It’s finally over
Freya Ashford - POV
I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. Her dark brown hair, once full of life and waves, now hung limp and lifeless around her shoulders. My bright hazel eyes, which used to sparkle with joy, appeared dull and hollow, as if all the light had been extinguished. The porcelain-soft skin that had once been my pride was now marred by purplish-black bruises, a cruel testament to the turmoil I had endured.
Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the haunting memories of Wyatt. Each image replayed in my mind like a broken tape recorder, echoing the pain of our crumbling relationship. I had always known we were teetering on the edge, but catching him in bed with another woman was the last straw. It shattered whatever fragile hold I had left on my sanity.
You were stupid to confront him, Freya.
I whispered to my reflection, my voice a mere ghost of its former self. With a tired sigh, I tried to gather my thoughts. “Freya!” I heard his thunderous voice echo from the living room, making my heart skip a beat. The woman he had betrayed me with was my best friend, and the betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound. I had found them together in her apartment, the image seared into my mind. In a moment of blind rage, I had thrown a vase at Wyatt before fleeing the scene.
I knew I would face the consequences for my actions, but right now, I was ready to stand my ground. I was done taking his bullshit. Just then, my door was ripped off its hinges. I turned away from the mirror to see Wyatt standing there, his face flushed with rage. His black hair clung to his skull, and a small trickle of blood flowed from the side of his forehead, a grim reminder of our last encounter.
His grey eyes, usually so captivating, appeared almost black as he took two large steps toward me. He grabbed my neck in an iron grip and slammed me against the mirror. I heard the crack of glass reverberate through the room. “You fucking ruined everything for me,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. I struggled against his hold, but I felt weak compared to his towering six-foot-two frame and well-built body.
“I gave you everything, Wyatt! I tolerated your mood swings, your lies. But you just had to run away and sink your fucking dick into the next available pussy?” I gasped, clawing at his hand as it gradually cut off my air supply.
“You have no right to question my sex life, Freya. You’re weak and pathetic,” he sneered, each word laced with venom. I felt a wave of despair wash over me, but I refused to let him see my fear. Drawing on the last remnants of my strength, I swung my leg and connected with his groin. He immediately released me, and I seized the opportunity to flee, darting out of my room and quickly locking the door behind me.
“Why can’t you just let me go, Wyatt?” I yelled from the other side, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.
“You killed my sister, and you think I will let you walk out of this alive?” he growled, his voice shaking with fury. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. I did not kill her.
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him it wasn’t my fault. Someone had tampered with the brakes of my car, and Heather had taken my vehicle. I didn’t know, and I couldn’t fathom how he could blame me for something I hadn’t done.
“I can’t take it anymore, Wyatt. I am leaving,” I announced, my voice steadier than I felt.
“You can never walk out of this, Freya. I will torture you until the only thing you wish for is death,” he yelled, his words chilling me to the bone. In an instant, the door was ripped open, the lock hanging uselessly. I was already in the living room, collecting my handbag when I felt a blow to the back of my head.
A painful scream erupted from my mouth as I fell to the ground, turning to see Wyatt wielding a lamp, my blood staining it. “I will not let you leave, Freya,” he said in a low, predatory tone as I scrambled backward, pushing everything in my path—a stool, a chair—until a glass shattered underfoot, the sound echoing in the chaos. He lunged forward, grabbing my leg and dragging me toward him.
His hands were back on my throat, squeezing tightly. My lungs struggled to breathe as pain radiated through my body. I knew this time he intended to kill me. My hands flailed around until they finally grasped something sharp. In a moment of desperation, I jabbed it into his arm—a shard of glass, a last-ditch effort for survival.
Even then, he continued to squeeze my throat as I began to see black dots at the corners of my vision. I could feel consciousness slipping away, and I wondered where the police were. They should be here right now.
“Wyatt, please,” I managed to choke out, his face contorting with a mix of rage and something else—was it regret? He shook his head, a crazed look crossing his features, but I still saw the love he had once shown me.
“I loved you, Freya. And I still do, but every time I see your face, all I can see is the one thing I lost because of you.” His voice was filled with sorrow, as if he were trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
“Please, let me go,” I gasped, clawing at his hand, where I could see the blood flowing from my attack.
“I would if only I could. He has to believe this, Freya,” Wyatt whispered, the last part barely audible. I didn’t understand what he meant. Just when I thought my lungs would burst from the lack of oxygen, his grip eased, and I was almost stunned by the sudden change.
“I…I can’t do—” he started, but he didn’t finish his sentence. A loud crash interrupted us, and suddenly, there were lights. Someone pulled Wyatt off me.
“You are under arrest for sexual harassment and attempted murder,” an officer announced, while I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, pulling me off the floor. My body felt weak, trembling as I leaned against the officer for support.
“I wasn’t going to murder her!” Wyatt shouted, his voice desperate as he looked at me. Confusion swirled within me; the emotions displayed on his face were a tumultuous mix of regret and anger. It was too late for apologies. Two officers handcuffed him and dragged him out of the house while another officer led me out of my apartment building.
Outside, police cars and an ambulance surrounded the area, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows on the pavement. An officer helped me into the ambulance, and soon a doctor began checking my wounds, their sterile touch a stark contrast to Wyatt’s violent grip.
As they examined me, I felt disoriented, as if I were floating above my own body, watching it all unfold from a distance. The reality of the situation pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. I had survived, but at what cost?
“Freya, can you hear me?” The doctor’s voice broke through my haze, bringing me back to the present. I nodded, though my mind was still racing.
“Just breathe, okay? We’re going to take care of you,” he said, his tone calm but urgent. I could see the concern etched on his face, a stark reminder of how close I had come to losing everything.
