Chapter Text
It happened slowly, then all at once. Petty arguments about what takeout to order became screaming matches about Jeremiah getting home late (and drunk) from work damn near every night or about Belly wanting to go out just the two of them instead of spending their weekend evenings at a trendy bar with Redbird. The escalation was gradual- but impossible to ignore.
The first time he stormed out of their apartment was a Wednesday night. He was supposed to be home by 7- had promised her after the last two nights when he stumbled in after 11. “Sometimes I have to work late, Bells” he’d shouted bitterly when she complained that she barely saw him anymore. When she asked why working late always included alcohol he just glared at her and walked out their front door, slamming it behind him as she heard him mutter “fucking bitch” under his breath.
The first time she stormed out was a Saturday afternoon. After weeks of begging him for an actual date night and him spending the whole week hyping up his “secret” romantic plan, she came home from her Pilates class to music blaring so loud she heard it from the elevator. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she walked in to Redbird on their couch rolling a joint while Jere sat across from him downing a beer. She asked if this was the romantic plan he’d been talking about and got some bullshit excuse about Redbird’s most recent fuckbuddy ending things and Redbird needing to be with his friends. He told Belly that they had some molly and they could go to whatever bar she wanted and he’d even dance with her. She called him a man child and told him to go fuck himself as she left.
The first time he punched a wall was a Friday morning. He was running late for work and blaming it on Belly taking too long in the bathroom. She didn’t even try to hide her snark when she asked if maybe he should consider being disgustingly hungover to be the real culprit. His fists clenched at his sides as he told her he had an important meeting and when she laughed at him he slammed his fist into the wall of their bedroom. She finished getting ready in silence and left without saying a word. He texted her a few hours later apologizing profusely and promising it would never happen again. He got home at 6 that night and had someone come fix the hole the next day.
The first time he left a bruise was a Monday in Cousins. They were there for two weeks that summer and hadn’t made it even half a day before the fighting started. By this point she’d gotten used to him calling her horrible names and telling her she was too dramatic all the time. They were getting ready to head to the beach when he got a call from his dad about a zoom meeting he needed Jere to hop on. He hung up the call and was reaching for his laptop before even acknowledging her. She rolled her eyes and scoffed before telling him she was going on to the beach and he could meet her there whenever he learned to “say no to daddy”. She turned to head towards the door and he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back towards him. His fingers wrapped around her wrist so tight it sent pain streaking up her arm. She yelped and he kept his fingers there, twisting sharply as he stared into her eyes, seething. It was the first time she’d been scared of him. “Watch your fucking mouth. You don’t get to talk to me like that” he said between clenched teeth while she plotted the best and fastest way to get away from him. A tear fell from her eyes and it seemed to snap him out of it. He dropped her arm and looked at her in shock, moving to embrace her while he whispered i’m sorrys like a mantra. He drove her to urgent care and she watched the bruise bloom along her skin, thinking up a believable lie to tell the doctor. He spent the remainder of the two weeks on his best behavior. It was all romantic gestures and sweet nothings. She told herself he’d learned a lesson.
The first time he took what he wanted was a Thursday night only a week after they got home from Cousins. She’d waited up until almost 11 before calling him 3 times in a row with no answer and going to bed. It was almost 2am when the sound of him falling against their dresser woke her up. She glanced at him and shut her eyes back, hoping he didn’t see her and didn’t know she was awake. He crawled into bed and pressed against her back, reaching around and pawing at her breasts like an animal. “I know you’re awake babe” he slurred into her ear and her stomach sank. She moved his hand from her body and tried to create some distance, telling him to go to sleep. “Come onnnn, s’been a long time Bells” he kept pushing, hands moving back to her hips. She told him no. Told him he was drunk and she had to be up in a few hours. He pushed her on to her back and pressed her against the mattress with one hand while he pulled himself from his boxers with the other. She berated herself for falling asleep in panties as he moved the gusset aside and pushed in. There was no ease to it, no welcoming of her body to his. She clenched her teeth, trying not to scream or cry as he rutted against her. “See babe….knew you wanted it”. His words made her nauseous and she stayed completely still beneath him, begging the universe to let it be over quickly. He finished and pulled out before promptly rolling over and falling asleep. She laid awake the rest of the night and in the morning when they woke up he kissed her cheek and told her to have a good day like everything was normal. She decided to pretend too. The reality was too fucked up to stomach.
She started wearing leggings or thick sweat pants to bed every night. She stopped commenting on his late nights at work or the frequency with which he came home damn near blacked out. When he called her a bitch or cunt or told her to stop being so fucking needy she nodded and shut her mouth. After he punched a hole in their laundry room door and didn’t bother to get it fixed for three weeks, she covered it with a mirror and neither of them commented on it. She had sex with him and sucked his dick as little as she could get by with without him screaming at her about it. She folded in on herself, petal by petal, until no part of who she was remained.
When they went to his work events or got dinner with Adam or Laurel and John, he was the doting husband. Charismatic and kind. He was so good at playing the part, even she believed it sometimes. Taylor commented on how Belly seemed stressed whenever they FaceTimed or talked on the phone, but she just said her work had been crazy and Jere was working a lot and she missed him. She was glad Taylor and Steven lived across the country, because she knew one of the two would be able to figure out something bad was going on if she had to see them in person on a regular basis.
