You Wanted Me to Beg Before Marriage? Too Bad, I Walked First Chapter 02

You Wanted Me to Beg Before Marriage? Too Bad, I Walked First Chapter 02

My phone buzzed with a purchase alert from the credit card account I had added Evan to.

He had ordered pads and hot chocolate.

His closest female coworker was on her period. He kept track of her cycle and went out of his way to take care of her.

It was not that Evan did not know how to take care of someone. He just never showed that kind of care to me.

I suddenly remembered the argument we had had the day before over a pot of chicken stew.

Calling it an argument was not quite accurate. He had been the only one lashing out.

“Don’t you know I like my food spicy?” he demanded. “Why is this chicken stew so bland? Did you even put any effort into it?”

The paperwork from my doctor documenting my stomach condition lay on the coffee table. He had spent hours stretched out on the couch playing games without looking at it once.

I patiently explained, “My stomach has been acting up, and the doctor told me to cut back on spicy food.”

“You didn’t put any effort into it. Stop making excuses.”

He threw down his fork and refused to eat another bite.

“Evan, do you remember what today is?” I asked. “It’s my birthday.”

His voice dripped with sarcasm. “So what? Is your birthday supposed to be some kind of national holiday?”

“No.”

It really was not that important.

Our birthdays were close together, so we usually celebrated them at the same time. I ordered the cake, and Evan blew out the candles.

The day before, I had merely happened to pass a bakery around the same time my mother called.

Since she remarried, Christmas was usually the only time we spoke each year.

Hearing her suddenly say, “Happy birthday,” left me dazed.

Before I knew it, I had gone inside and bought myself a cake.

Evan stared at it for so long that I began to hope he might say something.

Maybe he would wish me a happy birthday.

Maybe he would realize he had forgotten and make it up to me with a gift.

Instead, he said nothing.

The way he looked at me was almost accusatory.

A mocking smile tugged at his lips. “You think having a birthday makes you special?”

“Special enough to throw away the gift I bought you?”

I remembered the stuffed animal I had found sitting out of place on the table when I came home.

I had tossed it onto the balcony.

“That was for me?”

“Who else would it be for? Do you seriously think I wanted it?”

Stuffed animals triggered my allergies.

I had told him that more times than I could count, but every time, he merely clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You’re such a pain. Next time, you’re getting nothing.”

There was always a next time, though, and the gift was always another stuffed animal.

I scratched my itching palm and patiently explained yet again, “I’m allergic to them. Please don’t buy me another one.”

“Is the allergy going to kill you?”

“What?”

“I asked if it was going to kill you.”

“I went out of my way to buy that for you. Would it have been so hard to hold it for a picture and thank me?”

“After everything I did, this is how you treat me?”

I had no answer. Faced with his accusations, I gave in just as I always did.

“I’m sorry.”

“I was wrong.”

“It won’t happen again.”

He was still not satisfied.

“Maya Bennett, do you know why neither of your parents wanted you?” he asked.

“This is exactly why you’re so hard to like.”

He had aimed directly at the wound he knew hurt the most.

Whenever anyone mentioned my parents, I remembered their divorce and how they had kept trying to pawn me off on each other because neither of them wanted custody of me.

I could still remember the looks people had given me back then. Some were full of pity, while others stared with morbid curiosity.

Whenever those memories resurfaced, rage flooded through me so suddenly that losing control was the only way I knew to release it.

That was why I picked up the cake I had bought myself and smashed it to pieces.

Evan whistled as he went back to his game.

I stayed alone in the living room and cleaned up the mess.

I wiped the floor again and again, but I could not seem to erase the traces of my tears.

I kept asking myself, “You’re supposed to marry him tomorrow. Are you really ready for that?”

One voice inside me said, “Stop overthinking it. He has a bad temper, but that doesn’t make him a bad person. Haven’t you always wanted a family of your own?”

Another voice answered, “Can you really accept living through countless more nights like this?”

I must have been lost in those memories for too long because the photographer was watching me with concern.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.

I shook my head gently.

“I just feel a little lost.”

“I know it’s not my place, and this is your decision,” she said. “But this is the rest of your life. Maybe you should take a little more time to think it through.”

“All right,” I said. “I will.”