My Boyfriend

Chapter One: The Break-Up

Darkness enveloped the hallway as I stumbled into my bedroom, nearly losing my balance and collapsing onto the floor. My body felt heavy with exhaustion and dread. Forcing myself onward, I navigated through the faint shadows until I reached the bathroom. I flicked on the light, its harsh glow flooding the small space and reflecting off the pale tiles. When I looked into the mirror, my face appeared drawn and weary, eyes rimmed with worry. My arm throbbed with a persistent, sharp sting, a painful reminder of where my boyfriend had cut me just hours before. The wound, still raw and angry, contrasted starkly against my trembling hands as I tried to steady my breathing and gather my thoughts.

Tiny droplets of blood seeped through the makeshift bandage I had hastily wrapped around my arm, staining the countertop with vivid red spots. My hands trembled as I reached into the medicine cabinet, fumbling past half-empty bottles and scattered ointment tubes. I retrieved a fresh box of band-aids, a roll of sterile gauze, and a bottle of peroxide. The sharp, medicinal scent filled the air as I unscrewed the cap, steeling myself for the sting I knew would follow. Carefully, I prepared to clean the angry gash, determined to tend to my wound as best I could, even as the ache pulsed beneath my skin and anxiety gnawed at the edges of my mind.

He hadn’t hurt me badly enough to require stitches, but this time he came dangerously close. My hands trembled as I peeled away the old, blood-soaked bandage, the fabric clinging stubbornly to the edges of the wound. With a shaky breath, I tossed the stained strip into the trash can beside the bathtub, watching as it landed with a soft thud against the plastic.

The exposed gash looked angry and raw, the skin around it swollen and tinged with red. I reached for a clean washcloth, dampened it with cool water, and gently dabbed at the cut, wincing as the sting of pain shot up my arm. Each motion was methodical, almost ritualistic, as I did my best to clean away the dried blood and grime, determined to tend to the injury with the care it deserved—even if my heart pounded with dread and my mind raced with anxious thoughts.

After carefully placing several bandages over the wound, I layered sterile gauze on top and secured everything with medical tape from the first aid kit. The process took every ounce of composure I could muster; my hands still shook as I methodically wrapped the tape, making sure the dressing was snug but not constricting.

Once finished, I splashed cool water on my face, the sensation both bracing and grounding, and then gathered the discarded wrappers, bloodied tissues, and ointments from the counter. I made sure to throw each item away and neatly closed the first aid kit before switching off the harsh bathroom light.

Stepping back into the inky darkness of the hallway, a deep sense of longing washed over me—I wished desperately that I could just leave him, walk away from the pain and fear. But an overwhelming terror gripped my chest; the thought of fleeing was eclipsed by the conviction that he would find me, that he would hurt me even worse, or worse yet, kill me.

The weight of that fear pressed heavily on my chest, constricting my breath as I groped along the wall searching for the bedroom light switch. My fingers finally brushed the plastic, and with a quick flick, soft yellow light spilled across the room, momentarily pushing the shadows into the corners.

Exhausted, I collapsed onto my bed, my body sinking into the familiar mattress. I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing with desperate thoughts, contemplating ways I could escape this nightmare. I knew deep in my heart that what he was doing to me was wrong—that I didn’t deserve any of it. Still, the fear of what he might do if I tried to leave was paralyzing.

Even more terrifying was the image that haunted the back of my mind: my parents one day finding out too late, my fate sealed, and my story ending in tragedy. The thought of them receiving that unbearable news, of my life reduced to a cautionary tale, sent a cold shiver through my bones. I lay there, caught between exhaustion and anxiety, wishing for the courage to break free, uncertain if I would ever find it.

Shuddering, I pushed the haunting thought from my mind, though a part of me wanted to keep it close—a grim warning that might finally scare me into leaving before it was too late. My gaze lingered on my freshly bandaged arm, the stark white strips covering the angry, throbbing wound.

I silently reminded myself that if there was a next time, it could very well be the last. The weight of that realization pressed down on me, a cold dread settling in my chest as I tried to figure out how I would ever tell Daniel it was over. Exhaustion finally overtook me, and somewhere between plotting my escape and rehearsing the dreaded conversation in my head, my body surrendered to sleep at last. The darkness wrapped around me, offering a fragile, temporary refuge from the nightmare my life had become.

