Behind The Book (Sexy #2)

by Heather Dahlgren

  “Listen, I’m not trying to ruin your day. I’m trying to understand how you can say you love each other when you aren’t one hundred percent honest.”

  I dump my waffles in the trash and lean against the counter. “You know, I’ve come a long way in the last few months. I’ve put myself out there and I’m finally enjoying life again. Who gives a fuck if I leave out one detail? I am who I am. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I think that’s good enough.” She’s quiet for a few minutes, and I give myself a mental high five for standing up for myself.

  “Laken, you’re pretending to be someone else. London.”

  That’s it. For the first time since we have been friends, I can’t take it. “Fuck you, Shannon.”

  I hang up and turn my phone off. I’m done dealing with her and her questions. I push off the counter and head to my room. I slam the door closed, open up my nightstand, and pull out my cigarettes. It’s been so long since I smoked one, I know they’ll be disgusting, but I’m too pissed off to give a shit. I get one out of the pack and light it. I cough, choking on the stale taste. I sit on the edge of my bed and pray for the nicotine to wash over me. It doesn’t seem to be working, and when I put it out, I flop back on the bed and cover my face.

  I end up smoking three more stale-ass cigarettes, before deciding that I need to get back on the computer and see how things are going. Even in the mood I’m in, I can’t help but smile when I see I’ve hit the top hundred. I make a post thanking everyone for their endless support and love, getting no less than fifty replies.

  I look at the clock and realize that I’ve been on the computer for hours. I haven’t even gotten myself a drink. It’s late afternoon now, and I decide that I need a drink. I go in the kitchen, get a wine glass, and pour myself a big glass. I know I should eat something, but right now, I just want to get drunk. I finish off the glass and pour myself another, deciding I should go sit outside for a while. I know I should bring my phone, but I don’t want to even see how many missed calls I have from Shannon and Blake. I leave it on the counter and go outside with the bottle of wine in my hand. I sip my wine and listen to the kids in the neighborhood laughing. It reminds me of how carefree I was as a kid, hell, as a teenager. Axel stole my trust and my free spirit. I finish off my glass and pour another. I’m starting to feel the effects of the wine, and I close my eyes, thinking about my last night with Axel.

  “Laken, I’m home.” My heart starts pounding and I try to hide the handwritten book I am writing. I know I’m breaking the rules by not showing him, but I love this story, and I know he will make me get rid of it. I rush out of the bedroom and hope he doesn’t notice that it took me a minute. He gives me a smile and I feel relief.

  “Hi.” I give him a kiss and walk into the kitchen. “How was work?” I open the oven to check on the roast, and he opens the fridge and takes out a beer.

  “It sucked. I submitted the article that you proofread and it was rejected. Full of mistakes, he told me.” My heart starts pounding again, and I feel myself tensing up, just waiting for him to come undone. I turn around with my fake smile in place and debate what the best move is—try to show him affection or keep my distance. “Did you hear me?” Shit, show affection. I cautiously make my way to him and wrap my arms around him.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

  He wraps one arm around me and sips his beer with the other. “You think so?”

  Fuck, he’s testing me. It’s like walking a thin line with him, and I never know when I’m going to fall off. “Yes, I really do. You’re an extremely talented writer.”

  He pushes me off him and looks at me with pure fire in his eyes. “You think I need you to tell me that? The only reason the article was rejected was because you are fucking horrible at editing. It’s your fault, Laken, not mine.”

  Fuck. I swallow a few times before I force my smile. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He shakes his head and finishes off his beer. “I’m going to watch TV. I hope dinner will be ready soon because I’m fucking starving, and you know I don’t like waiting.”

  He leaves the kitchen and I say a silent prayer for that. I know this relationship is horrible. He’s just about the most disgusting man I’ve ever met. He did a complete one-eighty from when I met him. He used to be so sweet and loved to write together. Now he only cares about his writing. He doesn’t want me writing, not unless it’s to help him. I’m better than him, that’s the problem. He also used to be so gentle, so romantic. Now when I feel his touch, it makes me sick, and that’s when he isn’t hitting me.

