What Love Isn’t

Chapter 8

I avoided Marcus for three days. Didn't answer his texts, didn't take his calls, wore turtlenecks to hide the bruises on my throat. My family asked questions—why wasn't Marcus around, had we had a fight—but I deflected, saying we just needed some space.

James knew something was wrong. He cornered me after English on Monday, his gray eyes worried.

"Jules, what happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Don't lie to me. You've been wearing turtlenecks in seventy-degree weather, and you won't look me in the eye. What did he do?"

"James, I don't want to talk about it."

"Did he hurt you?" His voice was very quiet, very controlled.

"It was an accident."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me what he did."

With shaking hands, I pulled down the collar of my turtleneck. The bruises had faded to a sickly yellow-green, but they were still visible. Still unmistakably finger-shaped.

James went very still. "He choked you."

"It wasn't—he didn't mean to—"

"He put his hands around your throat and choked you, Julia. There's no way to do that accidentally."

"He was just upset. We had a fight, and he lost his temper—"

"That's not an excuse. That's never an excuse." James's hands were clenched into fists. "You need to break up with him. Now."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. He's abusing you, Jules. This is abuse."

The word hit me like cold water. Abuse. That was something that happened to other people, not to me. Not to Julia Morrison, honor student, writer, girl with the perfect boyfriend.

"It's not abuse," I said. "He just has anger issues. He's working on them."

"Has he hit you before?"

I didn't answer.

"Julia. Has he hit you before?"

"Once. But he apologized. He said it would never happen again."

"And then he choked you. Jules, this is only going to get worse. You need to leave him before—" He stopped, his jaw working.

"Before what?"

"Before he really hurts you. Or worse."

"You're being dramatic."

"Am I? Do you know how many women are killed by their partners every year? Do you know how many of them thought it would get better, that he would change?"

"Marcus isn't going to kill me."

"You don't know that. A month ago, you probably would have said he'd never choke you either."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "I love him, James."

"I know you do. But love isn't supposed to hurt like this. Love isn't supposed to leave bruises."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand. Explain to me why you're defending someone who hurt you."

But I couldn't explain it, because I didn't understand it myself. All I knew was that the thought of breaking up with Marcus made me feel sick. He needed me. He loved me. And maybe, if I just tried harder, if I just didn't make him angry, things would get better.

"I need to go," I said, pulling away from James.

"Jules, wait—"

"I'll see you later."

I practically ran to my car, James's words echoing in my head. Abuse. This is abuse.

But it couldn't be. Marcus loved me. He'd said so a thousand times.

My phone buzzed: Please talk to me. I miss you so much.

I stared at the text for a long moment. Then, against every instinct I had, I typed back: Okay. We can talk.

We met at the coffee shop downtown, neutral territory. Marcus looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his hair uncombed, his clothes rumpled.

"Thank you for coming," he said as I slid into the booth across from him. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I almost didn't."

"I'm glad you did." He reached across the table, but I pulled my hands back. His face fell. "Julia, I'm so sorry. I know I keep saying that, but I mean it. What I did was unforgivable."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know. I just... I saw you with your cousin, and I got so jealous I couldn't think straight. And then we were fighting, and I just snapped. I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear I didn't mean to."

"But you did hurt me. You choked me, Marcus. You could have killed me."

"I know." His voice broke. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I've been seeing a therapist. I had my first appointment yesterday."

I looked up, surprised. "Really?"

"Really. I told her everything—about my anger, about what I did to you. She thinks I have some issues stemming from my dad leaving, and she wants to work with me on managing my emotions better." He pulled out his phone, showing me a screenshot of an appointment confirmation. "See? I'm serious about this. I'm going to get help."

"That's... that's good."

"I'm doing it for you. For us. Because I love you, and I don't want to lose you." He reached for my hands again, and this time I let him take them. "Please give me another chance. I promise I'll do better. I'm getting help. I'm going to change."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly.

"I don't know, Marcus. I'm scared."

"I know. You have every right to be. But I swear on my life, I will never hurt you again. Never. I'd rather die than put my hands on you like that again."

"You said that before."

"This time is different. This time I'm getting professional help. I'm taking this seriously." He squeezed my hands. "I love you, Julia. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Please don't give up on us."

I thought about James's words. About the bruises on my throat. About the fear I'd felt when Marcus's hand had closed around my neck.

But I also thought about the good times. The flowers and the love notes and the way Marcus looked at me like I was the most important person in the world. The way he made me feel special, chosen, loved.

"Okay," I heard myself say. "One more chance. But Marcus, if you ever hurt me again—"

"I won't. I promise. Thank you, Julia. Thank you so much." He came around to my side of the booth, pulling me into his arms. "I love you so much. I'm going to make you so happy. I'm going to be the boyfriend you deserve."

And I let him hold me, let him kiss me, let him convince me that this time would be different.

Because I was eighteen and in love and I didn't know any better.

Because I wanted to believe that love could fix anything.

Because I didn't understand yet that some things are too broken to be fixed.