh." He was already unbuttoning my jeans. "Let me take care of you."

I closed my eyes and let it happen. Let him undress me, push me onto the bed, spread my legs. I made the sounds I knew he wanted to hear, moved the way he liked me to move. I'd gotten good at pretending.

Afterward, he held me close and told me he loved me. I said it back because that's what you do. That's what love is, right?

Even when it hurts.