  I snap out of my thoughts when the oven timer goes off. The last thing I need is to do anything to piss him off. I pull out the roast and let it sit while I finish the sides. Once everything is done, I make his plate and bring it to him like he’s taught me. “Here, sweetie.” He takes the plate and stares at me. Shit. I sit down next to him, and he focuses back at the TV. He told me the other day that I had gained a few pounds and he thought it was probably best I skipped a few meals. Lucky for me, I’m always nauseated from nerves, so not eating is not a problem. He eats, paying me no attention, and the only thing I can think about is my book. I want to write it so badly, but I only have a chance here and there because I know he’ll burn it if he finds it. He did it with all the drunken books I started, after he beat the crap out of me, of course. It wasn’t too bad back then though, a smack here, a push there. Now, I’m getting close to fearing for my life. The hits are hard, and I’ve been to the emergency room several times with broken ribs, cuts, and bruises.

  “How much longer do I need to hold this plate before you pull your head out of your ass?” I jump up and take the plate. He lets out his creepy laugh, and I rush to the kitchen to get him more. I bring the plate back and he takes it, while I sit down next to him like the fucking robot I’ve become. “I don’t know why you act so scared of me.” I turn my head to him and look at him as if he’s crazy. “Laken, please. I’ve only hit you a few times, and you have to admit you deserved it.”

  I’m against a wall here. If I argue with him, he’ll be sure to take it out on me, so I force my smile. “You’re right.” Who the fuck have I become? I just told the man that he was right to beat the shit out of me because I deserved it. I’m so scared for my life that I’ve lost myself along the way. I feel him move next to me and glance over. He gives me his sickly-sweet smile and I want to throw up. He wants to have sex. I hate it. I’m repulsed by it. Having him touch my body makes me want to be ill physically, and when he is inside of me, I need to hold back the tears.

  “Why don’t you go clean up dinner while I shower? Then you shower and meet me in the bedroom.”

  I swallow and force a smile. “Sounds perfect.” I take his plate from him and start walking to the kitchen.

  “Laken, I want you to wear that black nighty. You know, the one that makes you look like you have nice tits.” I close my eyes on the hurt of his words but turn around with a smile plastered on.

  “Of course.”

  He gets up to go shower and I clean up the kitchen. I just finish when I hear him get out of the shower. I rush into the bedroom to get my nighty and rush back out before he sees. I hear him walk into the bedroom and close the door, my signal to get in the shower. I do just that and make sure to shave because he doesn’t like it if he feels any hair. Once I’m completely shaved, my body washed in the soap he likes, of course, and my hair washed, I get out and begin the process of getting ready for what is sure to be another horrible night of sex. I put lotion on, keeping my nighty off while I blow-dry my hair. He doesn’t like it when there is anything on my nighty, so the lotion needs to be completely dry. I straighten my hair and apply my makeup. I cringe as I stare in the mirror and put on my red lipstick, because he says red lips turn him on. I slip into my nighty, and with my stomach in my throat, I make my way to the bedroom. I plaster on my smile and open the door, but as soon as I do, I stop dead in my tracks. I f
eel the bile rising up my throat, and when he looks up at me, the instinct to run is overwhelming. "What the fuck is this trash?” My book, he found my book. All the pages cover the bed and he sits there reading each one. I haven’t said anything. I’m too scared. “Fucking answer me, you lying cunt.”

  I take a deep breath and panic takes over. “It’s old, sweetie. Something I was working on years ago. I was going to get rid of it. Where on earth did you find it?” My book, my book is going to be burned, and I don’t have another copy of it anywhere. Months of work and he is going to make it painful.