The next morning, as the soft glow of dawn filtered through the living room curtains, I found myself sprawled across the couch downstairs, wrapped in a faded throw blanket. The television hummed quietly, my favorite show—“The Famous Star”—playing as a welcome distraction, each scene offering a brief escape from the heaviness weighing on my heart. Suddenly, the sharp ping of a text alert pierced the calm, drawing my attention back to reality. My cell phone, resting on the coffee table amid a clutter of magazines and empty mugs, vibrated insistently. I reached for it with trembling fingers, the device feeling heavier than usual in my palm. The sender’s name appeared on the screen: Daniel.

For a moment, I hesitated, staring at his name as anxiety surged through me. I drew in a shaky breath, steeling myself for what I knew needed to be done. If I didn’t act now—if I didn’t set boundaries and reclaim my life—there was no telling what else might happen, or how much worse things could become. Determined, I resolved that today would be the day I finally found my voice and confronted the pain that had haunted me for far too long.

Daniel:

Hey Dorinda, I tried calling to apologize, but since you didn’t answer, I thought I’d send you a message instead.

Dorinda:

It’s so funny Daniel, you’re always sorry, yet you still manage to hurt me every time I see you! There was an obvious reason why I didn’t answer the phone. It seems you’ve forgotten, you cut up my arm last night.

Daniel:

Dorinda, I’m really sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. Please believe me—it wasn’t intentional.

Dorinda:

That’s not an excuse, Daniel. I’m done—this is over. I refuse to be your punching bag any longer. If you show up near me again, I’ll report you to the police. Don’t contact me again. I mean it, Daniel. Goodbye.

After sending the message, I navigated to my phone’s settings and blocked Daniel from texting or calling me ever again. My fingers lingered on the device for a moment, the finality of the action sinking in. Seeking a small respite, I picked up the remote control and pressed the power button, holding it down until the television faded to black and the room was enveloped in quiet.

The sudden silence felt soothing, a rare moment of peace that allowed me to collect my thoughts and fully absorb the gravity of what I had just done. My heart pounded in my chest, both anxious and relieved as I tried to steady my breathing. Just as I began to settle into the quiet, I heard the familiar creak of footsteps on the staircase.

My older brother appeared at the bottom, his eyes immediately drawn to my face and then to the fresh bandage on my arm. The concern etched in his expression made it clear he knew something was wrong, and I braced myself for the conversation that was sure to follow.

“Seriously, what happened this time? Was it Daniel again? I swear, if he did something to you, I’m not letting it slide. Tell me, Dorinda—what did he do now?”

"It’s not a big deal—just a scratch. We just broke up. I told him I was done, for real."

        "Finally," he muttered, walking over to sit beside me on the couch. His tone left no room for evasion. "I don't believe you. Tell me exactly what happened—right now."

Meeting his eyes, I knew instantly there was no way I could dodge my brother’s questions—especially not with that intense, no-nonsense stare of his. Deans always had this tough, relentless energy; he doesn’t back down until he gets the truth out of me, no matter how hard I try to deflect. With him, there’s just no hiding anything—he’s like a human lie detector, and tonight, his protective streak felt sharper than ever.

      “Fine,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his gaze. “He didn’t like how I was talking to his friend Kyle at his house last night.” I hesitated before continuing, the memory still fresh and unsettling. “Out of nowhere, he started throwing things at us—yelling, swearing. Kyle tried to calm him down, but Daniel wouldn’t listen. I just wanted to leave, but he kept going, getting angrier by the minute.”

 Daniel hit Kyle in the face a few times, he ended up pinning him against a wall. I was so terrified for him do I stepped in to stop him; this was my big mistake.

He pushed me, I landed on the ground, furious with me getting his way he grabbed me by my hair and started dragging me. We ended up in the kitchen, where he grabbed a knife and sliced my arm.

Kyle, his face flushed with anger and determination, marched over and landed a solid punch on Daniel's jaw, the sound echoing through the room. Without hesitating, he scooped me up—one arm bracing my trembling back, the other cradling my injured arm—and hurried toward the bathroom, weaving past overturned furniture and shattered picture frames.

Once inside, Kyle quickly slammed the door shut, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the lock, finally securing it with a resolute click. The two of us sank to the cool tile floor, the harshluorescent light casting long shadows, and Kyle gently guided me to sit in front of the sink.

He handed me a stack of scratchy towels, his voice low but urgent, encouraging me to clean the angry, red gash running down my arm. I winced as the water stung the wound, my hands sticky with blood, but Kyle stayed close, his presence steady as I did my best to disinfect and bandage the injury with trembling fingers and tearful breaths.

