A Summer Thing

4 - Callie

Trigger warning: domestic abuse

I had worked late trying to calm down a paranoid model. He was gorgeous, but he acted as insecure as a thirteen-year-old girl. Finally, I had settled him and we took the elevator together.

When I stepped out of the elevator, Parker was waiting for me in the lobby.

Adam said, "Bye Callie. Thanks."

"Good luck on the shoot." I walked over to Parker.

"Who is that?" Parker didn't even mask his anger.

"Just a model."

I followed him into the waiting car. He sat silently in the backseat. I knew he was angry and jealous, but if I ignored him, he might calm down.

The moment we entered the penthouse, he grabbed me and through clenched teeth demanded to know who he was.

"Just a model. It's my job." I stayed calm.

"You were late. Were you screwing him?"

"No! I wouldn't! Besides, I think he's gay." I was hoping to calm him with reason.

"I saw him look at you." He grabbed my hair and pulled me towards him. I knew better than to resist. As his lips crashed into mine, I didn't fight it. His hands groped me roughly. It didn't shock me when he tore my blouse. It cost him a hundred and fifty bucks, not me.

I let him do what he wanted because it was easier. He was jealous, because he loved me. He needed to claim me. Because I was dry, I felt the pain but didn't cry. I deserved it. He was right I was a whore and so he treated me like one. I had felt the burning and searing pain before. When he withdrew, he saw my face and his anger ignited again.

"What you liked pretty boy better than me?" He seethed. "I'll teach you not to be a slut."

I felt the sting of his hand across my face and tasted the familiar taste of pennies on my lip.

"I only love you!"

"Liar!" He used his fist. "Whore!" Fist again.

By the time, his rant was over and he had calmed, I hurt everywhere.

"Go clean up." He demanded.

In the bathroom, I looked at my face. Usually, he was more careful not to leave marks others would see. I was certain I would have a black eye. Wincing I looked at my ribs, which looked bruised and possibly broken.

After my shower, he had a table set for dinner. It would have been romantic, if I wasn't in pain. I attempted to make small talk while I shut out that voice in my head. It told me I didn't deserve to be treated that way. Then the louder one said, he was right. I was just a no good whore. I was a bastard.

Later he tenderly held me. In the dark, he whispered he loved me.

"I'm sorry, Babe. You don't know how much I love you." His voice was husky.

I felt my heart skip a beat. It felt good to be loved by a man and to be his. I felt warm and when he gently — ever so gently started to touch me, I ached for him. I wanted him and needed him. Even though it hurt, we made love. It was beautiful with the pain and the pulsing blood mingled into unmistakable pleasure. Thankfully, he rolled off me before he crushed my sore ribs.

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