What Love Isn’t

Chapter 6

November brought cold rain and the first time Marcus really scared me.

We were at his apartment, supposedly studying for midterms. But Marcus kept distracting me, kissing my neck, running his hands up my thighs.

"Marcus, stop. I really need to study."

"Study later." He tried to pull me onto his lap.

"No, I need to study now. This test is twenty percent of my grade."

"So? You're smart. You'll do fine."

"That's not the point." I pushed his hands away. "I need to focus."

His expression darkened. "Are you seriously choosing homework over me right now?"

"I'm not choosing anything. I'm just trying to study."

"You've been here for an hour, and you've barely looked at me."

"Because I'm studying!"

"You know what? Fine. Study. See if I care." He stood up, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I ask you to come over, to spend time with me, and you just sit there with your nose in a book."

"You said we were going to study together!"

"I said that so you'd come over. I didn't actually think you'd ignore me the whole time."

I stared at him, anger and disbelief warring in my chest. "So you lied to me."

"I didn't lie. I just... I wanted to see you."

"Well, you're seeing me. I'm right here."

"No, you're not. You're somewhere else, thinking about school and your stupid test and everything except me."

"My test isn't stupid, and you're being ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm being ridiculous because I want my girlfriend to pay attention to me?"

"I pay attention to you all the time! I'm with you constantly!"

"Not constantly enough, apparently."

I stood up, shoving my books into my bag. "You know what? I'm leaving. I'll study at home."

"No, you won't." Marcus moved between me and the door. "You're not leaving."

"Marcus, move."

"Not until we talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're being controlling and manipulative, and I'm done."

"Done?" His voice went very quiet. "What do you mean, done?"

"I mean I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you telling me what to wear and who I can talk to and how I should spend every second of my time. I'm tired of feeling like I can't breathe."

"So what, you're breaking up with me?" He stepped closer, and I saw something dangerous flash in his eyes. "Over a fight about studying?"

"It's not about studying. It's about everything. You're suffocating me, Marcus."

"I'm loving you. There's a difference."

"No, there isn't. Not the way you do it."

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. "You don't mean that."

"Let go of me."

"Not until you take it back."

"Marcus, you're hurting me."

"Good. Maybe then you'll understand how much you're hurting me."

Fear spiked through me, sharp and cold. This wasn't the Marcus who brought me flowers and wrote me love notes. This was someone else entirely.

"Let. Go."

For a long moment, he just stared at me, his grip tight on my arm. Then, suddenly, he released me and stepped back.

"Get out," he said, his voice flat.

"What?"

"You heard me. Get out. If you think I'm so terrible, if you're so tired of me, then leave."

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, my hands shaking. But before I could open it, Marcus was there, his hand on the doorframe, blocking my way.

"Wait," he said. "Julia, wait. I'm sorry."

"Move, Marcus."

"Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that. I just—" His voice cracked. "I can't lose you. I can't. You're everything to me."

"You hurt me."

"I know. I know, and I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. I just got scared. The thought of you leaving..." He was crying now, real tears streaming down his face. "Please don't go. Please. I'll be better. I'll give you space to study. I'll stop being so jealous. Just please don't leave me."

I should have left. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to walk out that door and never look back. But Marcus looked so broken, so genuinely devastated, that I felt my resolve crumbling.

"You really hurt me," I said again.

"I know. I'm so sorry." He reached for my arm—the one he'd grabbed—and gently pushed up my sleeve. There were already bruises forming, dark marks in the shape of his fingers. His face went white. "Oh god. Julia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—I didn't realize—"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. It's not fine at all." He kissed the bruises gently, his tears falling on my skin. "I'm a monster. You should leave me. You should run as far away from me as you can."

"Marcus—"

"But please don't. Please. I love you so much. I'll do better. I'll be better. Just give me another chance."

And because I was eighteen and in love and didn't know any better, I stayed.

"Okay," I whispered. "One more chance."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. "Thank you. Thank you. I promise I'll make this right. I promise."

But as I stood there in his embrace, staring at the bruises on my arm, I felt something inside me break.

This was the moment. This was when I should have left.

But I didn't.

And that decision would cost me everything.