Afterward, with Daniel completely unhinged—his fists and feet pounding relentlessly against the bathroom door, furious shouts echoing down the hallway—Kyle glanced at me, his face pale with urgency. We both knew staying was dangerous. Moving quickly, Kyle slid open the small, frosted window above the bathtub, then helped me climb through, careful not to jostle my aching arm. The chilly night air rushed over us as I tumbled onto the damp grass below, my heart racing.

Kyle followed right behind, landing softly next to me. The adrenaline made my hands shake as we dashed away from the house, Daniel’s angry voice still trailing after us. Thankfully, Kyle had remembered his keys—he fished them out of his jeans pocket with trembling fingers, unlocked his car in a single motion, and guided me into the passenger seat.

As we sped off into the quiet, moonlit streets, the world outside blurred by in streaks of orange and blue from the passing streetlights. I clutched my freshly bandaged arm against my chest, every pulse of my heart sending a fresh wave of pain through the wound. The car’s engine was the only sound, steady and reassuring, as I tried to catch my breath—my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. With each mile that put distance between us and Daniel’s house, my relief grew, raw and overwhelming, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

I couldn’t stop shaking, my whole body jittery from adrenaline, but I was safe. Kyle’s steady hands on the wheel, knuckles white with tension, became my anchor; he’d gotten me out of there alive and driven me home last night, and that thought, more than anything, finally let me breathe again.

“Dorinda, I swear, I’m going to hurt him! You must go to the police—why do you keep letting him get away with all this?”

“Dean, please, it’s over—I broke things off with him. He’s not going to cause any more trouble,” I plead, hoping to keep him from retaliating against Daniel.

“Dorinda, with people like him, there’s always going to be trouble. I’ll back off—for now. But if he even looks at you the wrong way again, I swear he’s going to regret it, Dorinda. And that’s not just talk.” he mutters under his breath, snatches his car keys with a hard glare, and storms out the front door, a dangerous edge in his movements that makes it clear he’s about to do something he shouldn’t.

Chapter 2: The Mall

            Once I could hear his car start and peel out of the driveway, the tension in my shoulders finally eased. I darted up the creaking stairs, skipping every other step, my heart still racing from the confrontation moments before. Clothes clung to my skin, sticky with sweat and the lingering scent of fear, so I peeled off yesterday’s wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, tossing them in a heap on my bedroom floor.

            Steam began to fill the bathroom as I turned the shower knob, the water quickly warming. I stepped beneath the hot spray, letting it wash away the grit and grime of the night—my skin prickled beneath the rush, and rivulets traced paths over my bruised arm. The soothing heat calmed my frayed nerves, and the rhythmic drumming of water muffled the chaos I’d just escaped.

Once finished, I grabbed a fluffy towel, wrapped it tightly around myself, and hurried back into my room. The quiet hum of the house felt almost unfamiliar. I pulled on a fresh pair of soft cotton undergarments, then chose my favorite blue jeans—well-worn and comforting—and a loose, light sweater that hung just right.

As I was smoothing my hair in the mirror, still damp from the shower, my best friend Liz burst through the bedroom door with her signature dramatic flair. She wasn’t alone, Kyle was with her. The door flew open so suddenly that I jumped back, nearly stumbling against my dresser, my heart leaping into my throat as she shouted her greeting, wide-eyed and grinning, completely oblivious to the scare she’d just given me.

“Hey, girl! And just so you know, I tried to stop him, but my brother was determined to come along and see you,” Liz shouted as she barged in, making me jump and press myself against the wall beside the bathroom. She flopped onto my bed without missing a beat, and her brother walked in and sat next her.

“What the hell Liz you scared the shit out of me. Hey Kyle.”  I say frozen with my pants still unbuttoned.

“Uh, are you planning to finish getting dressed any time soon?” he teased, grinning.

“Oops, my bad—carry on,” she says with a shrug as I finish buttoning my blue jeans.

“Why are you the way that you are?” I say, grabbing my purse and cell phone off my dresser, shooting Liz an exasperated look.

Kyle snickers from where he’s sprawled next to his sister on the bed. “Trust me, I ask myself that every day,” he quips, glancing over at Liz with mock seriousness.

“She’s dramatic, she loves me! She says loud as she jumps off my bed and wraps her arm around my neck.

We headed out my room and down the stairs, out the front door and into Liz’s car. Kyle insisted on riding shotgun, making jokes and tossing me playful glances from the rearview mirror every so often, clearly enjoying the chance to tag along.

