What Love Isn’t

Chapter 10

Christmas break arrived like a reprieve I didn't deserve. Two weeks away from school, from the constant pressure of maintaining the illusion that everything was fine.

But being home meant being around my family, and my family was starting to ask questions.

"Honey, are you feeling okay?" Mom asked on the third day of break. We were in the kitchen, and she was making her famous sugar cookies. Normally I'd be right beside her, stealing dough and laughing. But I was just sitting at the table, staring at my phone.

Marcus had been texting me all morning. He was angry that I hadn't come over yet, that I was "choosing my family over him."

"I'm fine," I said automatically.

"You don't look fine. You look exhausted." She set down her rolling pin and came to sit beside me. "Is everything okay with school? With Marcus?"

"Everything's great."

"Julia." She put her hand over mine, and I had to fight the urge to pull away. "You can talk to me. About anything."

"I know, Mom."

"Do you?" Her eyes were searching, worried. "Because lately it feels like you're somewhere else. Like you're here but not really here."

"I'm just tired. Senior year is a lot."

She didn't look convinced, but she let it go. "Well, try to get some rest while you're home. And maybe spend a little less time on your phone? I feel like I'm competing with that thing for your attention."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "Sorry. I'll put it away."

But I didn't. I couldn't. Because if I didn't respond to Marcus quickly enough, he'd get angry. And if he got angry, he'd—

My phone buzzed. I'm coming over.

My blood went cold. No! My family's home. We can't.

I don't care. I need to see you.

Marcus, please. Tomorrow. I'll come over tomorrow and stay the whole day.

Not good enough. I'm on my way.

"s**t," I whispered.

"Language," Mom said mildly. Then, seeing my face: "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just—Marcus is coming over."

"Oh." She brightened. "That's nice! I haven't seen him in a while. I'll make extra cookies—"

"No!" I stood up too quickly, my chair scraping against the floor. "I mean, we're just going to hang out in my room. We won't need cookies."

Mom's smile faded. "Julia, you know the rules. Door stays open when you have a boy in your room."

"Mom, I'm eighteen—"

"And you're living under my roof. Door stays open."

I wanted to argue, but I knew it would only make things worse. "Fine. Whatever."

I went upstairs to wait, my anxiety ratcheting higher with every passing minute. When the doorbell rang, I practically ran to answer it.

Marcus stood on the porch, looking perfect in his leather jacket and dark jeans. He smiled when he saw me, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Hey, baby." He pulled me into a hug, his lips brushing my ear. "Miss me?"

"Of course."

He came inside, charming and polite as he greeted my mom. She offered him cookies, and he accepted graciously, complimenting her baking. He asked about her work, about my dad, about Emma. He was the perfect boyfriend.

If only she knew.

We went up to my room, and I left the door open like Mom had said. Marcus looked at it, then at me, his jaw tightening.

"Close it."

"I can't. My mom said—"

"I don't care what your mom said. Close the door, Julia."

"Marcus—"

He got up and closed it himself, turning the lock. "There. Better."

My heart was pounding. "She's going to come check—"

"Then we'll hear her coming." He sat back down on my bed, patting the space beside him. "Come here."

I sat down, keeping some distance between us. He noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just—my family's home."

"So?"

"So we can't—I mean, we should just hang out. Talk."

His expression darkened. "I didn't drive all the way over here just to talk."

"Marcus, please. Not here."

"Why not? You embarrassed of me?"

"No! I just—"

"You just what? Don't want me anymore?" He moved closer, his hand sliding up my thigh. "Is that it?"

"That's not it." I tried to move his hand away, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Then what's the problem?"

"There's no problem. I just think we should wait until—"

"I'm tired of waiting." His other hand went to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. "I'm tired of you making excuses."

"I'm not making excuses—"

He kissed me, hard and demanding. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. When I made a sound of protest, he bit my lip hard enough to make me gasp.

"Marcus, stop—"

"Shh. Your family will hear."

That's when I realized he didn't care. He wanted this, here, now, with my family downstairs. It was about control. About proving he could do whatever he wanted with me.

I stopped fighting. Let him push me back on the bed, let him pull at my clothes. I turned my head to the side and stared at my bookshelf, at all the books I used to love, and tried to disappear inside my own head.

It was over quickly. Marcus kissed my forehead and told me he loved me. Then he got up, fixed his clothes, and unlocked the door like nothing had happened.

"I should go," he said. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"All day?"

"All day."

"Good girl." He kissed me again, gentle this time. "I love you, Jules."

"Love you too."

After he left, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I felt numb. Hollow. Like I'd left my body and couldn't quite figure out how to get back in.

There was a soft knock on my door. "Julia? Can I come in?"

I sat up quickly, smoothing my hair. "Yeah."

Mom opened the door, carrying a plate of cookies. She took one look at my face and set the plate down. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." She sat down beside me, and that's when I realized I was crying. "Did something happen with Marcus?"

"No. Everything's fine. We're fine."

"Julia—"

"Mom, please. I'm just tired. Can you just—can you leave me alone for a bit?"

She looked like she wanted to argue, but something in my face must have stopped her. "Okay. But I'm here if you need to talk. About anything."

After she left, I went to the bathroom and locked the door. I turned on the shower and sat on the floor, letting the sound of the water drown out my sobs.

I didn't know how to explain that I felt violated in my own home. That my boyfriend had just—

No. I couldn't think about it. If I thought about it, I'd have to admit what it was. What he'd done.

And I wasn't ready for that.