She told no one. She’d been seeing a therapist for years- since way before any of this started- and hadn’t even hinted at what her relationship with her husband had become. She was weighed down with shame every minute of every day. How had she let this happen? How had she fucked up so completely that this was her life? He had been her best friend, and now he was the person she feared the most in this world. Nights were spent pacing their apartment and chewing her nails to the quick while she waited for him to get home. She barely slept, barely ate. All her hobbies became anticipating Jeremiah’s moods and then figuring out the best armor against them.
She thought about leaving, thought about calling her mom and telling her everything. She could picture her Dad and brother packing all her things and freeing her from this life. But this was the choice she’d made. She knew the day she married him that it was the wrong choice, even though she had no idea it would be wrong in this particularly hellish way. She had hurt so many people and this was her karma.
It was a Sunday afternoon when everything came to a head. The night before, Jeremiah got home late with bourbon on his breath and made Belly unlock and hand over her phone after she refused to have sex with him. He accused her of cheating, called her a whore. He passed out soon after and she slept on the couch, hoping the storm inside him would pass by the time he woke up.
It didn’t.
He found her in the kitchen and she could tell with one look that something awful was about to happen.
You may think it’s insane that it took this long, but Belly didn’t fully know things were over until his hand landed against her cheek.
Once he pulled away, he stared at her with cold eyes and shoulders set. He’d hurt her plenty before now, but this was the first time the evidence would be displayed on her face. She stared back at him, eyes focused and steady, waiting for him to react in some kind of way that could excuse what he’d done.
He cupped her jaw with every ounce of strength he had, words low and harsh as he spoke.
“Tell me who you’re fucking right the fuck now”
She was frozen in place, eyes wide as his fingers pressed deeper into the line of her jaw- nails pushing into her skin.
“You’re not fucking me… we both know that. And I know what a little cock hungry slut you are, so I know you’re not just going without. Tell me. NOW”
He was screaming now, his face just inches from hers. She could feel the spray of his saliva hit her cheek and had to use all the energy she had not to gag.
“No one… there’s no one. I swear…”
It came out as a whisper and the tears that had been welling in her eyes dropped all at once. The look in Jeremiah’s eyes was pure rage. His hand moved from her jaw to her neck, wrapping around the column of her throat and squeezing. A hint of amusement shone on his face and she wondered if this was it. Would he kill her….finally?
“Liar. Fucking liar. You always have been, haven’t you? Our entire marriage. You love to make a fool of me, don’t you?”
She could feel her airway getting tighter and tighter beneath his hand. She didn’t even try and fight him. This was always going to be the way it ended, she realized right as he pushed her backward as hard as he could. She stumbled and twisted, falling chin first into their kitchen countertops. Blood filled her mouth as she bit down on her tongue and her face throbbed against the cold granite. Spit, tears and blood pooled around her slowly and her heart pounded in her chest. She stayed still, waiting to see what Jeremiah would do next, but when she opened her eyes he wasn’t in the room.
The sound of the shower turning on activated her and she ran into their bedroom, shoving some clothes and her laptop into a duffle bag. She was barely even paying attention to what clothes she was grabbing, eyes darting to the bathroom door every few seconds, praying he didn’t come out. She had on old sweat pants and a ratty tshirt she’d worn to paint in years ago, that now had blood streaked across it. Her feet shoved into a pair of tennis shoes and her fingers wrapped tight around her phone and she ran. Her feet didn’t slow until she saw her car and heard the beep of the doors unlocking. Once she was inside, she flew out of the parking garage and drove until she was miles away. An empty parking lot at some chain restaurant.
She looked in the rear view mirror at the state of herself and her breath caught in a guttural moan. Battered woman, she thought. So fucking cliche. Her lip was split and blood had started to crust along her lips. Deep red was smeared over her cheeks and bruises were already forming along her throat and jawline. The side of her face was red and angry looking and she could still feel the way Jeremiah’s hand landed there.
Pulling her contacts up on her phone she didn’t know what to do. She knew she should call Laurel or John, but having that conversation right now made her want to die. All the secrets she’d been keeping- all the lies she’d been feeding to them.
If she called Taylor, Taylor would tell Steven- and then both of them would probably fly to Boston on the soonest flight and rip Jeremiah to shreds. For whatever reason, the thought of that wasn’t a comfort to her. She felt like she was as much to blame as he was in all of this. He had been right earlier… she was a fucking liar. She had been lying their entire marriage. Not about cheating on him- that’s something she had never done- but about loving him and wanting him. She chose him but she never could fully convince herself to love Jeremiah the way she loved…him.
Conrad. Of course, Conrad.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she found his name and hit call. It rang a few times before his voice came through, low and quiet but immediately concerned.
“Belly, is everything okay?”
She tried to speak but she was shaking so bad that nothing coherent came out. After a few seconds, she realized she was wailing into her phone- completely raw and broken.
“Tell me where you are. I’m coming. I’m coming, Belly”