When we finally made our way to the mall, Kyle kept walking close by my side, brushing his shoulder against mine in the crowded hallways, always ready with a quick comment or a smile that lingered just a little longer than necessary.

After wandering around for a few minutes, we stopped for coffee drinks at Brews. While I waited for my blended drink, Kyle leaned in with a warm grin. “So, Dorinda, what’s your favorite thing to do at the mall—besides hang out with us, obviously?” he asked, his tone playful yet genuinely curious. I felt a flutter of nerves as I answered, catching his lingering gaze while Liz rolled her eyes with a smirk.

Just as I received my coffee, I turned and saw my ex walking alone through the mall. Instantly, Kyle’s demeanor shifted—he moved closer, his stance protective, quietly assuring me he had my back.

“Fuck, what is he doing here?” I whispered, grabbing Liz as she picked up her drink, and we hurried into the nearest store to avoid being seen.

“He probably remembered you were coming today—it's a public place, he won’t do anything, right?” Liz said, trying to reassure me.

If only it were that simple. I’d broken up with him this morning, and who knows what he might do. Still, I nodded. “You’re right, there’s no way he’d try something in front of all these people.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. If he tries anything, I’ll step in,” Kyle promised.

Liz squeezed my shoulder. “It’s honestly a relief you ended things with him—he wasn’t right for you. You deserve better. Maybe he’s just here for something else. Let’s not assume the worst,” she said, giving me a hopeful smile.

Kyle stayed close, throwing me a sideways look. “Yeah, Liz is right. There are plenty of people here, and we’re with you. I’m not about to let anything happen to you like I said,” he added, his voice steady and supportive.

I exhaled, my nerves still buzzing, but I couldn’t help feeling thankful for their support. “I really hope you guys are right,” I murmured, glancing from one to the other.

Kyle flashed a mischievous smile, trying to break the tension. “Look, in the worst case, I’ll just ‘accidentally’ dump my coffee on him, and we’ll make a break for it. Nobody gives our group trouble.”

Liz chuckled and gave me a gentle nudge. “See? We’ve got it covered—you're not facing this alone.”

“Wait, you’re actually serious?” I asked, half laughing, half anxious.

“Liz, I’m being dead serious,” I said, my voice trembling. “When he gets into that mode where he sees nothing, he forgets who’s in front of him and he’ll just start hitting and throwing things. He… he cut my arm last night. He’s lost it. If it was for Kyle, I-I don’t want to even think about what could have happened.”

As we hurried toward the escalator, Kyle leaned in, voice low and serious. “Stick close to me. If he tries anything, I’ll step in—no hesitation.” His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of Daniel.

I glanced at Kyle, grateful for his calm. “Thanks, Kyle. Just… don’t put yourself in danger, okay?”

Kyle gave a small shrug. “I’m not worried about me. Just keep your head up and let’s make sure we stay together.”

Liz shot a look over her shoulder, her tone growing urgent. “Okay well, let’s get you out of here before he spots you. On our way out let’s find a security guard who can help us.”

“Okay, yeah that is a good Idea.”

            We burst out of the store, our footsteps echoing on the polished tiles as we urgently wove our way toward the escalator. The crowd was thick—shoppers clustered in small groups, kids darting around distracted parents—making it hard to move quickly without bumping shoulders.

            Kyle led the way, glancing back every few seconds, his jaw tight and eyes sharply focused. Liz was by my side, her hand gripping my arm, guiding me through the crowd as I tried to keep pace with Kyle’s determined stride.

            We hurried down the escalator, squeezing past people who grumbled at our haste. My heart pounded in my chest, each step feeling both too slow and too loud. I briefly thought we could slip out unseen.

            But as we reached the bottom, Kyle’s eyes darted over my shoulder and he suddenly tensed. I turned to follow his line of sight, catching a glimpse of Daniel hovering several yards behind us, his stare fixed with a chilling intensity. He lingered behind a cluster of teenagers, positioning himself just close enough to watch our every move, yet far enough away to blend into the crowd. Daniel clearly believed he was being discreet—just another anonymous face weaving through the shifting sea of shoppers, shadowing our every step.

“Shit, he saw us!” Liz hissed, her eyes widening in alarm.

            “Can you see a security guard anywhere?” I asked, my voice tight as anxiety threatened to overtake me.

            “Not yet,” Liz replied, her voice trembling with worry.

            Kyle’s gaze swept the crowd, his jaw clenched. “Keep moving—both of you. Don’t look back. If he gets closer, I’ll step between you and him. I promise.”

