A Love for Romance Read online

  The kick to her ribs stole her breath. She gasped, trying to take in whatever air she could.

  “I saw. You had no idea I was watching, but I was there. How dare you? Stupid bitch. I provide you with everything.” His voice began to rise. “I spoil you. There’s nothing you need. I don’t ask for much in return, but instead of being at my side, you’re entertaining my colleagues, acting like a slut and embarrassing me. Did you think I would stand by like a little bitch and take it?”

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked. Tears fell and stung her face. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said with a sob. Once the tears started to fall, she couldn’t stop them. Not because she felt any guilt for the crimes he thought she committed. She cried for her life and how it had turned out.

  Rachelle had been nineteen when they met and twenty when they married. Everything about him was exciting. Trey, fifteen years her senior, was dashing and charming, and the age difference hadn’t mattered to her. Love made people do crazy, unexpected things, and Rachelle was no different. Despite her parents’ objections, they married the day after she turned twenty and moved across the country to Texas.

  Moving from Brooklyn, New York to Texas had Rachelle at a disadvantage, but she’d adjusted to the changes and loved being a doctor’s wife. They’d lived in a beautiful home with tons of land. Eventually, Rachelle made friends and volunteered her time at the hospital, helping parents deal with their child’s diagnosis. It was difficult to see children suffer, but the work was rewarding. She had planned to go to college, but between volunteering and keeping up social engagements with Trey, it just never happened.

  They were happy for a long time, but then things started to change. It was gradual, but the position he held was stressful, and she didn’t help by always pushing him to start a family and wanting to visit her parents. At least that’s what she told herself to excuse Trey’s change in behavior. But three month’s ago, when Mark had joined the staff at the hospital; Trey’s ego had taken a hit. Rachelle, apparently, was the perfect punching bag.

  “When will you learn?” he whispered in her ear as he picked her up. She held onto him, still crying, and soaked up the comfort he provided.

  He placed her on their bed, whispering words she refused to hear, until she finally succumb to the darkness that had been slowly taking over.

  Rachelle woke to the muffled sound of music. It took a minute to paste together what was going on. Everything hurt. Breathing, moving, blinking—it all took effort. Slowly, she sat up and felt the restriction around her middle—Trey had taped up her ribs. She shuttered to think how bad she must look. If it was as horrible as she felt, then she was scared to look in the mirror.

  Tears blurred her vision. She sat in bed, thinking of the person she used to be. It was hard to believe she could’ve ever been that naïve. Before she met Trey, she had dated a few guys, but they were silly boys. She’d wanted a man. When Trey had shown interest in her, she’d been enamored with his charm and handsome features. He’d compliment her on her looks and body. She’d felt beautiful and special—two things she’d never felt at home.

  Now though, she didn’t recognize herself. The curves Trey loved so much, he now belittled her for. So she starved her body and pushed it to lose fifteen pounds. Her hair used to be a chestnut brown, but after Trey mentioned that it looked like a dirty mop, she’d dyed it blonde. She did anything and everything her husband wanted, to be who he thought she should be. He always had something to say about what she did or didn’t do, and she’d find herself with a black eye or a twisted ankle.

  She tried going to the sheriff once, but unfortunately for her, Trey’s reach in the community was long and her complaints to the sheriff fell on deaf ears. She had no one to help her, to protect her, so she had to rely on herself. If she wanted to be rescued, she had to do it.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Rachelle cried out when she moved. Her body hurt, but it was manageable compared to the pounding in her head. The rhythmic thumping overwhelmed everything else.

  Now that Rachelle was fully awake, the music coming from downstairs seemed to be blaring in her head. Trey apparently felt no pain from all his drinking, the sounds coming through her door was evidence of his good mood. That’s the only time the radio played in their house. As if he heard her thoughts, the house suddenly became quiet and she knew that meant Trey would open the door to their room soon.

  She didn’t want to see him, but she needed his help. Moving on her own was just not happening, and this was the cycle she found herself in, one she desperately wanted out of.

  As predicted, the door opened and Trey strutted inside. “Good mor—baby, don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.” He took his time walking over to her, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and toast on it. His fake concern sickened her and made her want to scream at him, but she wasn’t in any position to protest.

  The intensity of the pain wasn’t something she could mask; she never could. “Let me help you up.” He placed the tray on the bed and assisted Rachelle to her feet. They slowly walked to the bathroom, and she took care of her business, while he watched. She was far beyond caring that he didn’t allow her privacy, even in the bathroom. Over the years, little by little, Trey took more and more from her. It wasn’t something that Rachelle even noticed until it was too late.

  She washed her hands and let him guide her back to bed, not even bothering to look in the mirror. The last thing she wanted him to see was her reaction to the bruises he’d caused.

  “Here’s some breakfast. The tea is hot, so sip it slowly.” He instructed her like she was a five-year-old and not his wife. “I took the weekend off so that I can tend to you.” He kissed the side of her face as he tucked her back into bed.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, as if she was grateful the bastard would be home. Trey hovering over her, as if he actually gave a shit, was another form of torture for Rachelle. If he cared, he’d have never laid his hands on her.

