𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝟏𝟖+] ✔

11

When Robbie and I got together, he was the sweetest, kindest soul. Well, for a fifteen-year-old trying to impress one of the richest men in Scotland while living in a council estate with his aunt. He was as perfect as I'd needed, wanted. He treated me right and made me feel loved; did everything he could to win my dad over. I noticed how much it wore him down, how it broke him that he was seen as not being good enough for the love of his life.

He told me multiple times that he'd do better, that he'd try to get a good-paying job, and prove to everyone that we do have a future that is fit for my family.

I never cared for the opinions thrown at us, because I loved him, and he loved me. But despite me telling him that he was enough for me, to ignore my family, that he didn't need to please anyone, he never listened.

I guess the pressure made him snap, because he definitely isn't the same lad I agreed to go out with at fifteen. The first sign was the second night living together, still adjusting to the new society, the new rules, new everything. He wasn't the type to take his anger out on me, but I was pinned to the wall, the veins in his neck bulging as he slapped his palm inches from my face.

All because I said Ains and I wanted to go to the small nightclub that was just cleared for opening, one that I'm not actually allowed to go to.

I was frightened of the possessive, controlling side of him, the venomous way he'd spoken to me, scaring me to death, and I gave in, got out of my dress without arguing, not bothering to go out.

It kind of just went downhill from there.

Love, to me, is the most important thing, and what we had, initially, was all I needed. But with the viciousness in the way he spoke to me, the mind games, the painful fear of rejection and being constantly put down for my looks, I felt that four-letter word become bitter on my tongue.

Robbie became a stranger, communication was non-existent, jealousy tore through him for no reason. Whether it was about Eric being in the house, someone looking at me too long, or even wearing makeup, he became exhausting to be around.

And the first time he laid hands on me was when he bruised my face, and I fear it won't be the last, either.

I can admit to myself that I'm now terrified of what it can spiral into, but no one will ever hear those words fall from my lips.

The buzzer sounds again, and the muscles in Eric's jaw twitch with rage.

"You're not killing Robbie."

He crosses his arms in front of him, chewing his cheek. "The dickhead is lucky to still be alive," he says, walking over to the basket full of clean clothes and thankfully throwing a top on. Hiding away his distracting body, he points to the door. "That wanker out there nearly killed you, have you forgotten?"

I roll my eyes and shoulder past him, entering the four-digit number to unlock the front door. "Stay here."

I yelp as his palm slams over the dial pad, blocking me from confirming the code. "You don't actually think I'm letting you go out there? Do you forget who the fuck I am to you?"

"Eric..." I give him a death stare; my hand being crushed under his. "Please."

"Not a fucking chance."

Insufferable tool of a man. "He isn't going to hurt me." I huff, shaking my head, attempting to tug myself free. "I just want to know why he hasn't contacted me. That's all. Have you forgotten that I've been with him for years? I deserve an explanation!"

The sneer coming from him makes me feel like slapping his annoying face. "That doesn't mean shit. And I haven't forgotten, I've hated the lanky prick since the day I met him. He was dipping his cock elsewhere while you were at home blowing your fucking brain cells on something you stole from your father. What more reason do you need?"