            I glanced at Kyle, the steadiness in his presence grounding me for a moment. “Just…please be careful. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

            He nodded, jaw clenched. “You let me worry about that. Right now, let’s get you somewhere safe. Security has to be around here somewhere—I’ll flag them down as soon as I see one.”

            We reached the bottom of the escalator, our feet striking the cold tile with urgency as we power-walked forward, weaving past clusters of shoppers. Their chatter and laughter blurred into a distant hum against the backdrop of our panic, every step propelled by the singular need to escape.

            My pulse thudded in my ears, mirroring the frantic tempo of our flight. I dared a glance over my shoulder and spotted Daniel—his expression dark, eyes burning with relentless determination—as he quickened his pace, closing the distance between us. He moved through the crowd with singular focus; his gaze locked on me and refusing to waver.

            Just ahead, a security guard stood near the entrance, and hope flickered in my chest. But before we could reach him—before I could even call out for help—Daniel lunged forward. His fingers curled tightly around my arm, yanking me back with a force that sent me stumbling, my breath catching in shock and fear.

            "Hey, Dorinda," Daniel said, his voice smooth and deceptively calm.

            “Daniel, I’m not your babe. Leave me alone,” I said firmly, yanking my arm out of his grasp.

            I tried to walk away, but he seized my arm again—this time attempting to pull me close for a kiss. Kyle, sensing something was wrong, spun around, searching frantically through the crowd. His eyes widened in alarm when he realized I was no longer beside him and Liz. Panic flashed across his face as he darted forward, desperately scanning for any sign of me.

            They found me just in time. Liz dashed between Daniel and me, her face fierce and determined, eyes blazing with protective fury. She squared her shoulders, planted herself solidly between us, and raised her voice for everyone nearby to hear: “Daniel, you’d better back up before you have to fight a woman who’ll actually hit back and won’t stop.”

            The threat hung in the air, Liz’s stance unwavering. One hand was clenched into a fist, the other ready to intervene if Daniel made another move. Her presence radiated an electrifying mix of courage and defiance, making it clear she would do whatever it took to keep me safe.

            Kyle appeared at my side and grabbed my hand, his grip reassuring and protective. He began leading me away, weaving purposefully through the crowd. Daniel’s face twisted with fury as he watched us, his voice rising above the chaos. “So, this is who you left me for?” he spat, glaring at Kyle. “Him?”

            I stopped abruptly and turned toward Daniel’s direction, my voice sharp and unwavering as I shouted, “So what? We’re not together anymore—it’s none of your business! You’re nothing but a manipulative narcissist, and I refuse to let you have any hold over me.”

            The tension thickened, every word hanging in the air like static—charged with all the rage and heartbreak that had simmered inside me for months. Without thinking, I turned sharply and slapped Daniel, the crack of my palm meeting his cheek slicing through the noise of the mall. For one brief moment, time seemed to freeze—the crowd’s movement slowed, and all eyes locked onto us.

            Daniel’s head jerked back, his hand flying to his reddening cheek. But instead of anger, his lips twisted into a smug grin. “You stupid little bitch,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom and amusement, as if the slap had only fueled his twisted satisfaction.

                  Liz’s eyes blazed with fury as she faced Daniel, her voice cutting through the tension, "Daniel, back up, I swear I’ll end this right now! Try me!" In one swift motion, she pulled out a knife, the metal glinting dangerously in her hand, catching the light and drawing gasps from the crowd.

            Stunned, I instinctively stepped back, putting distance between myself and the sharp edge—my heart racing not just from the threat Daniel posed, but now from the unexpected danger Liz brought into the fray. "Liz, where did you even get that?" I managed, my voice trembling as I tried to stay out of the way.

                  Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, laced with disbelief and urgency: “Liz, did you really bring dad’s pocketknife?”

            With defiant resolve, Liz nodded, her grip on the knife unwavering. “Yes, I wanted to make sure I brought protection. I just knew he would show up,” she replied, leveling the blade in Daniel’s direction. Her eyes never left him as she motioned for Kyle to shield me, her stance daring Daniel to try anything reckless.

            The atmosphere bristled with tension, every eye in the crowd drawn to the gleaming metal in Liz’s hand. Suddenly, a panicked voice rang out above the noise— “She’s got a knife!”—and the energy of the crowd shifted from shock to outright alarm, a wave of whispers and gasps rippling through the space as security sprang into action.

