What Love Isn’t

Chapter 12

January arrived with bitter cold and a return to school. I'd been dreading it—seeing James again, seeing Grace, having to maintain the facade that everything was fine.

But Marcus had other plans.

"I'm picking you up every morning," he announced on the first day back. "And driving you home."

"I have my own car—"

"I don't care. I want to make sure you get there safely."

What he meant was: I want to make sure you're not seeing James.

So every morning, Marcus picked me up. And every afternoon, he was waiting in the parking lot. If I was even five minutes late, he'd call, demanding to know where I was and who I was with.

I stopped going to the library. Stopped eating lunch with Grace. Stopped doing anything that might make Marcus suspicious.

James tried to talk to me in the hallway one day. Marcus saw.

That night, he hit me so hard I saw stars.

"I told you," he said, standing over me while I lay on his apartment floor, my cheek throbbing. "I told you to stay away from him."

"I wasn't—we were just talking—"

"I don't want you talking to him. I don't want you looking at him. I don't want you thinking about him." He crouched down, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I understand."

"You're mine, Julia. Mine. Not his. Mine."

"I'm yours."

He pulled me up and kissed me, tasting my blood on his lips. "I'm sorry. You know I hate when I lose control like that. But you make me so crazy sometimes."

"I know."

"It won't happen again."

But we both knew it would.

The bruises got harder to hide. I started wearing more makeup, heavier foundation. Long sleeves even when it was warm inside. Scarves to cover the marks on my neck.

Grace noticed. "Jules, are you okay? You look—"

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, but—"

"I said I'm fine, Grace. Can you just drop it?"

She stepped back, hurt flashing across her face. "Okay. Sorry for caring."

I watched her walk away and hated myself. But I couldn't tell her. Couldn't tell anyone. Because if I said it out loud, it would be real. And if it was real, I'd have to do something about it.

And I wasn't ready for that.

The s****l abuse got worse too. Marcus stopped asking, stopped pretending to care if I wanted it. He'd just take, whenever and however he wanted. In his apartment, in his car, once in a bathroom at a party while people laughed and talked just outside the door.

I stopped saying no. Stopped fighting. I'd just go somewhere else in my head, count the seconds, wait for it to be over.

Sometimes I'd cry after. Marcus would hold me and tell me he loved me, that I was being too sensitive, that this was normal for couples who loved each other.

And I wanted to believe him. Because if this was normal, then I wasn't being abused. I was just being a girlfriend.

Right?