  “I fixed you up while you were sleeping,” he chatted while she sipped her tea.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

  “I wish you didn’t push me to do these things. I hate hurting you.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words stung, like swallowing shards of glass, but she knew the script and wouldn’t stray from it. Still, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said.

  She placed her tea back on the tray and lifted her head.

  “We’ll do something together. Get away from here and do something fun. Whatever you want.” He gently brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

  “I’d like that,” she said, sticking to the words he wanted to hear.

  “Okay, you finish this and then rest. I have just the place in mind. I’ll set it all up. We’ll leave later.” He tucked a stray piece of her hair behind her ear before he left.

  A week had passed since the dreaded party, and Rachelle was on the mend but more determined than ever to get away. Trey had taken her to a very exclusive resort. They had their own beautiful cabin off the lake, and if she had been with anyone else, under any other circumstance, she’d have found the place tranquil and amazing. However, having him dote all over her was stressful and tiring.

  The only positive to the trip, which Rachelle decided to concentrate on, was the plan that popped into her head while Trey tortured her. It had started to take shape: the dream of leaving Trey. It began a year ago, when she stumbled upon a women’s shelter after visiting her OB/GYN—an appointment that she kept secret from Trey. A long time ago she’d wanted children, but he’d wanted to wait. She thanked God for that now.

  However, that wasn’t the case anymore. With every month that passed, and she wasn’t pregnant, he’d become more and more violent. If he knew about the birth control she was taking, there would be retribution for her betrayal.

  The day she stopped in at the shelter, a volunteer named Patricia befriended her. They’d talked for hours, and by the time Rachelle had l
eft, she’d felt a small amount of hope. That day, Rachelle had purchased her first burner phone. With each visit, hope had grown until finally they’d begun planning how to leave Trey safely. This wasn’t something that would happen overnight but that was fine. Patricia had agreed to help her escape when she was ready. Those plans were accelerated after the fundraiser.

  Now, though, it was time. She couldn’t stay and continue to be his punching bag, and there was no way she was ever going to bring a child into this fucked up life.

  Although she wanted nothing more than to leave right now, memories of the last time she’d tried played in her mind. Two years ago, she’d run with no plan and no help. It hadn’t taken long for Trey to find her and drag her back to their home. The memories of that period were ones she tried to forget. This time she had help and she’d get away.

  The next six weeks were spent planning, practicing, and preparing. There was no going back. Rachelle had to be careful and smart.

  Today was the day. Rachelle was on edge and wanted this to be over. All the planning she’d done, over the last month and a half, was about to be put into play.

  Standing in the woods about a mile from her house, she opened the small bag that she had filled with essentials—burner phone, money, and a gun. She traced her fingers along the small pistol, which Patricia had insisted she learn how to shoot. Rachelle sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t need to use it. All that she wanted to do was get away. Taking a deep breath, she called her friend.

  The reception in the woods wasn’t the greatest, but she didn’t want to risk hiding this bag anywhere on their property. Luckily, there was just enough strength in the signal to get the call to connect.

  “Hello?” Patricia’s voice was broken from the bad reception, but she was there.

  “It’s me,” she said, determination creeping into her tone.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes. Tonight I break free.” A lump formed in her throat, her emotions getting the better of her. She couldn’t go on like this any longer. The only way to have the life she dreamt of as a child was to leave and escape this prison.

  “Good. See you later.” Patricia hung up.

  Rachelle shut the phone off and closed up the bag. She hid it underneath a bunch of branches and headed back to her house. Tonight, if all went well, the hell that had become her life would just be a memory. The excitement of that idea made her smile. It was the first genuine smile she had in quite some time.

  She hauled ass through the woods, timing again how long it took her to make it back to the house. Rachelle had practiced, tweaked, and planned everything down to the last possible detail. In two hours, Trey would be home, so she didn’t have much time to get everything in order.

  “Rachelle? I’m home,” Trey called from the entryway.

  “I can do this,” she whispered, reassuring herself that she was strong enough to survive this evening. “I’m just checking on dinner,” she called as she walked out of the kitchen and headed toward him.

  He pulled her into his arms, bending down to kiss her. She opened her mouth and allowed his tongue entrance. His kisses use to turn her on, but now she couldn’t stomach them.

  “Would you like some wine?” she asked when he ended the kiss.

  “Love some.” He gave her a quick lip touch and let her go.

  “I’ll be right back. I made your favorite appetizer. It’s already on the table for you.” She smiled and hurried into the kitchen.

  Rachelle didn’t have much time. She poured them both a glass of red wine, working quickly; she opened the small junk drawer and fished out the bottle of liquid Vicodin that she’d stolen from Trey’s stash in his office. She twisted the cap and poured a small amount of the drug into his wine, before dumping the rest of it down the kitchen sink and throwing the bottle out in the trashcan. Stirring the liquid to mix with the wine, she stuck her finger in it to taste. It was slightly bitter but nothing horrible. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the taste, but to be sure Rachelle had prepared his favorite appetizer—broccoli rabe with olive and garlic salad. The bitterness of the vegetable might just work in her favor.

