It Should Have Been Like This (The Revised Version)

Chapter 26: A Night of Anguish

He tightened his grip around my head, pressing it firmly against his chest, but not enough to hurt me. Then, he threw his leg over mine, pinning me down. "I've told you to stop talking about them. They aren't here anymore, I am. I'm sorry about what happened. You are not alone, Laverne, you are not someone I plan to pour my frustrations on. I promise you, I will change that, I'll learn to handle you with better care, please, give me one more chance," he pleaded, his voice wavering slightly.

Perhaps it was the fact that he cried, or the sincerity in his words, but I found myself crying in his arms. And like a fool, I believed him.

"Laverne, Laverne… Lavender!!!" I woke up with a gasp, my body jerking tightly. My brain felt like it was slamming against my skull, and my face was puffy and numb, with a hot, swollen nose and eyes. My heart, I couldn't even hear it beating.

"Lavender!!!" I felt a warmth on my face, as if someone was gently patting my cheeks. The wind carried a soft, soothing song, and the melody made me smile. I liked the singing voice the most.

As I regained my senses, I realized that what I had just experienced was a memory – a few months after I had foolishly cut ties with my friends.

Rominic had indeed made up for his mistake as promised. He changed and learned how not to vent his anger and frustration on me. He became almost too perfect, and I had been fooled by that perfection. We still fought and argued, but we always made up. It was a pattern I had grown accustomed to. If only I had known that it was all an act, that he was playing me the entire time. How did he manage to maintain that charade for so long? Not a single day had he faltered, except for when we first met.

The pain of his indifference was palpable. How had he not felt even the slightest spark of connection with me? I was nothing but a joke to him, a mere pawn in his twisted games.

All those times I had come home to find Peyton there, the way she would conveniently excuse herself while he tended to some other matter – it all made sense now. They had been carrying on behind my back, sharing intimate moments on the very bed we shared. And I, the fool that I was, had simply believed they were just friends spending time together.

The realization that I had been completely blindsided, that I had been the butt of their cruel laughter, was crushing. From the very beginning, I had meant nothing to him; I was simply a means to an end, a pathetic joke he and Peyton had been sharing.

And now, I had let him have our children, believing it was the right thing to do – that they deserved a better life.

I slowly regained consciousness, and the sight of his worried face only filled me with disgust. Why was he still putting on this act? I knew the truth now – he didn't truly care. This was all just another game, an attempt to ruin me once more and make me the villain in his twisted narrative.

I slapped his hands away from my face, retreating back onto the bed. I'd thought that lying beside him would fill me with a sense of dread from the lingering genophobia that had taken root after my past experiences. Whenever that happened, the fear I felt was akin to drowning in a sea of terror, an overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume me.

Outwardly, I maintained a polite smile and feigned composure, acting the part of a compliant, doll-like figure. But inside, I was crumbling, my emotions akin to the withered petals of a once-vibrant flower. Time seemed to fly by in a horrific haze, my mind traumatized and desperately attempting to block out the pain by numbing my body.

It was as if I were trapped in an iron-skeleton body, my mind awake and aware, yet confined to the backseat while another force controlled my stiff movements. At times, it felt like an out-of-body experience, watching my own lifeless form as a disembodied spirit. There were many ways I perceived this torment, but the underlying truth remained – I was in immense pain, and I was terrified.

Yet, faced with him, I did not feel that familiar anguish. The heart palpitations and sense of impending doom were absent. Perhaps it was because he made no advances, or the knowledge that, despite his deplorable actions, he was not like the other men who had instilled such deep-seated fear within me. But that realization only made me feel sick to my stomach. I was ashamed and disgusted with myself, with my body that still craved his touch, and with my mind that felt a twisted sense of safety in his presence.

My tears rolled down my cheeks and soaked the pillow as memories flooded my consciousness. On the day of our engagement, he had betrayed me, sleeping with another woman. And I, out of love for him, for them, had let him go, believing the lie he told me about her getting into a fight with a boyfriend I had never even met.

I was foolish, naive, and far too good for my own well-being. He had taken advantage of my kindness and generosity, manipulating my better judgment until I did everything he wanted. Yet, I was never jealous of her. In fact, I loved her, I cared about her. To me, she was his best friend, the one who had been there for him long before I came into the picture. I didn't want to be the one to separate him from his closest friend.

I made myself believe that she came first in his life, and I was okay with that – as long as he loved me too. I didn't complain, I didn't hate her. Instead, I took care of her, seeing her as a sister. But in the end, I was nothing more than a foolish joke.

I had given up my own best friends for him, accepting his so-called best friend as my own. I was the foolish of the foolish, and now I couldn't breathe, my tears suffocating me. The air felt thin and hot as I sat up, acutely aware that he was still awake and watching me. The tears wouldn't stop falling; his very existence made me sick to my stomach.

In that moment, I was thinking of murder – not of him, but of myself. I was drowning in the weight of my own foolishness and the pain it had wrought.

"La–"

"Don't, please," I pleaded, coughing through my tears. "Don't come close to me," I pushed the duvet off and stood up wobbly. I took in deep breaths, trying to steady myself, but a sardonic laugh escaped my lips. "I'm sure you think you've succeeded, but I want to remind you that you haven't. As long as my memories remind me of every lie, every facade, every wrong you did to me, I will never forgive you. And I swear, Rominic Verlice, I will find a way to kill you, even if it's the last thing I do. Enjoy your life while you have it."

"Lavender, I'm—"

"Sorry? For what?" I spat. "Lying to my face for almost two years? Sorry for all the times you slept with the woman I took as a friend, as a sister, and as a brother? Sorry for all the times I worried for her, not knowing what the two of you were doing behind my back? Not knowing how much of an amusement I was to you?"

My voice trembled with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. "She came first, I told myself that. She was more important, I was second, but it was okay, as long as you still loved me. Seeing you two on my bed was okay, you were friends. Leaving our engagement was okay, she was traumatized. Abandoning me on our first anniversary is nothing, she was in pain. Choosing you over my friends was natural, as long as I have you!" I laughed sarcastically, the sound bitterly tearing through the air. "What a fucking joke!"

A small voice at the back of my head screamed at me for having this sudden mental breakdown, for showing him my weakness. I shouldn't let my enemy see my vulnerability. I promised myself that. And so I left it at that. I picked up a dry pillow and walked over to the chaise lounge, dropping the pillow and throwing myself onto the chair, turning my back so I wouldn't have to see him.

The first night back with him was an official mess.