  He pushes the papers off the bed and stands up right in front of me. I can feel his angry breath blowing over my face, and I mentally prepare for what is about to happen. “You are a fucking liar. I found it hidden in the back of your nightstand, like a dirty secret.” He’s right, that’s exactly what it is and it shouldn’t be. I’m so proud of what I have written. I glance down at the carpet, and he grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks together. “Look at me. Don’t fucking try to hide your face now. This is dirty smut that you’ve written. Is that what you like? You like when a man slams into you? You like when he bites your nipples? You like when his fingers are near your ass?” I try to shake my head no, but he just squeezes harder, making me taste blood from my cheeks digging into my teeth. “I think you like that. I think you want me to slam into you and bite you. Is that turning you on?” I stare at him with wide eyes because fuck no, that isn’t turning me on. It’s making me sick. He pushes me back and I hit into the dresser.

  He goes to the bed, picks up a page, and walks over to me with it. “He has tattoos covering his arms, and his muscles flex as he crosses his arms. He gives me a wink and I smile staring into his blue eyes. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to because my panties are already wet.” He shoves his hand under my nighty, roughly rubbing my pussy. “Funny, you aren’t wet right now.” I beg my body to produce something, anything. “You dirty slut.” He backhands me and I bend over, holding my face. “Don’t try to act like that hurt. According to this book, you like it rough.” He yanks me up by my hair and wraps his hand in it, making sure I can’t look away from him. He pulls back with the other hand, and I know he’s going for my stomach next so I tighten my muscles. He yanks my hair harder when I close my eyes. “Don’t close your eyes, Laken.” I try to keep them open, but when he punches my stomach, they close automatically.

  I’ve been enduring the beating for probably close to a half-hour already. I know for sure I have at least one broken rib. One eye is swollen shut, I feel blood dripping down from the brow of the other, and I keep swallowing blood. I can’t even move. I’m in so much pain at this point, but it doesn’t stop him. He presses his knee into my side, causing me to scream in pain, and holds my arms above my head. The pain is almost making me black out. “I’m sorry.” That’s the first I’ve spoken, hoping he’ll take some mercy on me and stop.

  “You’re only sorry because I found out.” He stands up, and I cough, causing blood to come out of my mouth. He’s going to kill me. I’m never going to make it out of here alive. I can hear him gathering the papers and I know that it still isn’t over. “Get up.” I try so damn hard to push myself up off the floor, but I’m in too much pain. I don’t have the strength to do it. He bends down and yanks me up by my arm, causing pain to shoot down my entire body. My legs barely support me. He grabs my face, forcing me to focus on him. “Follow me to the living room. You are going to fucking burn this book, and this will be the last time you disrespect me by writing such filth.” I force my legs to take one step at a time, but when I move too slow for him, he grabs my hair and yanks me out there. He pushes me back down to the ground in front of the fireplace and throws all of my book in there. The tears run down my face from the pain I feel, not just the physical, but the emotional. My book doesn’t deserve to burn. My characters don’t deserve this.

  He bends down and hands me matches. “You are going to burn this book.” I open the book of matches and grab the first match, striking it and tossing it onto my book. “Another one.” I do as he says and toss another one on. He yanks my head back to see at him. “Stop being a bitch. Keep throwing matches on until that piece of trash is burnt away.” I throw every match in the book on and watch as all my hard work goes up in flames. “You are my fiancée. You will do as I say, and if you ever write something like that again, you will pay.” I nod my head in understanding, and he grabs my face one last time and forces me to look at him. “This is your life, Laken. I will never let you go, so stop making things harder on yourself. All you need to do is what I tell you and this shit won’t have to happen.” I nod and he smiles. “Good.” He gets up and leaves me on the floor. He starts for the bedroom but turns back around. “Stay here and make sure the whole thing burns. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you after work tomorrow.” He goes to bed, and I stay on the floor in too much pain to move, watching my book burn.

