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  “Why did you choose that dress, Savannah?” Tyson asks while he undoes his tie and removes the jacket of his Armani suit. He's standing in front of the dresser in our bedroom as he takes off the diamond-incrusted cuff links his mother bought him when he made VP of Redding Oil.

  The gala was supposed to be about the women who were in need of help, but it ended up being about him. He used the charity to gain a crowd so he could showcase his proposal, our engagement. He let those who were important know that Redding Oil and the Redding name was growing, becoming stronger. This wasn’t about me, or us. It was what was best for Tyson, and I had said yes.

  “This is one of the dresses that your mother picked out.” I purposefully step back, keeping as much distance as I can between him and me.

  It's a beautiful dress. Navy blue fabric covered in crystals that fall to the floor while it hugs my hourglass shape. The front plunges low, as well as the back. My hair is styled in an up do with my bangs swept to the side.

  “I’m sure my mother had other dresses picked out, Savannah. You could have found a dress that covered more, maybe revealed less.”

  “I thought it would go well with my eyes.” Another step back.

  Before I can register what's happening, Tyson lunges at me, gripping my hair by the nape and yanking it down. He forces me to look directly into his eyes. I wince at the pain; tears forming in the corners of my eyes instantly, my knees buckling under the pressure. “Why would I want anyone to see my woman, my fiancée dressed the way you were tonight?”

  “We weren’t engaged when I picked it out, Tyson. I didn’t know what your plans were.”

  The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. The sting hits instantly as his fist connects with my right cheekbone. Once. Twice. I see stars. The ringing in my right ear intensifies when his backhand connects hard to my left cheek. My head whips to the side.

  “If you weren’t so selfish you would see that I wanted to make it special. I wanted the town to know that you’re mine and no one else’s. But you enjoy it, don’t you?” The forcefulness of his words causes his spittle to hit me in the face. “You enjoy having men look at you, desire you, and covet what isn’t theirs. You will be my wife, Savannah! That ring on your finger, that ring that you said yes to, not convincingly, I might add, proves your place and where you belong.” White foam starts to form in the corners of his mouth. “You will spend your days serving me, and making me happy. You will be the dutiful wife to the man who gives you the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to.”

  I can feel my hair being ripped from its roots. The burning in the back of my neck where his fingers are digging in is becoming more intense. “You knew, Tyson!”

  “I knew what, exactly?” he grunts.

  “You knew I wanted something special, intimate. Don’t you remember?” I try to bring him back, maybe if he thinks of a time when we were happy, before the violence, he'll loosen the grip he has on my hair. “Don’t you remember all the times we talked about it, the romance of it? The idea of having something to tell our children about?”

  “What I remember is you living in a fantasy!” He grabs my face with his free hand. His fingers dig into the meat of my cheeks, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Trying to live a life that you pictured in that dream induced mind of yours. What I remember is listening to you drone on just so I can get laid. If you weren’t such a tight piece of ass, I would’ve gotten rid of you long ago. You wanted something special, Savannah; because you know, your crack whore mother never had anything like that. And you know you’re more like her than you want to admit.” His words sting. He knows my insecurities about my birth mother. I told him those things in confidence. Now all he ever does is throw it in my face.

  “Why make the spectacle if you can’t stand me?” I pull his hand from my face. “Why even ask? Why don’t you just let me go? I’ll leave. You won’t ever know I was here. You can go and find someone who makes you happy, Tyson, because clearly that’s not me.” My outburst awards me with another backhand to my face. When will I learn?

  “Why wouldn’t I want to make a spectacle? Why wouldn’t I want to let everyone who matters in this town know that you are mine? I own you, Savannah. Do you think what you want matters? Do you think what you wanted has ever mattered?” His words are drenched with hatred as his fingers wind around my hair, yanking my face closer to his. The hand that I pulled from my face comes up to my throat slowly closing around it, shutting off my breath in the process.

