Page 46 of Breaking Bristol

“Matthew, stop.”

I swallowed, then dropped him for Bristol’s sake. He stumbled as he opened his door, and I walked backward until I felt Bristol, then pulled her against me. She hesitated, and I glanced behind me to see her face pale, nostrils flaring slightly with her quick breaths, her teeth chattering. She was trembling, but I was too. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me. “Come here, sweetheart. Please.”

She came to me, molding herself to my side, and I wrapped my arm around her waist, waiting for Chris to get the fuck outta here.

Even walking in on a man fucking my wife didn’t fill me with the murderous rage I felt since fucking Rowdy opened his fucking mouth, and now Bristol was afraid of me because of this motherfucker. But truth be told, I was, too. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with me? Chris skidded out of the lot, and when I lifted Bristol’s chin up, she flinched. Fuck. “Come on,” I said as gently as I could.

She hesitated, and it nearly broke me, but she nodded, and I kept my arm tight. I could see that she was unsteady on her feet but thankfully let me help her until we got to the truck. She looked out the window the whole way home, but that was fine because I needed the space to cool the hell down.

We got back to the condo, and she darted straight to the bedroom, mumbling, “I’m tired. I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“All right, baby. Let me know if you need anything.”

The door slammed closed, and I squeezed my fists, then looked down to see them bloody. I blinked, and they were clean again, then bloody. Clean. Bloody. Clean. Bloody. “Dammit.” I went to the hallway bathroom and scrubbed them, staring at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the man looking back at me.

I’d never felt like this before. It wasn’t even about Paris; I don’t know if it ever was. I’d spent the last nearly two years feeling such regret that it made it hard to breathe sometimes, to wanting to watch another man’s skull split open tonight just because he looked at Bristol.

And now she was scared of me. I didn’t know shit about her background, but I knew she’d been hurt. And now she couldn’t even look at me.

“Fuck,” I spat, shaking water off my hands that I could never get clean.

I paced for an hour, then lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling, on edge thinking she would leave me.

I couldn’t sleep. Bursts like lightning kept blinding me—fiction, fantasy, and reality clashing so I couldn’t tell which was which. Gage’s brain matter swelling through the crack on his skull…Christopher’s face turning blue…a flash of Rowdy’s face split open, his blood dripping down his chin…Bristol’s wide eyes, stark with fear, with shock, disappointment.

It was the same look Mikey had on his face when I found him after he’d OD’d. His pulse was there, but it was weak. I’d pumped on his chest and did everything I could until rescue got there, but before they did, his eyes twitched and settled on mine, pleading with me to save him moments before they rolled back in his head, and he started convulsing.

The memory of that night made bile rise in my throat, burning my chest on the way to its destination. I sat up and heaved over the kitchen sink until my stomach settled, then walked to my bedroom to find Bristol curled up in the fetal position with the blanket up to her chin.

I leaned on the doorjamb and just watched her breathe because I was afraid this would be the last time she was in my bed. I wouldn’t blame her. I turned into a monster. I was a monster. And she deserved so much better than me.

CHAPTER 13

Bristol

I woke up and listened for noise to tell me where Matthew was because his warmth wasn’t next to me. I wasn’t sure if he ever crawled into bed last night because I fell asleep so fast. Watching all of that go down brought back some past trauma, and I just needed to be alone for a little bit to process it.

I didn’t blame Matthew for my reaction. Even if he knew everything about my life, I wouldn’t have been angry or upset that he was so violent. Which made me feel ashamed and like a liar for keeping the truth from him.

And honestly, it was kind of refreshing seeing him so protective of me. I hadn’t felt truly safe in a long time, and witnessing his efficiency in dealing with a potential threat made me question why I… liked it.

He took care of Paris without hesitation, and I loved that he was the kind of man who stepped in when he saw a woman in distress and had no qualms about dealing with the coward who hurt her.

I had these dreams—or maybe they were thoughts before I drifted off to sleep, probably both—of Shane being the one on the ground and Matthew standing on his throat until he stopped breathing. I shouldn’t have because no matter what he did to me, I’d rather him suffer than die.

What I wanted was for him to pay for what he did to me for a very long time. And if I hadn’t been so much in denial, I’d have documented everything and gone to the police, but I was too afraid of what he’d do if he found out.

It was Shane’s fault for being an abusive prick, but it was mine for not being strong enough to leave him the first time he struck me. My nose stung with the memory, and I sniffled and shook my head to make it go away.

A few minutes later, I still hadn’t heard Matthew moving around, and I peeked my eyes opened, half expecting him to be staring down at me… But no. He wasn’t in the bedroom, and it sounded like he wasn’t even in the condo.

Confusion about where he was had me throw the blanket off and place my feet on the floor. Then I went to the attached bathroom to change and brush my teeth. I peeled off the dress I’d worn last night, pulled on a pair of soft leggings and a T-shirt from my bag, and then went in search of Matthew.

It was so quiet that, for some reason, I was tiptoeing, and when I realized how dumb that was, I forced myself to walk normally, then called his name. There was no answer. I made my way to the kitchen and saw a plate of donuts on the counter with a piece of paper below.

Bristol,

Went out for a run, be back soon.