Accidental Lover

Point

racing with anxiety. "Emily, he's going to kill me," I whispere

faint scent of mold. Alex had been raging upstairs, his anger and frustration boiling over like a pot left

ily's voice was calm, but I c

bove a whisper, my throat constricted with fear. "He's

but they felt like a distant echo, a reminder of

piercing eyes, the gentle touch. I fell deeply in love with hi

one. A criticism here, a raised voice there. I brushed it off as stress, as

nded earlier that night. It was a charity gala, a sea of tuxedos and

s wife. Alex had been upset, his eyes flashing with

ape, no respite. I wanted to scream, to shout, to break free,

said, her voice firm. "You can't sta

k

in the soul. But I was scared, like a child in

She asked a question that I

d myself that question a lot when

to you la

ve you," she replied,

aging path. A faded scar on my arm served as a reminder

night I'd picked up painting. It was years ago, when the abuse first started. It was a way to express

y hand, the way the colors blended on th

s anger, his control, anymore. I glanced at my latest painting, the col

the last things I held dear in my life. He would

ed me with love and attention. The way he held my hand

ings, the dismissing, the accusing. I brushed it

e fear. I thought it was a one-time thing, that he would nev

ting, losing myself in the colors, the str

gered, a constant reminder of what I

thought about Alex, the man I loved, the man I

scared of what would happen

t racing, I sat up in bed, disoriented. Alex was st

, his voice venomous. "You

all, invisible. But he saw me, his

, expecting the worst. But he just stood there, his chest

r this," he growled, hi

ong. I never knew. But I knew

run, he adv

spect me," he snarled, h

oking back, I realize that our re

looks. He was the star quarterback, and I was a cheerleader. We were

d, gentle, and submissive. Alex, the quintessential college star athlete with the disarming smile, and con

ecame a full-time homemaker. We bought a beautiful house in the suburbs, and I sp

fect. But sometimes, I wonder if

hink about how our relationship had changed over the yea

punches, kicks. I tried to defe

he ground lik

he shouted, his fists hitti

myself, but he just kept hittin

self, leaving me broken a

escape. But how? He had me tra

ame. The apologies. The te