“Owen, you can’t leave me! We – we belong together!” she stammers, her voice wobbling hysterically.
I look at her with pursed lips, my eyebrows bunching as I assess her. Her plump breasts were what caught my eye when I first met her. Guess I was too blinded by them to notice her true colors. Now that I know, not even the sex can save us, and fuck, do I love the sex with Donna.
“You’ve cheated on me multiple times,” I remind her. “I don’t even know if it’s mine.”
Donna lets out a shaky sob and crosses her arms over her chest, looking down. I don’t fall for it this time. I can’t allow myself to. I’m sick and tired of being stuck in this endless cycle. My stinging face jolts me back to the moment at hand, and my head jerks, eyes flashing to her as I blink repeatedly. My cheek tingles as I reach up, rubbing it. I’m pretty sure I taste blood in my mouth, and I think I bit my tongue when she slapped me.
“How can you say that to me?” she snivels, her big blue eyes widening. “I love you. I know I’ve done wrong, but I swear, this one—” Her face goes somber, and she drops the act with me just staring at her, refusing to fall for her pity act. “Really?”
I nod and take a step back, holding my head up in defiance as I stare down at her. “I’m going to leave now before I do something I completely regret and something that they will rip my badge off me for.”
Donna’s eyes widen in shock, and she staggers back in surprise at my threat. I know she’s going to go straight to my boss without hesitation, and I’m going to end up on desk duty for a couple of weeks, but that’s better than actually putting my hands on the woman. Donna’s done a lot of shit but hitting me is a new one. And I know well enough that once one partner puts their hands on the other, it's downhill from there. I won’t stick around to let Donna put her hands on me again.
I snatch up my suitcase and sling my backpack over my shoulder before leaving the room. Donna pads behind me, but it's only when I get to the door she pounces again. Her fists fly at me and slam into my chest. I stumble back, gasping for breath, and my suitcase falls from my fingers. She slams her fists against my chest again, and I stagger, squaring my shoulders.
“You’re being ridiculous right now, Donna,” I warn her. “Knock it off.”
“You can’t leave me!” she screams, spit flying over my face.
I wipe away the saliva. “Call one of your boyfriends to stay with you.”
I lose my hearing when her fist connects with my face. I feel the warm gush of blood run over my lips and down my chin. I wipe at it and look at red-coated fingers. Anger floods through me. It reminds me of the times I’ve gone to a scene where a guy has beat on his wife, girlfriend, or whatever it is they are. I’ve landed desk duty a few times for losing my temper on them.
I grit my teeth, pushing down the bile of anger before it can explode. I don’t hit women. That is my number one rule. It’s why I loathe men who put their hands on women. I will not stoop to their level.
I step to the side of Donna and pick my suitcase back up, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
“Owen, please,” she pleads.
I don’t look at her this time. The anger is keeping me from doing so. If she hadn’t punched me, I might have caved like usual. But punching is a whole new low for Donna. It’s done what it needed to, though; it kept me from dropping it and just sitting on the couch like normal. She tugs at my arm, and I shake her off again before finally getting the door open. Stormy clouds hang low in the sky, puffy and ready to release.
I haul my suitcase up and make my way toward my crappy little car that I use when off shift. My dad gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, and while it’s getting old, I love that it’s still running. It might make chugging sounds, and the air conditioner may not work, but it runs, and that’s all I need.
“I hate you!” Donna screeches from the doorway of the house as I draw up to the beige-colored, four-door car. “If this baby really is yours, I’m going to take full custody. You won’t be allowed any!”
Her threat snaps my eyes, and with my free hand, I stick my middle finger up at her. I turn and pop open the driver’s side back door and toss in both suitcase and backpack. Everything valuable and collectible is still at the apartment. Thank fuck too, because I have a nagging feeling that if I had fully moved in, Donna would have that shit sold on eBay by midnight tonight.
I slam the back door shut and dig my keys out of my pocket before climbing into the driver’s seat. I look up in time to see Donna slam the door shut. With one leg out the door, I flick my keys over until I find the house key. Jiggling it off the ring, I toss it into the yard and start the car, pulling my leg in and the door shut before pulling out of the driveway.
A quick glance in the rearview shows me the red smeared down my chin. I wipe at the blood and turn my attention to the window, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. It’s all I can do to keep myself from falling apart. Before I know it, I pull up next to the curb of the apartment and climb out. I glance around and find the van belonging to Devon, relieved they’re here. Or at least, I hope they’re here. Devon is obviously here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Gracie is. She walked out of her parents’ house and took off somewhere. Hopefully, she came here.
I wipe at my eyes and find them moist with tears that have yet to fully fall.
I look up at the windows of the third floor, lingering for a moment before I enter the building with my code and head to the elevator. The doorman nods at me, barely even looking at me. It isn’t the first time I’ve come home beaten up. He probably thinks it was another guy I went after while on patrol. I’m not about to admit I was attacked by a fucking woman.
I get off the elevator at the dinging of the third floor and make my way down the hallway, pulling out my key, but I find the door unlocked, and no need for it. As I push open the door, deep voices meet my ears.
“Owen?” Devon’s surprised greeting makes me wave. “What the fuck happened to you?”
I grunt. “Fucking Donna,” I grumble, step over a few boxes with an assortment of items in them, and plop down on the couch, laying my head on the back of it.
“What - did you leave her?” Devon snickers, but I sit forward, turning to look at him, and his face falters. “Oh, you did.”
I look at the other guy that has grabbed Gracie’s attention recently, my nerves rubbing together like praying mantis legs. I don’t like him, and I honestly think it’s because Gracie does. If I want to be with Gracie, I don’t want to share her. She’s mine. I’m not controlling, and I know better than to say she belongs to me, but I want it just to be the two of us. Sharing her is not an option. Apparently, neither Devon nor this fucking guy thinks that.
“You going to press charges?” Devon asks, regaining my attention.
I stare right at him. “She’s pregnant, and I don’t fucking know if it’s my kid.”