  Panic sets in. My body starts to shake. White spots form in my eyes from the lack of air. He watches me with malice in his eyes as I struggle to breathe. I use my fingers to claw any space between his fingers and my skin, but it’s no use. “You see that, Savannah? You see how easy it would be to end you, to end your life. Don’t doubt me, baby. I’m Tyson Redding and if you cherish your life, you’ll damn well remember that.” Wetness hits my skin as he spits in my face, then my world goes black.

  *****

  When I wake the next morning, I find myself on the floor at the foot of our bed. The sheets crumpled, proof that Tyson slept in our bed while he left me on the floor. I'm still in the dress from the night before. My hair in clumps on the floor beside me, my body sore, as it always is after an “episode”. That’s what I've come to call them. Not fight, or arguments, but episodes. I would love to have a normal fight, or a rational argument without the fear of being physically hurt.

  With the shower running, I step out of the dress I’ll never wear again, looking at myself in the full-length mirror. I really look because the woman who’s standing in front of me is not someone I recognize. Isn’t that normal, though? Those who are abused don’t know who they are. They change; they become less of the person they used to be. A shell of a human and looking in my mirror, all I see is a shadow of my former self.

  There's faded bruises along my legs. Bites marks along my breasts from a week ago when he wanted something rough. He wanted me tied to the bed, gagged, immobile. I know I've had a cracked rib and a fractured wrist over the years, I felt the bones pop. I'm sure there have been other injuries that should have been looked at by a physician, but it’s always been up to Tyson as to when I need to see a physician since it's he who pays for it. He told me it's to help with not putting the burden of another bill on my parents, or me, but I know it's about control.

  In the mirror, I see my face is swollen and bruised, my left eye worse than my right. He wears a large ring on his left hand, the evidence of that is on my cheek. He’s never hit me on the face before, yeah he's slapped me, but never to leave this much destruction. It'll take weeks to heal, weeks of me hiding away in the house to avoid my parents finding out what their daughter has become. A punching bag for a man she's supposed to love. Love, ha. What a load of crap! I'm not sure love is something that I've ever felt for Tyson. Our relationship went bad way before love could have ever factored into the equation. Now, after four years, it's fear that keeps me here.

  Four years ago, I thought I'd met the man of my dreams. Why did I even go to that bar that night? I shouldn’t have been there. I was only nineteen. Legally, I wasn't old enough to even be there. I had tests to study for and I wasn’t going to be passing anything if I kept tossing back shooters all night. But I was young, in college and I wanted to have fun for once. School, grades, studying and being the best I could be was important to me. I wanted to show my parents that the struggles they went through to provide for me weren’t for nothing. That the chance they'd taken by adopting me wasn’t for nothing.

  *****

  “Seriously, Savannah, that guy over there is looking at you. He can’t keep his eyes off of you.”

  I turn to see whom my best friend, Jenni, is talking about. “He’s not looking this way.” I say as I turn back around.

  “He totally is, honest to God, Savannah, he is looking.”

  I glance back again, catching him jerk his head in the opposite direction. He’s been caught. I smile at the fact that some guy
in a suit is checking me out. “So what if he is, Jenni? There's tons of girls in here.”

  “Yeah, and that boy only has eyes for you.”

  *****

  The warm water burns my scalp as it runs through my hair. I continue to pull clumps of blonde hair from my head. The water runs down my legs, swirling around the drain. I feel like I’ve lost myself. I watch the water leave the shower, a slight tint of pink as the clear water mixes with my blood. My vision is impaired. The swelling caused my left eye to halfway shut. I touch the puffiness of my cheek and wince in pain. I wonder if my cheekbone is fractured, if it should be checked out or if I'll be able to be seen if it needs to.

  The sobs break through my chest before I can stop them. Four years of pain, four years of feeling as if I'm nothing, that I'm useless, is hitting me head on. With every throb of pain that runs throughout my body, I'm hit with a memory. How can something that I'd felt was so right turn out to be so wrong? How can I trust myself with life altering decisions for a child when I couldn’t even decide what's best for me throughout the past four years?

  My life and what I had hoped it would become goes down the drain along with my hair.

  *****

  “Hi.” I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear.

