What Love Isn’t

Chapter 11

The rest of Christmas break passed in a blur of forced smiles and careful lies. I spent every day at Marcus's apartment like I'd promised, letting him do whatever he wanted because it was easier than fighting.

Emma cornered me on Christmas Eve.

"What's going on with you?" she asked. We were in her room, supposedly wrapping presents together, but she'd been watching me for the past ten minutes.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Because you're acting weird. You're always on your phone, you barely talk to anyone, and you look like you haven't slept in weeks."

"I'm fine, Em."

"No, you're not." She set down the roll of wrapping paper. "Is it Marcus? Is he being a jerk?"

"No. He's great."

"Then why do you look so miserable?"

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do. You look miserable and scared and—" She stopped, her eyes widening. "Oh my god. Jules, is he hurting you?"

"What? No! Of course not."

"Then why do you have a bruise on your arm?"

I looked down. There was a faint purple mark where Marcus had grabbed me yesterday. I'd forgotten to cover it with makeup.

"I bumped into something."

"Julia—"

"I bumped into something, Emma. Drop it."

"I'm not going to drop it. If he's hurting you—"

"He's not!" I stood up, my voice rising. "Why does everyone keep saying that? He loves me. He would never hurt me."

Emma stood too, her face pale. "I'm telling Mom."

"Don't you dare." I grabbed her arm, probably harder than I should have. "Emma, please. There's nothing to tell. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

She looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out on her face. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. But if anything changes—"

"It won't."

But we both knew I was lying.

Christmas Day was torture. I had to sit through dinner, pretending to be happy while my phone buzzed constantly in my pocket. Marcus was angry that I wasn't with him, that I'd chosen my family over him on Christmas.

This is bullshit, he texted. You should be here with me.

I'll come over tonight, I promised.

You better.

I excused myself from dessert, claiming I had a headache. Mom felt my forehead and said I felt warm, that maybe I was coming down with something. She told me to go rest.

Instead, I drove to Marcus's apartment.

He answered the door shirtless, a beer in his hand. "Took you long enough."

"I'm sorry. I came as soon as I could."

He pulled me inside, kicking the door shut behind us. "You know what day it is?"

"Christmas."

"And where were you?"

"With my family. Marcus, we talked about this—"

"I don't care what we talked about. You should have been here." He set down his beer and grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks. "I'm your family now. Me. Not them."

"You're hurting me."

"Good. Maybe you'll remember next time."

He kissed me roughly, tasting like beer and anger. Then he pulled me toward the bedroom, and I knew what was coming.

"Marcus, can we just—"

"Just what? Talk? Watch a movie?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I didn't ask you to come over here to talk, Julia."

He pushed me onto the bed, and I didn't resist. I'd learned that resisting only made it worse. So I lay there while he took what he wanted, staring at the ceiling and counting the seconds until it was over.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

When he was done, he rolled off me and lit a cigarette. "You can stay the night."

It wasn't a question.

"I should go home. My parents will worry—"

"Text them. Tell them you're staying at Grace's."

"Marcus—"

"Do it, Julia."

So I did. I texted my mom that I was feeling better and was going to stay at Grace's house. She responded immediately: Okay, honey. Feel better. Love you.

I stared at those words—love you—and felt something crack inside my chest.

"Done?" Marcus asked.

"Done."

"Good." He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled me against him. "See? This is nice. Just you and me."

I closed my eyes and tried to believe him.