  “This is incredible,” he complimented her dish.

  “Thank you.” She placed his wine beside his plate and sat down on his right. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. How was work?” She placed some of the appetizer on her plate, trying hard to act normal. All she really wanted to do was watch him as he ate and drank, to see if he had any reaction to the taste of the wine, but she forced herself to eat.

  “It was mundane. A lot of meetings.” He took a long gulp from his glass with no reaction. “The one little girl, I’ve told you about her before, she’s finally showing signs of progress.”

  “That’s always a blessing to hear.” And it was.

  The timer went off on the oven and Rachelle got up. “Be right back.”

  Dinner smelled amazing. Too bad her stomach was in knots and there was no way she’d be able to tolerate more than a few bites. She placed the potholders on her hands and opened the oven to remove the dish. She placed it on the top of the stove and Rachelle took a moment to just breathe. This was all getting real now. He was in there sipping on wine and waiting for her.

  Rachelle walked into the dining room and placed dinner on the table. She sat, once again, next to him and picked up the utensils to cut through the chicken spaghetti dish. Rachelle loved to cook. Her mom had worked, so she’d often been in charge of dinner. At first, it had been just placing the meal in the oven when her mom called, but then, as she got older, she’d been allowed to experiment. The Internet was an amazing tool for finding fun meals to prepare. They hadn’t always been a success, but as she’d practiced and received pointers from her mother, Rachelle’d started to excel.

  “Here you go.” She handed over her plate to him with a nice-sized portion on it and took his plate for her own.

  Trey yawned, but she continued to serve.

  “Damn, I guess today was longer than I thought,” he said and dug into his meal. “This is really good, baby.”

  “Thanks. I love these one dish wonders. So easy to prepare but really tasty.”

  He gulped down more of the wine.

  “Would you like some more?” She held up the bottle.

  “Yes, please.” He continued to eat and Rachelle filled his glass and hers as well.

  Soon dinner was done, and Trey headed to the living room. Rachelle cleared the table and joined him. He clicked through channels, searching for something to watch on television, but stopped and pulled her close.

  “You smell so good.” He kissed her right below the jaw while his hands roamed over her body. “You’re just so—” A yawn stopped him from advancing further.

  “Baby, you’re tired. Why don’t you just sit back and relax? I’ll make you some coffee in a few minutes, and if you want, later we can pick up where we left off.” She leaned in closer to him, wrapped her arms around him, and drew random patterns on his shoulders with her fingers. It was something she did in the beginning of their marriage, an affectionate way to show him how she felt.

  “Maybe you’re right.” He lay back on the couch and placed his feet up on the coffee table.

  “I know I am. You work way too hard.” She placed her head on his chest and continued slowly sliding her fingers gently up and down his chest. The motion was even soothing to her, wiping a bit of her nervous energy away.

  After a few minutes, his body relaxed, and a moment later, he began snoring softly. Moving carefully, she untangled herself from him and quickly walked out of the living room. Once in the hallway, she rushed, as quietly as she could, into the kitchen and opened the bottom cabinet door by the oven. It was a slim door that didn’t fit much, so she used it for storing things like plastic grocery bags and other odds and ends. It made the perfect hiding spot for a change of clothes and sneakers. She rushed, changing out of her dress and sandals and into an outfit better fit for running through the woods.

>   Rachelle tossed her discarded clothes back into the cabinet, shoving the plastic bags in front of them so they’d be kept hidden. She turned, heading toward the back sliding doors that led to their backyard and tripped over a small bag of recyclables and fell. The noise from the cans went on for what seemed like minutes. Fuck. Slowly, she got up, doing her best not to make any more noise, and opened the back sliding glass door.

  Rachelle waited a moment, listening for any movement inside, and when she didn’t hear anything, rushed through the door and closed it behind her. As soon as her feet hit the concrete patio, she took off for the forest. Night had fallen and she only had the light from the moon to guide her through the woods. She was grateful that she had practiced so many times.

  All she heard for the next several minutes was the crunch of leaves and her labored breathing.

  “Rachelle!”

  She froze. Trey’s voice was faint, but it was definitely him.

  “No...no, no, no, no, no,” she mumbled to herself. It can’t be. That drug should’ve knocked him out. Maybe she didn’t give him enough? Or wait long enough before she left? She was trying hard not to kill him and she probably just screwed her entire escape. Obviously something went wrong and now she would be in a fuckload of trouble if he caught her.

  She started running again, faster than before. There was still a ways to go before she reached her bag. Once there it was another quarter of a mile to the meeting spot with Patricia.

  “Where are you?” He sounded closer, but it wasn’t something she could dwell on. She ran, but the dense forest made it difficult to see, this was something Rachelle had failed to account for. She tripped over something and tumbled to the ground.

  “Aaargh!” She held out her hands to catch her fall but failed. The sound was loud and echoed throughout the woods. It only took a minute for her to get back up, but the sound of Trey stumbling toward her grew ever closer. The rustling of leaves under his feet was all she needed to forget about the pain and move.