  I look over my shoulder and see the guy in the suit standing next to me. “Hi.” I blush. Up close, I can tell he's older than I am.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Better than most.”

  “I’m only nineteen.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Well, nineteen, I’m Tyson.”

  “Hi, Tyson, I’m Savannah. This is my best friend, Jenni.”

  “Hi, Jenni, it’s nice to meet you.” he says to her but he never takes his eyes off me.

  *****

  That night will forever represent one of my biggest regrets. The night I led with my heart and not with my gut. Taking his number, feeling his lips upon my neck was just the beginning of the end. I wanted my life to be so much more. More than what it has now become. Yes, I'd obtained my bachelor’s, but I want more. I want to get my MBA. I want to work and make something of myself, but Tyson has made it clear that he isn’t going to let that happen. I'm surprised he allowed me to finish my bachelor degree. Education isn’t needed when all you're expected to do is look good on your man’s arm and attend an occasional luncheon. How did my life come to this? I wasn’t born into money. Hell, my birthmother would have rather lived her life high, than raise me, her child. Her own flesh and blood. My adoptive parents are your typical middle-class family. Both have good jobs. Both worked to provide for me. How did I end up like this?

  Now I'm pregnant. Another wrench in my life’s plan. I'd always been diligent on taking my pills. Even when I wasn’t having sex and especially since Tyson. There was no way I wanted to bind myself to him for the rest of my life, and now, it looks like that’s exactly what has happened. In less than nine months, I'm going to be bringing another life into this world. Into this house. Into this abuse. An innocent baby into violence and pain. Hatred. It isn't just me that I'm going to have to worry about anymore or protect. This is my baby, and I'm going to protect it, in any way I can.

  “Savannah?” Tyson calls for me from the first floor of our house.

  Well, his house, really. He moved me in here after only three months of dating.

  Another mistake on my part.

  I shouldn’t have agreed. I knew it was too soon, but he was sweet and he made it seem that it would help with my studies by getting away from my friends and their distractions. Of course, I believed him, he was older, was supposed to be wiser. He told me he was doing it out of love, because he hated the feeling of sleeping alone in his bed. He didn’t want to be away from me, that he loved me. Little did I know that it was just the beginning. He didn’t get me away from my friends because he was helping me with my schooling. He got me away from my friends so he could seclude me and subsequently control me.

  My birth control pills are in their normal spot on the bathroom counter. Displayed there, so I wouldn’t forget, so that I couldn’t forget. I won’t need those anymore. I pull open the drawer and shove them in out of frustration jabbing my finger into a pair of scissors in the process. Great. I push the bag of pregnancy tests that I was looking at for the fifth time, since I found out three weeks ago I was pregnant, into the back of the cupboard under the towels. I keep thinking I'm reading them wrong, but deep down I know I'm just in denial.

  “Savannah?” He calls again, only closer this time. I walk out of the bathroom just in time to see him enter the bedroom. He's wearing basketball shorts with a black wife beater, how appropriate.

  Tyson Redding is very easy on the eyes. Tall at six foot two, with deep brown hair and matching cocoa eyes, he's as handsome as handsome gets. He's muscular but still on the lean side. At twenty-eight, he's on his way up the corporate ladder at Redding Oil. It isn't lost on me that he works for his daddy, meaning his climbing is a little bit shorter than most. But he works. He's entitled, yes, but he does go into the office every day.

  He eyes my appearance and me. My hair is still wet from the shower and I’m wearing my typical loungewear since I don’t plan to leave the house. My face is free of makeup for two reasons, one because it hurts like a bitch and two, I don’t want to cover up the damage he’s done. He needs to see it up close and personal so he can get a grip on the destruction he caused.

  “I see you’ve cleaned yourself up?”

  I don’t answer him. I’m not going to give him the pleasure of my words, I simply nod instead.

  “Don’t you think it’s rude not to answer someone when they ask you a question, Savannah?”

  It appears he isn't going to leave me be. “Yes, Tyson. I’ve cleaned myself up.” I start to leave the room, to get away from him, but he stops me when he grips his fingers around my forearm.