                  Mall security burst onto the scene, their crisp uniforms lending an air of authority amid the chaos. Radios crackled at their belts, and their stern faces betrayed no hint of hesitation as they swept through the crowd with practiced efficiency. The heavy thud of their boots echoed off the polished floor, drowning out the panicked whispers and frantic gasps that filled the air.

                  Eyes sharp and alert, the officers kept their hands poised near their stun guns, prepared for the worst. The overhead lights caught the glossy sheen of their badges, casting reflections that danced across the tense, expectant faces gathered around.

                   With commanding voices, the security team demanded Liz drop the knife, their words slicing through the commotion like a siren. Stun guns were raised; the threat was unmistakable, yet Liz’s posture remained unyielding. Her determination didn’t waver, even as the tension continued to mount and the crowd held its breath, caught between fear and awe at her defiance.

            Kyle’s grip tightened around my hand as he guided me through the swirling chaos, weaving between startled shoppers and the watchful eyes of security. Behind us, Liz’s stance remained defiant, knife still fixated on Daniel, her gaze locked onto him with unwavering intensity.

            We were steps from the glowing exit when a sharp, heart-stopping scream sliced through the air—Liz’s voice, raw and desperate. I spun just in time to see the blue arc of a stun gun; in an instant, Liz crumpled to the polished floor, the knife clattering away as security officers rushed to restrain her. The energy in the mall shifted from panic to stunned silence, the crowd shrinking back as the threat dissolved, leaving only shock and heartbreak in its wake.

            “Dorinda, let’s go!” Kyle’s voice rang out, sharp against the loudness of shouts and footsteps echoing through the mall.

            “But Liz—” I stammered, my eyes darting back to the crowd where Liz stood surrounded by security, her fate hanging in the balance.

            “She’ll be okay,” Kyle insisted, his tone both urgent and reassuring. “Security will arrest her, book her. We’ll get her out on bail, I promise.”

            I hesitated, torn by loyalty and fear, my heart hammering with worry for Liz as guards closed in around her. But Kyle’s steady hand grounded me. Despite the turmoil Dylan had brought into my life, Kyle had always been the rock I clung to. As chaos raged behind us and the crowd surged with uncertainty, I let his firm grip guide me toward the exit—trusting him, even when everything else was spinning out of control.

            “Okay, let’s go, I trust you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

                  We rushed through the glowing mall exit, our footsteps ringing out against the polished tiles. As I stepped into the cool night air, an abrupt, forceful yank on my shirt threw me backward, sending me sprawling onto the hard ground just inside the entryway. The impact jolted through me, and my palms stung from scraping against the rough surface.

                  “You can’t leave with him! I won’t let you—you’re mine,” he shouted, yanking me to my feet.

                  Kyle sprang into action with startling speed, darting forward and shoving Dylan aside with a forceful push. Without wasting a moment, he scooped me up, cradling my trembling body as he sprinted toward the car.

                  His breath was ragged from exertion, and his arms shook slightly beneath my weight, but he never slowed down—his focus was solely on getting us to safety. The distant wail of sirens echoed in the background, mixing with the shouts and chaos spilling out from the mall behind us.

                  When we reached the car, Kyle’s hands trembled as he fumbled with the keys, slick with sweat and adrenaline. At last, he managed to unlock the door, then swiftly ushered me inside, shutting the passenger side with a solid, reassuring thud before climbing into the driver’s seat himself.

                  Dylan, consumed by rage, was just reaching the car—his face twisted with fury—but Kyle didn’t hesitate. He threw the car into gear and sped out of the parking lot, the tires screeching loudly against the asphalt.

                  As we sped away, the neon lights of the mall shrank in the rearview mirror, but one final scene lingered in my gaze. Liz—her face pale yet steadfast—was being gently escorted into the back of a police cruiser. The officers guided her with firm but considerate hands; though her wrists were loosely bound, her posture remained unbroken, her spirit undimmed.

            Kyle glanced in Liz’s direction and offered her a subtle nod of reassurance through the window—a silent promise that he hadn’t forgotten her. Liz met his gaze, responding with a small, determined nod of her own. Her eyes glistened with tears yet were filled with hope. The cruiser’s lights flashed, reflecting off the polished metal and glass as they drove her away into the night.

Chapter 3: When I Met You

            The first time I met Daniel, it felt as if he had stepped straight out of a romantic film. He possessed an effortless charm, standing around 5’7” with striking blue eyes that shimmered with warmth and curiosity.

