Free The Revolution by S.L. Scott

hold the flowers out, not wanting them. “And take these. I don’t want them.”
    “You said we could talk.”
    “I did say that, but I don’t see the point.”
    He walks past me without my permission and I step back, intimidated by his stature. Holding the flowers out to him again, he sees the change in my expression. He must see the fear I wear so obviously as my hands shake. His eyes set on mine, and he says, “You know I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, Lara. I wouldn’t hurt you. Not ever. I love you. You believe me, right? Right?”
    “Mark—”
    “Don’t say my name like that. I can hear the change in your tone.” He quickly grabs hold of my arms and the bouquet falls to the ground. His grip is firm as I cower down. “I love you,” he pleads, shadowing me. “My love for you is real, Lara. You have to believe me. I’ve never felt like this for anyone.”
    Fear snowballs in the pit of my stomach. “I believe you,” I whisper, not sure if I even hear my voice. His hold on me loosens just enough for me to slip out and back away toward the couch. I’m hoping to make it to the other side, to have something large and solid between us. “We can talk. All right?”
    “Sit,” he commands.
    I sit down knowing I can’t get to my phone in the office downstairs without him catching me and doing who knows what to me.
    “Thank you,” he says, sounding calmer as he sits in the chair across from me. This is the Mark I know, but I’m guarded by the sudden turn. “I don’t know what happened last night, but I promise it won’t happen again.”
    “Or after the other incident? How can you promise that when you don’t know what happened?”
    “Lara, please. Just trust me. You know I would never hurt you on purpose—”
    “You hurt me last night and it seemed like it was on purpose. I have bruises to prove it.” I push up the sleeves of my robe and show him the scratches on the top and bruises where his thumbs dug into me. “You hurt me just now.”
    He sucks in a breath. It stutters in his throat as he stares at the bruising. His head shakes. “I didn’t do that.”
    Confused by his reaction, I reason, “You did, Mark.”
    Standing up, he looks down at me. “I’ll make this up to you. Flowers won’t heal this mess.”
    I hold the arm of the couch, bracing myself. “You don’t have to heal this mess. We’re not together anymore.”
    “No.” He stands there looking strong, his chest appearing bigger than a moment earlier. “What happened last night won’t happen again. I promise you. I had a rough day and you weren’t there. I was upset. Practice sucked. I was benched half the day. I just want us together.” Kneeling down in front of me, I see the desperation in his eyes. Seeing this strong man breaking before me is hard to watch despite the incident from the night before. “Please, Lara. I need you.” His head drops to my knees and I hear him sniffle.
    “Mark—”
    “Please don’t say my name like that. Say it like you used to, like when you loved me.”
    “I can’t. I’m here, but only as a friend.” Friend is being generous, but I’ll say what I need to right now. I just need him to leave.
    He wails in distress and I’m not sure if I should try to comfort him or not. “Please don’t do this. I’ll be good.”
    Refusing to kick someone when they’re down, my defenses crumble. “Maybe you can be better. Maybe you won’t hurt me again, but my heart is not in this, Mark. Please. You have to let me go and move on.”
    “I can’t. We’re so good together. I screwed up and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be better.”
    My heart’s not racing from fear, and my hands aren’t shaking anymore. Seeing a man of his size—of his demeanor—break is heartbreaking in itself. I do what I know I shouldn’t, but can’t help. I stroke his hair as his head lies in my lap.
     

     
    THE NEXT DAY I walk into the restaurant and hang my purse by the strap on the back of the chair.