Saved By The Other Brother

Cassie’s POV

Never marry young. If you do not believe me, go ahead and try it.

It’s funny how Mr. Right can turn into Mr. Wrong in the blink of an eye.

Ever since I got married, I became the punching bag of my dear husband, Manuel. He took out his anger on me whenever he felt like it, cursed my entire being, hit me repeatedly, and cut me off from connecting with anyone else in the world.

He said it was love, a way to strengthen our relationship, and I believed him. For years, I let him trample on me because I was in love with a man who never deserved it. I let him pull my hair and later accepted his stupid flowers as apologies. I was blind to it all, I still am. Now I sit in this big house, feeling hollow, waiting for the next slap I might receive, probably because the carrots in his food are not the same length.

I let out a deep sigh and gulped the remains of the wine I had been twirling in my glass for hours. It was almost 2 a.m., and he was not back. I was not allowed to know where he was or where he went, but I already knew. He was probably in her bed again tonight, wrapped between her legs as she screamed his name.

Manuel once told me I made sex feel like a horror movie. He said he could not bear to fuck me, and anytime we did, he either threw a bedsheet over my face or took me from behind. He hated me so much, yet I loved him. I had always been a fool for him, yet Gracie, my ex–best friend, was the only woman he wanted.

I know I sound stupid. I know I should file a report against him, get a divorce, or even go as far as getting a restraining order. But I could never bring myself to do it. Manuel was the only family I had. No matter how much the love I had for him turned into resentment, I closed my eyes, leaned back, and waited until my body could not take the abuse anymore, until I left this earth and made room for him and his lover.

Mine was supposed to be a fairytale. I had a prince, but he turned into my bully faster than I had ever imagined.

I rose to my feet, the chilly air biting into my pale skin as I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. All I wanted now was my bed and pillow to cry on like I did every night. But as I moved up the stairs, the front doors came flying open, startling me.

“Be careful, baby,” a female voice giggled.

I turned to find both Gracie and Manuel arm in arm, swaying their way into the main parlor until they reached the steps where I had been standing. They reeked of alcohol so strongly it could be smelled from miles away.

Manuel almost tripped while climbing one of the stairs. I snapped out of my shocked state and rushed to his side.

“Here, let me help,” I said, crouching down.

“Get away from us,” Gracie snapped.

I sighed, watching her struggle to lift him. “Can’t you see he is too heavy for you alone? Let me help.”

Finally, she stepped aside, and together we carried Manuel up to our bedroom. All he muttered the entire struggle up the stairs was Gracie’s name, like I did not exist at all.

“Now you can leave us be. We’ve had a long day and just want to rest,” she said, already taking off her clothes. Soon, she stood before me with nothing but lacy underwear, while Manuel tossed and turned lazily in bed, unable to form proper words.

I stared around blankly, restraining myself from lunging toward her and pushing her off a balcony or something worse. Everything in me screamed to give her a dark eye before Manuel could even notice. Instead, I did what I always did to calm myself. I placed my right hand on my right shoulder and patted myself gently.

That little pat had always calmed the storm brewing inside me, ever since the days of my abusive foster father. Now that I think about it, when have I never been punched by a man?

Gracie waved a hand in front of my face. “Leave. Now.”

“But this is my matrimonial bed. If you need to rest, I can show you to a guest room,” I said, even though I knew it was useless. I tried because no matter how many times Manuel openly admitted to sleeping with her, he had never brought her home, let alone laid her in a bed that was supposed to be ours.

Gracie let out a mocking laugh, flaunting her beautiful, sexy body at me. She was a goddess, I could not deny that. She had always been perfect from head to toe and never seemed to age, like the blood-sucking vampire she was. Her long dark hair stood out in any room, even more now with the bangs framing her face.

“You still call this bed a matrimonial bed?” she laughed harder. “Oh no, poor Cassie. You have absolutely no clue. I have been sleeping with Manuel on this bed for as long as your marriage has been.”

My body froze. My breathing quickened, and suddenly my hearing faded as her words sank in. No. This could not be true. He had never brought her here. Or had he? I continued patting myself as I fought back the tears burning my eyes.

“How long?” I finally found my voice.

She smirked. “Two years. It all started the night before your wedding.”

I clutched my chest as beads of sweat formed on my forehead. My knees buckled, giving way as I collapsed to the floor.

That night, Gracie had suddenly left my bachelorette party in a rush, saying she had to attend to something urgent. Now it all made sense. I had been a fool for thinking it all started four months ago, when I walked in on them at his office. Their affair was older than my two years of marriage.

Gracie ignored me, climbed into bed, and stripped Manuel of his clothes. Right in front of me, she took off her panties, climbed onto his already hard dick, and straddled him, moaning loudly like I was not even there.

Without another word, I forced myself to my feet and left the room, running as fast as my legs could carry me. Before I knew it, I was out of the house, running recklessly through the quiet, rainy street at 2:30 a.m., crying to the heavens to give me an easy death because I could not bear it anymore.

Out of nowhere, a beam of light flashed before my eyes. A car approached fast. It honked, but I stayed rooted to the spot. I was ready for all my pain to end.