            His naturally curly, light brown hair fell in casual waves around his forehead and ears, lending him a carefree yet endearing appearance. Daniel carried himself with a blend of confidence and gentleness, always attentive to those nearby. I vividly remember the subtle scent of his cologne—a fresh, woody aroma lingering in the air whenever he leaned in close.

            His manners were impeccable; Daniel never missed a chance to open doors for me, offering a reassuring smile each time as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Our dates felt magical—he always insisted on paying for most of our meals, choosing cozy restaurants with soft lighting and intimate booths.

            When dessert arrived, he would gently nudge the plate between us to make sure we both had a taste, his laughter echoing softly as we shared small bites of chocolate cake and creamy tiramisu. Each evening ended with him walking me to my door, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, making me feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

            He was always the one to step in, telling unwanted admirers to back off with firm, unwavering confidence. I can still recall that his favorite game was Speed, and the way he played—with such precision—left others in awe.

            During every match, his hands moved in a blur, cards snapping onto the table so quickly it was almost impossible to keep up—and he never lost. But what seemed perfect quickly unraveled.

            One evening after school, we were spending time together at his family’s house when, suddenly, a plate flew across the kitchen—so close to my face that I felt the rush of air graze my cheek. It smashed into the wall with a thunderous crash, shattering into sharp fragments that scattered across the floor.

            For a split second, the crash of broken porcelain and the frantic thumping of my heart were the only sounds in the room. I was paralyzed with fear as he closed the distance between us, his face just inches from mine, shouting aggressively. The reason, I had accidentally over-seasoned his meal, and that made him angry.

            Daniel finally released his grip just as his mother entered the kitchen, her presence casting a heavy silence over the room. She paused, her eyes sliding over the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, and asked in a flat, almost weary tone, “What happened here?” Trying to keep my voice steady, I told her I had accidentally dropped a plate. My hands trembling, I quickly moved to retrieve the broom and swept up the jagged pieces.

            Without offering comfort or showing any surprise, she simply nodded, as if this kind of chaos was routine. She walked to the refrigerator, took out a can of soda, and then quietly disappeared down the hallway into her bedroom, leaving me alone with the tension hanging in the air.

            With shaking hands, I quickly swept up the jagged shards, each scrape of the broom against the tile echoing my anxiety. The room remained heavy with tension, the air thick and suffocating.

            Realizing it was best not to linger, I gathered my things and slipped quietly out of the house, my heart pounding as I made my way home, desperate for the safety and familiarity of my own space. Once inside, I sank onto my bed, but the relentless buzzing of my phone shattered any hope of calm.

            Messages and calls came in rapid succession, each one a stark reminder of the chaos I’d just escaped. Overwhelmed by fear and frustration, I finally silenced my phone, turning it off and letting the quiet settle around me like a fragile shield.

            At some point, I must have dozed off. When I finally opened my eyes, the room was bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun—it was already seven o’clock in the evening. Groggy but hungry, I climbed out of bed and made my way downstairs, the familiar creak of each step echoing through the quiet house.

            The kitchen was awash in golden light, shadows stretching across the tiled floor as I rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. I settled on a quick meal and began preparing it, the comforting sizzle from the pan filling the air with the promise of warmth and normalcy.

            While my food cooked, I glanced into the living room and saw Dylan and my brother sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in their video game. The rapid clicks of controllers and bursts of laughter filled the space, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. Wanting to avoid being noticed, I slipped behind the kitchen counter. Irritation simmered just beneath the surface, my frustration mounting as I watched them lose themselves in play, oblivious to everything else that had happened that day.

            I rose slowly from behind the counter, careful not to make a sound, and turned my focus to finishing my meal. The repetitive motions—spooning food onto my plate, reaching for a chilled drink—offered a tiny sense of stability, a touch of normalcy amid chaos.

            But as I closed the fridge door, the last traces of cool air fading against my skin, I suddenly found myself face-to-face with Dylan. He stood directly in my path, his presence impossible to ignore, blocking my escape.

            Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, Dylan tried to wear an innocent expression. “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes searching—like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it.

            “Stomachache, I didn’t want to get anyone sick,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. I hoped the excuse would be enough to avoid further questions. Glancing back at the couch, I noticed my brother was gone. His usual spot was empty, the faint dip in the cushion the only clue he’d been there at all.

            My hand drifted to my abdomen, feeling the dull ache twist and tighten with each anxious breath. The scent of my unfinished meal lingered, making my queasiness worse. I forced a weak smile, trying to appear nonchalant, but the discomfort gnawed at me—a constant reminder of everything that had happened earlier.

