Read Stolen on Inkitt.

Chapter 2

Eight years ago

The cafe was nice.

Quaint.

That word made my face want to scrunch. Quaint was like saying someone had a good personality instead of remarking on their physical appearance. Not always a complimentary word. Avoidance at its best.

Another Saturday afternoon. Another cafe.

After last weekend, Baylor thought it best we try a new place for our weekend brunch ritual. At first, he made it sound exciting while trying to blur the reason we could no longer frequent yet another of our favored luncheon spots.

Reaching for the tall glass before me, condensation making it slippery in my grip. Taking a sip I savored the taste. The mint tea was lightly sweetened. Earthy notes of freshly brewed leaves. Crisp, cool menthol sensation as it slid down my throat. It was perfect during this unusually hot summer. I hoped I wouldn’t ruin this place like I had the others.

Across the table, Baylor looked content as he scanned the menu. His light brown eyes moving back and forth undoubtedly reading every description of every item the cafe had to offer.

He really was handsome, I reminded myself. Even if it was in a nondescript sort of way. Average height and build even though he worked out almost every day. He did so just to minimize any wobbling when he moved since the man was addicted to salty snacks. But not enough to give more than soft definition. He didn’t want to look too pretentious to clients.

His brown hair was what I liked to refer to as the corporate cut. The style that could immediately single any man out as working in a high-rise building lost amongst the hundreds, if not thousands, of faceless businessmen. He was only missing the bowler hat.

Setting my tea down, taking a deep breath, smells of baked treats, freshly sliced produce, brewing coffee, and Baylor’s overpowering cologne assaulted my nose. Closing my eyes, concentrating, I forced my sense of smell to retreat. Ignoring everything but the faintly sweet smelling pastries at the counter.

Like a camera shutter winding down into a pinpoint, all the other smells around me began to fade. Every overwhelming thing about this place. From its inviting decor, comfy chairs, and earthy craft teas.

I forced my body to focus the rest of my senses down to a singular point as well. While my sense of smell lingered on the puffy jam pastry the rest had honed in on the man sitting across from me.

Sounds from the other patrons had been muted. My eyes no longer wanted to wander to the eclectic mix of organic decor smattering the walls. My skin, blissfully unaware of the cool air blowing as we sat under an active vent. The last thing I wanted was for goosebumps to erupt over my arms. Baylor often accused me of being too sensitive when it came to my environment. Maybe that was how I learned to control them as such. Survival. The only sense I had yet to master was taste.

Watching Baylor reach the bottom of the menu I shifted in my seat. The thick cushion hitting the side of my left thigh at just the right angle to poke at the large bruise there. My fingers absently reaching to the spot through the thin fabric of my skirt. More motivation to remain focused. Allowing myself to relax and give my attention to anything other than the man before me bore severe consequences.

“Have you decided?”

Baylor’s voice nearly made me jump as I pulled my hand back to the middle of my lap. He knew what was there on my leg. No need to draw further attention. It was his idea for me to wear such a light fabric. He knew the fear I had of anyone seeing the bruise. The skirt was just long enough to cover it as I sat. Move too much and it would rise and all would be able to see. Then they would know.

Looking expectantly at his face I knew the answer he wished to hear. My chest grew heavy with disappointment. Having already looked over the menu, the veggie and hummus sandwich on ciabatta with house-made potato chips had my mouth watering.

Dropping my eyes, I shook my head. “Not yet.”

I hated how soft and meek my voice sounded. We’ve been together for five year. Only living together for just over one. But often wondering when he truly began to steel from me. Was it when we met when I was fourteen? Later, after he had gained all my trust?

One thing I did know, if I answered him with anything more than sweet obedience, it might cause his content mood to begin to sour.

This place was really growing on me.

The smile on his face was my immediate reward. Summoning the waitress, he ordered himself a grilled steak sandwich with the house-made chips.

“And a strawberry walnut salad with the vinaigrette on the side for my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. That word had excited me for years. To have an upper classman as a boyfriend in high school had been like a badge of honor. Now it was more of an insult. The fight to keep my face neutral and pleasant caused me to nearly lose focus. Hints of my surroundings bled into my awareness.

A conversation from the table at the other end of the cafe came into earshot. An upbeat discussion coordinating plans for a group picnic the following weekend. Squeezing my hands together in my lap to keep a jealous sneer from my lips.

The memory of the first time I politely informed Baylor of my distaste for salads gave me a renewed resolve to strengthen my focus.

Eating fresh fruits and vegetables was great, I loved them all. But I drew the line at a bowl full of frilly lettuces and not much else. Seemed like wasted space. Then to douse it in dressing – sacrilege. Give me some animal protein and carbs. My only hope was that there would be more strawberries and walnuts than greens.

I’d say that Baylor ordering the vinaigrette on the side was his way of showing some empathy. Turned out it was his way of making sure I didn’t waste the dressing on the bottom of the dish. He caught me pouring it around the outside of my salad once instead of actually on it. Waste not and all that.

The waitress made her escape after jotting down our order on her pad. I had just enough time to plaster a grateful, but demure, smile on my face before Baylor’s eyes met mine for only a moment. Then it seemed his phone begged for his attention. Better it than me.

