What Love Isn’t

Chapter 7

I wore long sleeves for a week, even though the bruises faded after a few days. I told myself it was because I didn't want to answer questions, but really, I think I just didn't want to look at them. Didn't want to acknowledge what they meant.

Marcus was true to his word—for a while. He gave me space to study, didn't complain when I said I needed time with my family, even encouraged me to hang out with Grace one weekend.

"See?" he said, kissing me goodbye. "I can be a good boyfriend. I told you I'd do better."

And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the incident at his apartment had been a one-time thing, a mistake born of stress and fear. Everyone made mistakes, right?

But there were still signs. Small things that I told myself didn't matter.

The way he'd check my phone when I wasn't looking. The way he'd ask detailed questions about where I'd been and who I'd talked to. The way his jaw would tighten when I mentioned James's name.

"I don't like you spending so much time with him," Marcus said one day.

"We're working on a project together. For English."

"Can't you switch partners?"

"The project's already half done."

"So finish it quickly."

"Marcus, he's my best friend. I'm not going to avoid him just because you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I just don't trust him."

"Well, I do. And you're going to have to deal with that."

He didn't like it, but he dropped it. Small victory.

But then came Thanksgiving break, and everything fell apart again.

My family always did a big Thanksgiving dinner—aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole extended Morrison clan crammed into our house. It was chaotic and loud and one of my favorite days of the year.

Marcus had been invited, of course. My mom had insisted, saying it would be nice for him to have somewhere to go since his mom was working.

"Are you sure?" I'd asked him. "It's going to be crazy. Like, really crazy."

"I want to meet your family. All of them." He'd smiled. "Besides, I want them to see how serious we are."

The day started out fine. Marcus arrived with flowers for my mom and a bottle of wine for my dad, charming everyone within five minutes. My aunts cooed over how handsome he was, my uncle asked him about football, and even Emma seemed impressed.

"He's cute," she whispered to me in the kitchen. "And he seems really into you."

"He is," I said, watching Marcus laugh at one of my dad's jokes. "He's great."

But as the day wore on, I noticed Marcus getting quieter. More withdrawn. He'd sit close to me on the couch, his hand possessive on my knee, and whenever I got up to help in the kitchen or talk to a relative, he'd follow me with his eyes.

"You okay?" I asked during a lull.

"Fine. Just tired."

"We can leave early if you want."

"No, it's fine. I want to stay."

But he didn't seem fine. He seemed tense, like he was barely holding something back.

The breaking point came when my cousin Jake arrived. Jake was my age, home from his first semester at college, and we'd always been close. He swept me up in a hug, spinning me around.

"Jules! God, I've missed you! College is insane—I have so much to tell you."

"I've missed you too! How's State?"

"Amazing. You're still planning to apply there, right?"

"Yeah, applications are due next month."

"Good. We can be college buddies. I'll show you all the best spots." He slung an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, let's grab some food and catch up."

I glanced at Marcus, who was watching us with an expression I couldn't read. "Marcus, this is my cousin Jake. Jake, this is my boyfriend, Marcus."

"Boyfriend, huh?" Jake grinned, shaking Marcus's hand. "Nice to meet you, man. You better be treating my favorite cousin right."

"I am," Marcus said, his voice tight.

"Good. Because if you're not, you'll have to answer to me." Jake was joking, but Marcus didn't smile.

We all got food and settled in the living room, Jake regaling us with stories about college parties and terrible roommates. I laughed until my sides hurt, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. This was what I'd been missing—easy conversation, genuine laughter, time with people who knew me before Marcus.

But Marcus wasn't laughing. He sat rigid beside me, his hand gripping my thigh hard enough to hurt.

"Marcus, you're hurting me," I whispered.

He released me immediately, but his expression didn't change. "Can we go?"

"What? We haven't even had dessert yet."

"I don't care about dessert. I want to leave."

"But—"

"Now, Julia."

There was something in his voice that made me stand up. "Okay. Let me just say goodbye to everyone."

I made my excuses—Marcus wasn't feeling well, we needed to go—and endured my family's disappointed protests. My mom pulled me aside in the hallway.

"Is everything okay, honey? Marcus seems upset."

"He's just tired. It's been a long day."

"Are you sure that's all it is?" She studied my face. "You seem nervous."

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

But I wasn't fine. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my coat, and I felt sick to my stomach.

The drive to Marcus's apartment was silent and tense. When we got inside, he exploded.

"What the f**k was that?"

I flinched. "What was what?"

"You and your cousin, all over each other. Right in front of me."

"We weren't all over each other. We were just talking."

"He had his arm around you!"

"He's my cousin, Marcus. My family."

"I don't care if he's your brother. You don't let other guys touch you like that."

"Like what? He gave me a hug!"

"It was more than a hug, and you know it. You were flirting with him."

"I was not! Marcus, you're being insane. He's my cousin!"

"So? That doesn't mean anything. I saw the way he looked at you."

"Oh my god." I pressed my hands to my face, trying to stay calm. "You're jealous of my cousin. My actual blood relative."

"Don't make me sound crazy."

"You are being crazy! You're seeing things that aren't there!"

"Am I? Or are you just so used to male attention that you don't even notice when you're encouraging it?"

The words hit me like a slap. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. You love it when guys look at you. You dress up, you smile, you flirt—"

"I don't flirt! I'm just friendly!"

"There's a difference between friendly and leading guys on, Julia."

"I'm not leading anyone on! I have a boyfriend! You!"

"Then act like it!" He was shouting now, his face red. "Stop smiling at other guys! Stop letting them touch you! Stop acting like you're available!"

"I'm not doing any of those things! You're the one with the problem, not me!"

He moved so fast I didn't have time to react. One second he was across the room, the next his hand was around my throat, pushing me back against the wall.

"Don't," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Don't tell me I have a problem."

I couldn't breathe. His hand was cutting off my air, and I clawed at his wrist, panic flooding through me.

"Marcus," I choked out. "Please."

He held me there for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds. Then he released me, and I collapsed to the floor, gasping.

"Shit." He backed away, his hands shaking. "s**t, Julia, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my purse. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait—"

"Don't touch me!" I backed toward the door, my hand on my throat. "Don't ever touch me again."

"Julia, please. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just—I love you so much, and the thought of losing you—"

"You just choked me, Marcus. You put your hands on my throat."

"I know. I know, and I'm so sorry. It won't happen again. I swear it won't happen again."

"You said that last time."

"This time I mean it. Julia, please. Don't leave. Let me make this right."

I should have left. I should have run out that door and never looked back. But I was scared and confused and I didn't know what to do.

"I need to think," I said.

"Okay. Okay, that's fair. Just... don't break up with me. Please. I can't lose you."

I left without answering, my hands shaking so badly I could barely drive. When I got home, I locked myself in my bathroom and stared at my reflection. There were red marks on my throat, already starting to bruise.

He'd choked me. Marcus had put his hands around my throat and cut off my air.

This wasn't love. This was something else entirely.

But even as I thought it, my phone was buzzing with texts from him.

I'm so sorry.

Please forgive me.

I love you so much.

I can't live without you.

Please, Julia. Please don't leave me.

And despite everything, despite the bruises on my throat and the fear in my chest, I felt myself wavering.

Because I loved him. Because he was sorry. Because maybe, just maybe, he really would change this time.

I didn't text him back that night. But I didn't block his number either.

And that was my first real mistake.