            Just as Dylan shifted, preparing to reach for me, the bathroom door creaked open. My brother stepped out, breaking the tense silence. Seizing the moment, my heart racing, I snatched my plate from the counter, the utensils rattling against the ceramic as I moved quickly away.

            Without looking back, I darted past Dylan, feeling the heat of his gaze on my back, and bolted up the staircase two steps at a time. The thud of my hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway as I escaped to the sanctuary of my room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, breathless and shaken.

            "Bro, are you two fighting?" Dean asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us. His question hung in the air, sharp and direct, cutting through my attempts to remain inconspicuous. Dylan could feel Dean's gaze lingering, searching for any hint of conflict. The tension in the room was palpable, underscored by our earlier conversation and the subtle shifts in our demeanor.

            Dylan responded with a hint of exasperation, his voice tinged with forced levity. "Girls, am I right?" he said, trying to lighten the mood, but his words landed awkwardly in the tense atmosphere. The remark seemed meant to diffuse the underlying conflict, yet it only underscored how much remained unspoken. His attempt at humor did little to ease the discomfort, and the silence that followed lingered, heavy and unresolved.

            "Yeah, it would seem like it," Dylan stated.

            "One more round, and you’re done for, Dylan! Dean, come on, I’ve beaten you like seven times already," he called out, trying to shift the energy back to the game.

            "I can do this—come on," Dean said, signaling for Dylan to join him as they both headed back to the couch.cut and put some gauze on, a bloody bandage, tossed it in the trash can next to the bathtub, and cleaned it and wrapped it with the tape in the first aid kit. I splashed water on my face, cleaned up the contents I used to clean the wound, turned off the light, and walked out. I wish I could leave him, but I can't. He'll kill me. I began to feel around the darkroom until I found the light switch to my bedroom and flipped it, and the light turned on. I then plopped on my bed, contemplating ways that I could leave my boyfriend. I knew what he was doing was wrong, I was more scared of my parents finding out that he had killed me and ending up in a body bag. I shook the thought out of my mind. Secretly, cleaned it. I felt like it should stay there, so it would scare me enough to leave soon. I stared at my bandaged arm and told myself that the next time could be the last time. Sometime between thinking that and how to tell Daniel, I ended up passing out for the night.

The next morning, as I was lying on the couch downstairs watching my favorite TV show, “The Famous Star,” my cell phone sent a text alert. I picked it up, and it was a text from my boyfriend, Daniel. I took a deep breath and decided that if I didn’t do it now, it would never happen, and worse things could happen.

Daniel:

Hey Dorinda, I tried calling to tell you how sorry I was, but you didn’t answer, so I thought I’d send a message.

Dorinda:

It’s funny, Daniel, you’re always sorry, yet you still manage to hurt me every time I see you! And there was an obvious reason as to why I answered the phone. If you haven’t noticed, you cut up my arm pretty badly.

Daniel:

I am sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Honest.

Dorinda:

Daniel, I’m done, it’s over. I am not going to be your punching bag anymore. Also, if you ever come near me again, I will go to the police! Stay away from me! I mean it, Daniel! Bye!

I sent the message and then went into my settings to block him from texting or calling me ever again. I held down the power button on the remote control until the television turned off. I decided I needed a few minutes of silence to gather my thoughts and process what I had just done. Moments later, my older brother comes down the stairs, and he notices the look on my face and my arm.

“What happened? If that was Daniel, I will kill him. and notices the look on my face and the bandage on What did he do this time Dorinda?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just a scratch and we broke up last night, I told him I was done.”

“Jesus finally, he says walk towards me and sits next to me on the couch. I also don’t believe you tell me what happened, now.”

I looked at the look in his eyes and I can never get away with not telling my older brother anything. He is so good at getting any information he can out of me.

“Fine, He didn’t like how I was talking to his friend Kyle at his house last night and started throwing stuff at us. He then punched Kyle in the face a few times and when I tried to stop him he pushed me and then grabbed me by my hair dragging me into the kitchen where he grabbed a knife and sliced my arm. Kyle punched him in the face and carried me to the bathroom where he locked us in there while I cleaned and bandaged my arm the best that I could. After, we left through the window since Daniel was losing his mind and banging and kicking the door. I am just grateful that Kyle had his car keys in his pants pocket, he ended up taking me home last night.”

Picture Credit:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/776519160734678526/