Chapter 2 He's toxic

Emily's POV

I met Eugene in high school. We were sworn enemies at first until things started to change between us. We had our first kiss too.

Our relationship and its beauty were so popular then that even the broadcasting team posted a blog about us.

He would buy me gifts, travel far to meet me, and even spend his savings on me.

A man like that was a dream, and I fell in love with him.

However, I had to attend a college where my scholarship could take me, as I was an orphan.

Eugene attended a college of his choice, which was a school far from mine.

We could not see each other anymore, and we fell out of love with each other.

I continued with my life, did everything to survive, and finally got a job.

My life was simple and mundane. I had no friends because I lacked social skills. I had spent all my days studying so that I could have a future like this one.

Was it worth it?

At my lowest, as I waited for my salary, I heard of a reunion. For some reason, I attended and set my gaze on the one who once held my heart.

We smiled at each other. He was looking great, and I couldn't take my eyes off him even though I was embarrassed about my appearance.

Everyone wore something nice, and my outfit happened to be the odd one out.

When I was about to become the topic of the gathering, Eugene led me away and comforted me.

He took me to a different restaurant and ate with me, cheering me up again.

He was jovial, loving, and handsome. Who wouldn't want such a man?

We chatted every night. He knew about my daily activities. He bought me gifts. We posted everything about us, and our classmates from high school recognised us as a couple, just like we used to be.

Then, after three months of courting me, he proposed to me, inviting everyone—his friends and our classmates. I had no one.

I said yes.

We went on our honeymoon. He paid for everything. He promised me that he would take care of every financial responsibility. He didn't want me to work.

I agreed.

Everyone around us admired our relationship. My colleagues acknowledged me when my husband displayed his love for me in the parking lot.

So I resigned from my job and became a full-time housewife.

One day, as we went to the superstore for groceries, a man approached me, complimenting and admiring my appearance.

Eugene was furious. He punched the man in the face.

When we reached home, he scattered my wardrobe and trashed every piece of clothing I had.

He replaced my wardrobe with ugly dresses, long gowns in mundane colours.

I tried to assure him that he need not worry because I loved him and no man would take me away.

“So you love it when men call out to you? Are you cheating on me?” He twisted my words.

“No, I would never. I love you,” I said.

“Then don't question my actions. I'm only protecting you,” he said.

Even so, men still approached me.

“You are deliberately calling men's attention to yourself,” he said this on the roadside.

“Eugene, please.”

“Is this how you'll repay me, Emily? After everything I did!” he yelled.

People looked at us.

“People are watching us,” I whispered.

“Let them watch us. Look, my wife is a whore!” he cried out.

“Eugene, please,” I begged him, but he didn't stop until he wanted to.

After some days, he apologized for his actions with gifts and flowers. I kissed him, and we ended up in bed.

The pain lingered as he went inside me, but I believed that was how it should be.

When I received my test results, I informed him that we were having a baby.

He celebrated with me and bought me gifts.

The next day, he entered the house.

“Emily!” He cried out my name with an unpleasant tone.

He showed me a photo of me hugging a man at a bus station.

“What is this?” he asked before tossing his phone away. “Are you cheating on me? Is he the father of your child?” he accused me.

“How could you think so?” I asked, surprised by his actions.

I was already starting to shake because he didn't just start out of the blue. He had tried to hit me twice, but he restrained himself.

“You dare cheat on me and ask questions?” he growled as he approached the table in the living room. He grabbed the vase and smashed it to the ground.

“AH!” I screamed, trying to avoid being hit by anything he was throwing onto the floor.

Before I realised what was happening, he had thrown a wooden pot at me, hitting my head so hard.

Eugene apologized for that two days later.

Another day, he returned and began to search for me. I was washing the dishes when he stormed in.

“Emily!” he roared.

I answered by walking into the living room.

“You now ignore my voice, right?” With widened, fierce eyes, he accused me again.

“No, I was doing the dishes,” I answered.

But what happened next terrified me. He slapped me across the face, and as I fell to the ground, I heard sounds in my head.

Then he started to hit me with punches, dragging my helpless body from one place to another.

“Please stop. Eugene! Please,” I cried several times, but he kept accusing me.

“I heard that a man came here,” he uttered.

“I ordered something,” I explained.

“You did what?”

He stood up, grabbed my phone, and searched it. Unfortunately for me, the man I had hugged had called me darling.

The man was a friend from the orphanage where I grew up, but the man I married wasn't ready to know my side of the story.

He was blinded by his own theory, and he was so toxic that he would hit me.

I forgave him countless times, even after losing my first child.

I mourned and cried for many days.

He comforted me but would always return to the monster he was, hit me, and slam my body against everything.

I had ended up in the hospital a million times, and the nurse who advised me to leave him faced the consequences.

No one knew that what happened to the nurse was my husband's doing except the nurse and me.

Because of this, the nurse made everyone despise me. Whenever I arrived at the hospital, they avoided having a conversation with me.

Once again, he had ruined my image.

Why didn't I run away? I did. I certainly did.