  “London?” I scream and nearly fall out of the chair. “Hey, baby, it’s me. It’s Blake.” I snap my eyes open and stare up at Blake, holding my chair. “What the hell is going on? I’ve been calling you all day with no answer, and I come here and find you sleeping outside.” Holy shit, it’s all too real right now. I cower away from him and his eyes widen. “What are you doing?” He bends down to my level. I’m still trying to come out of the memory I just had. “Baby, talk to me.” I peek down and right back up at him.

  “I had a fight with Shannon, so I turned my phone off. I didn’t feel like dealing with her. I smoked three cigarettes and got drunk. I must have passed out. I’m so sorry.” He wraps me in his arms, and I suddenly start to feel safe. “I’m so sorry, Blake.” He kisses my head but keeps his tight hold on me.

  “I was just worried. You don’t need to apologize.” After several minutes, I pull away and glance at him.

  “I’m going out to see Shannon for a week.”

  He dips his brows in complete confusion. “I thought you just said you were pissed at her and didn’t feel like dealing with her?”

  I stand up and head toward the house. He, of course, follows close behind. “I did, but I’m not going to cancel my plans. I leave tomorrow morning.”

  He grabs my arm and I scream. He drops it as if it’s on fire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to get you to stop walking away from me.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I don’t know what’s going on. I really need you to talk to me.” He walks past me into the house, and this time I follow him. He sits down on the couch and I sit next to him.

  “I forgot to tell you about my trip. I always go out to see her after I release a book. It’s tradition. I’m sorry I’m so jumpy, but I had a crazy dream, and honestly, I’m still a little drunk.”

  He doesn’t look completely sold, but he gives me a nod. “All right, I’m not going to give you a hard time. Of course, I want you to see your best friend. I’m just going to miss the fuck out of you.” I smile, a real one this time, and lay my head on his lap. “Do you want to talk about your dream?” I shake my head no, and he starts running his hand over my hair, helping me relax. “Do you want to talk about your release day?” I smile and shake my head yes. “Good, tell me all about it.”

  I tell him how the day started out so amazing until my fight with Shannon. I explain to him what a rank is and how I check my sales and tell him how much everyone loves the cover. I think that was his favorite part. After about an hour of talking about my day, he suggests ordering pizza to celebrate, and I’m suddenly starving. When he walks outside to order, I get my phone and send Shannon a text telling her I’m sorry and that I’m coming out tomorrow to stay with her for a week. She gets right back to me and apologizes. She said she would make it up to me tomorrow. I tell her she was right and that I’m leaving early and will call her when I’m close.

  “Pizza will be here in a half-hour. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll light the fire pit. We can eat out there.” I hate that I’m running away from Blake, b
ut I just need to figure out my shit right now. That memory of Axel makes me wanting to return to my bubble. I suddenly don’t feel as safe as I did, and I need to get my head back on right.

  “Sounds great.” He kisses me and my body reacts the way it should, but my mind is just not able to deal with it right now. I pull away and kiss his chest, because I know he likes it. “I’ll be out soon.” I can tell by his face that he knows something is up, but I’m not able to tell him anything just yet. I need to talk to Shannon and figure everything out. She’s the only one that knows what happened that last night with Axel. She’s the one I called after I packed everything up and drove out of state. I was in so much pain, but I knew if I didn’t leave, he’d kill me. I had no choice.

  After taking a long shower, I put on my yoga pants and t-shirt and pull my hair in a bun on top of my head. I go out into the living room and notice Blake is outside by the fire, having a cigarette. I walk out and smile at him. I really do love him, and I hate that I’m causing him any amount of pain. “Even dressed like that, you are beautiful.”

  I notice the pizza on the table, but sit down next to him by the fire. “Thank you.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and I glance over at him. “Blake?” He turns to me and I giggle. “Can I have a cigarette?” He tilts his head, searching my eyes.

  “I thought you had three today? Why do you want one right now?”

  I laugh and turn to face him. “Honestly, they were so stale, I wanted to throw up. I haven’t had one since we’ve been together. I just wanted a fresh one.”

  He chuckles and hands me one. “Baby, throw that pack away. I’ll leave you the rest of mine.”