  “Do you think I like it when you use your bitch tone with me, Savannah? I asked a simple question. I don’t need your attitude. Are you on the rag?” If he only knew. “Is that why you can’t seem to use the right tone with me? Am I to suffer because you can’t control your hormones?”

  “No, Tyson.” I say, not wanting to start another fight.

  “The boys are coming over to watch some ball. I expect you to get your ass in the kitchen and fix us some lunch.” I begin to protest. “Now, now, Savannah, you can’t use your stupid ass excuse of school anymore, seeing as though you’re no longer a student. It's time you get used to doing what’s expected and that means you get your ass in the kitchen like a good wife should.” He pushes my arm away from him, making my feet catch on the carpet and causing me to stumble.

  My eyes cut to him and I glare with so much contempt that I hope he can feel it radiating from my body. “I don’t want any of your friends here, Tyson.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion on the matter.”

  “Look at my face! Look what you did to me! Do you think I want your friends here staring at me, seeing the shit I allow to happen because you’re—” The taste of blood fills my mouth as soon as his hand makes contact with my face. The slap he just inflicted makes my skin burn and my eyes water.

  “How long is it going to take to break you, Savannah? I’ve been going at this for four long years. At first, I thought if I eased you into it then you’d learn, being as though you think of yourself as educated. But I'm done being patient. Haven’t you noticed that my patience has worn thin? I mean, I’m sure your face and your body knows it. Why can’t your thick skull figure this shit out?” He's yelling now. The vein in the side of his neck is bulging. He's breathing hard, panting almost.

  “I’m done, Tyson. I’m done. This here,” I motion my hands between the two of us. “It’s over. We aren’t good for each other. We aren’t—”

  My words are cut off when he grabs me
by the throat, lifting me to meet his gaze. “We aren’t over, Savannah. We won’t ever be over because you are mine. You just haven’t figured it out yet, but you will. Soon. You will." He tosses my body away from him. I hit the doorframe of the bathroom door. He watches me drop to the floor and turns to leave. I faintly hear him tell me he's going out and not to wait up. Little does he know that I meant what I said. It's done, it has to be. I vow, right there as I sit on the floor of our room, suffering from the latest pained inflicted by his hands, that Tyson Redding would never hurt me again.

  “Yeah, brother. It all looks good from here to home. Everything is smooth sailing. I don’t see there being an issue with the next shipment. I hear ya. I met with the distributor and everything is copasetic. I’ll catch ya back home.” I listen to my brother preach to me about the importance of the business. “There won’t be anything to keep Fury from stepping up its game. I know, Cut. Christ, I know.” I hang up, not wanting to hear my brother, the President of our MC, dictating what I should and shouldn't be doing. He so easily forgets that I'm less than pleased to be any part of the club. The only reason why I'm sticking around is because, like it or not, it's my family. The only family I have left anyway, just my mom, my brother along with the brothers of the MC.

  I’ve been alive on this God forsaken earth for twenty-nine years. I’ve seen more death, more violence than anyone should ever see. The first time I saw a guy take a bullet to the gut, I was seven. I was riding my bike up and down the street in front of the Devil’s Fury compound. Right there, in broad daylight, I saw the blood splatter and a big as a house guy named Pit, drop to his knees screaming like a pussy. That should have been the first indication that my family wasn't normal.

  I thought every dad had a Harley and wore his cut and leathers ninety-nine percent of the time. I thought club life was the way it was supposed to be. It’s all I ever understood, until the time I grew up and saw that it wasn’t. Club life wasn’t the only thing out there, and club life damn sure wasn’t for me. Sad thing is, you don’t get much choice of what kind of life you live when one minute you have a mother, father, brother and sister and the next you find out that a rival gang has killed both your father and baby sister. After that type of discovery, one doesn't have a choice to walk away when you're needed to fill the void. It’s times like those when I think of my sister. Fuck, she never even saw the day when she could legally buy a beer at the local bar. All because she was my father’s daughter, and because she was his little girl. He died trying to bring his baby’s body home.