Even on Saturdays he was glued to the damned thing. As an investment banker he proudly wore his greed on his sleeve for all to see. From his obnoxiously gilded watch, brand name khakis shorts and polo, trendy sunglasses hanging from the open collar of his shirt. He was the poster child of wealth.

Again, I squeezed my hands together in my lap. Afraid my disdain for his vanity would manifest on my face. Tension ran through me.

His focus remained on the screen of his phone. To say he wasn’t deserving of his wealth wasn’t entirely true. Baylor worked hard. All through high school, college, and working a path to become partner at his financial firm before he was thirty.

Still, none of that convinced me that he. . .

“Can I get you anything else?”

The waitress’ genuine voice startled me. I had allowed myself to retreat inside a moment. A moment I might pay for later if Baylor’s narrowed gaze was any indication.

He knew.

Our plates sat before us.

Eyes remaining locked on me, he answered the waitress. His tone not matching his suspicious eyes as he assured her we had everything we needed.

That tone. It held all I needed to know.

A short, bright ping sounded from his phone. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighed. A sign of passing judgment. Grabbing a chip, Baylor popped it into his mouth. Chewing it harshly as if punishing the potato for having the audacity of existing in the same space he inhabited.

He was no longer sitting comfortably in the land of contentment. Regardless, I let out a small sigh of relief. Ignoring his phone was a huge sign that it was not my fault he was migrating toward aggravation-ville. That seemed to be the fault of something work related. Which was often worse for me.

But we were in public. A new place he had been excited to try.

I hoped that would be enough for him.

At first glance, Baylor was enjoying his lunch. Mine, on the other hand, was not as balanced as I had hoped. Every bite threatened to invoke my gag reflex. Iceberg or Romaine I could have tolerated. But these bitter greens tasted of poisoned dirt. Dipping each bite into the small ramekin of dressing. Rationing. Through experience, I knew Baylor would make me eat even when I ran out of dressing.

If that wasn’t bad enough, it had goat cheese. Whoever thought making cheese from goat’s milk must have been deliriously desperate. Had it been me, I would have forgone the cheese and milk and just eaten the goat.

My mouth watered looking at the juices running from Baylor’s medium-rare steak sandwich as it soaked into the artisan bread.

Another meal to keep me undernourished.

I was not tall. A fact that Baylor would remind me of often. Not having height meant I should not have the weight either. According to Baylor, that was a valid reason to take control of my diet. At least he never let me starve – for the most part. Despite my petite stature, I was convinced one of my legs was hollow. Even when I was allowed to meet Alijah for lunch, which hadn’t happened for almost a year, I was able to pack away as much as him.

“Something wrong with your salad?”

Shit. I had let myself relax again. I had been so consumed by forcing my lunch down I had forgotten to keep my focus on him.

“It’s fine,” I tell him with a small appreciative smile. “How is your sandwich?”

Setting down the chip in his hand, leaning back into his chair. Double shit.

“This is a nice place, Noa. Do you want to offend them on our first visit?”

I shook my head forcing back tears, furious with myself. How could I have let this happen to me?

“Now, pick up your fork and finish your lunch,” he calmly commanded.

I tried to do just that. The disgust for my salad quickly overridden by the disgust for myself. I wanted nothing more than to fling this tainted rabbit food at his face. Then maybe everyone would see him for what he really was.

“Noa,” his voice warned.

There it was. The tone. The one that said it was the last and only warning I was going to get. Part of me wanted to let the beast out. Let everyone see his true colors. Give the couple gossip to tell their friends next weekend at the picnic.

Maybe this time someone would do something. Say something.

Gritting my teeth, remembering every other time when no one did anything.

When did I become someone who needed saving?

In a moment of hopeful defiance, I dropped my fork onto the plate. Leveling him with my eyes, extending a challenge.

At that moment I had wished supernatural monsters were real. Certain Baylor would morph into some grotesque creature villagers would chase with torches and pitchforks. Once caught they would have him disemboweled and dragged behind a team of horses in four different directions at once.

Instead, he slowly pushed his chair back from the table, walked to the service counter, paid the bill, and calmly walked back to me at the table. He didn’t stop or even slow as he grabbed my upper arm, pulling me harshly from the chair. I could feel the bruises already forming there.

The older women eating at the table nearest us gasped. Others silently watched as he yanked me toward the door. They all watched as his fingers dug into my flesh. They did nothing as my feet stumbled to keep up with his purposeful steps.

Some dared to make small sounds of disapproval as he shoved me toward the exit. Whether it be disapproval of my actions that would warrant such treatment or the actual treatment, I never knew. Maybe it was the glimpse of deep purple on my upper thigh as I was certain the skirt swished enough to give everyone a peek.

Still, no one made a move to stop him.

No one.

That was when the truth fully hit me. Why would they stop Baylor? I was the true monster. I was the one that deserved the treatment I was to receive.

Back at our apartment while he unleashed the full brunt of my punishment, I wondered what the couple would tell their friends at the picnic. The story would probably be filled with the same pity or condemning judgment I passed on myself.