Counting Sheep

Chapter 15

You should have felt light and airy, excited for the coming day if not for the beautiful sunset. But Layla only felt dread and hopelessness inside of her.

Lately, Mason hadn't been himself.

He had a temper that made her flinch every time he rose his voice. She no longer wore bright colored clothes. He told her they brought to much attention to her and he did not like that. He left at odd times of night and sometimes he would disappear for days.

But things had really changed two days before.

Mason had hit her for the first time.

The words in her head still should have registered but it was as if they were thought in static—getting lost in transmission.

It had happened so suddenly that she hadn't even realized that she was on the floor, her face already throbbing at the backhand he threw at her face. She had be so completely and utterly surprised that she could only stare at him.

She thought she would have seen shock on his face at what he had done, but she had only found that same red-hot rage.

She stared at him until he realized he should have been reacting differently. Then, she had watched as a cold mask or shell had gone over his face.

He had lifted her off the floor, saying sorry in that deep baritone voice of his-a voice that should have been laden with apology. She heard something, but it was all false.

He had taken her to the couch and held her when all she wanted to do was beat at his head and shoulders, but a certain numbness had fallen over her. Soon, his softly uttered words had broken through the haze.

She told him that he wasn't acting the same—that he had been acting completely different from the man that she had so happily agreed to start dating some months ago. He had apologized, saying that he had a lot on his plate.

He also said that things would be different-that the events of that night-of him laying his hands on her-had shown him so.

Layla had believed him with false hope, telling herself that things would be different. She had spoken to him the day after and he was right-he had been nice to her.

He had called her beautiful and he had told her of how he would take her out to her favorite place to eat.

Then, he hadn't called for the rest of the night.

Layla didn't think much of it and waited until the fall of evening the next day. Finally, she had convinced herself to go over and surprise him, but she had a feeling in her gut like she knew something big and horrible was about to happen.

You are being silly, she told herself as she got out of the car.

She straightened her black turtleneck sweater and navy blue dress pants, something she never would have worn before she met Mason for how dull they were.

Gravel crunching under her boots she made her way up the front porch steps to the landing where she bent down and felt for the spare key under the bay window. Once she felt the cool metal, she swallowed hard as she told herself that this would be fun.

He would come home to a nice home-cooked dinner and they would make love. Not the hard, horrible things he had been doing to her lately, but the slow and sweet lovemaking that she missed.

Entering the house, she slipped off her shoes, remembering how he hated dirt on his floors. She peeled off her jacket and threw it over the chair, before making her way into the kitchen and turning on the light.