CHAPTER 2

Casper fixed his pants with a satisfied look on his face while I panted over the counter. My whole body was still exposed, and he eyed me as if I was a piece of meat. He had a wide grin on his face as he stared at me. He was harassing and molesting me with those pretty eyes. I clenched my jaw when he grabbed my chin, pulling me in for a forced kiss as his tongue delved into my mouth. I wanted to puke.

He laughed in victory and whispered, "And you dared to say you didn't want it? Has another man made you feel as good as I do, hm? I doubt there is even someone who wants you."

I hate him. I fucking hate him. All of him. But I hate myself more, for not letting go of the scumbag who takes advantage of me; for holding onto the hope that he would change; for not giving up on him; and for believing that he would realize one day that I was the only one for him.

"You have no idea how much I want to smack your face down that burning frying pan right now, darling," he whispered when he pulled away and then he shoved me. Casper fixed his shirt and left the kitchen. Soon, I heard the front door slam shut, and only then the hot liquid that has been burning my eyes roll down my cheeks. My hands cupped my face, they wiped the tears away and I sighed. I jumped off the counter and picked up my clothes. My shirt was tattered; this was already the tenth time that Casper had destroyed what I was wearing. I sobbed as my fingers closed my bra and ran them through my hair, then I stood and dumped the torn shirt into the trash.

I turned off the stove. My eyes locked on the knife that rested on the counter top.

I should have stabbed him. I should not have let go of it. I could have cut off his—

I shook my head. There was no point thinking about what I should and could have done; the deed and the damage was made. There was nothing that could erase it.

I finished cooking dinner, but I was not really feeling like eating after what happened, so I went into the bedroom and rested, uncaring that I was still half naked.

I wept. I cried as loud and hard as I can. It was funny; I should not be like this in the first place since it was my choice to stay with him. That blonde woman, and those other women whom he had tasted, they had all laughed at my face; I deserved it. I would have done the same if I were all of them. I had become a laughingstock, and I could only imagine how worse it would be if my family were to know about my relationship. They knew I had a boyfriend, but they had never met him. Casper would always dismiss it whenever I brought up the topic about visiting them. It made sense, though, that he never wanted nor wished to see them—he was not serious about me. He did not want to take the next step with me. Casper had never thought about seeing this relationship through the end.

But I thought he had.

I fell in love with him at first sight. The moment he entered the café, I knew I would fall in love with him. As his minty eyes laid upon mine, I knew I was his—his to touch, his to cherish, his to love, his to hold. I was so infatuated with him. I saw the stars twinkling in his eyes; I heard the church bells ringing when I heard his voice; and I felt the warmth of the morning sun when our fingers brushed against one another when I handed him his coffee.

Casper made me daydream about all sorts of things—how my life would turn upside down if we got together and how I would become the happiest person living in this miserable world because I was with him—that was his effect on me. I believed that he was the man for me. I was certain that I was the one for him. I had faith.

I never imagined it would be like this; there was no way I could have known, nonetheless. There was something wrong with Casper. In all the years that I have been with him, it would only be right that I would notice that his behavior was not natural—it was not normal. It was human nature to get mad and angry, but Casper was different. His feelings were wildly fluctuating—he was a mystery. He was a puzzle, and it was hard trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. I could never guess what he was thinking.

I had thought that he had triggers, but that was not the case; Casper would not hesitate to throw hands. He would break your bones and your face if he wanted to. He was aggressive, and I would not want to say how much he had hurt me and how he had done that both in the past and now. That was something I never wanted to remember.

I had so many reasons to leave him. I had a lot of things I could hate about him. I had scars and bruises that were not even visible, and yet I stayed. Sometimes I could not help but wonder, was there something wrong with me, too?

 ☾

I decided to stop by a small library in the town while I was on my way home from work. Casper has not yet texted, so I assumed that he would not be eating dinner in our apartment and asking me nicely to make dinner for him and I. He was back to the man I used to know—someone who was sweet and caring and who knew how to please. He had returned to what I call his "normal self" —the man I fell in love with at first sight when he stepped into the coffee shop. But I knew that he would use this charm on other women, just like he used it on me. He would bed whoever he likes for the night and come back home to me after he was done playing with them. That was what he would tell me every time: "You are the woman I go back home to every night, Luna; that's all that matters."

The library was not far from the snack bar where I work in, and there were only about five people inside when I entered, the librarian was included in the counting. I nodded my head and sniffed in the strange and yet addicting smell of the books. I went over the first shelf, the one that was near to the entrance and examined each spine of each volume that was neatly tucked in there. I could not remember the last time I had visited a place like this nor the last time I held a book in my hands and opened it, flipped through its pages and read the context inside.

My eyes roamed around the whole place; most of the people in here seemed young. They all must be in college, perhaps needing more resources regarding their studies, and watching them made me think about my own college days. I was near to graduation; I was studying psychology. I wanted to become a doctor. I wanted to have a license. But I could not pursue it; I could not finish it. I needed to support my younger siblings. I needed to provide for my family. I was the only one who could do it, as there was no hope for my father anymore since the time that the loan sharks had barged into our house to steal away everything we owned. When he fought against them, the men in suits brutally ganged up on him, leaving him with multiple broken bones on the ground, and now he could not walk without a cane at his hand to support him.

It was rewarding and I was proud of myself for it.

My head turned to the left, and there was a sign that read as: "PSYCHOLOGY". My feet were faster than my brain as they marched towards that section. My heart was rapidly beating, and my palms were sweaty; I knew that Casper was not here, but my anxiety was telling me to check from time after time and look around the library, looking for his face. Perhaps due to the number of times that he had hurt me that I would always be wary of his presence, and I could not help but feel terrified all the time. The book in my hands was educational, there was nothing suspicious about it; I was the one who was being suspicious.

Casper is not here. Get it together, Luna. He is not here.

I found a book about mental illnesses. My fingers were trembling as they flipped through the pages. I bit my lower lip. Casper's symptoms were close to "bipolar disorder", and I turned the book to page 214.

• Changes in thought patterns

• Development of psychosis

• Impaired judgment

• Mood changes

• Speech disruptions

• Sudden changes in energy and activity 

There it was. My hunches were right.

Casper's mood was ever-changing; I mentioned before that I always felt as if he was a puzzle, a mystery. I needed to pay close attention to him to figure him out, and I thought I would. It was not easy; it would be a lie to say that it was fun observing a maniac like him. I got hit for every time that he would catch me staring at him; he would force himself on me if he heard me asking anything at all about him; and I knew he would be too willing to kill me if I were to suggest to him to seek a doctor's help. I had a feeling that Casper knew that he was not normal. Casper knew that there was something wrong about him; he was only too prideful to admit it, to anyone, to me, and more to himself. That was why he continued to be the way that he was, but I wish he knew that he could not deny it forever.

"That's interesting." A voice disrupted my thoughts, and I turned my head to where the sound came from. Behind me stood a man—a tall man—whose arms were caging me and trapping me between himself and the bookshelf. His left arm was raised, as if he was reaching for something from the top shelf, while the other was on the level as my shoulder. "A book about psychological disorders."

I pushed him away, hard. The bookshelf across from us nearly fell as it shook when his big body bumped into it. He groaned, and I could see the frown in his face as he touched his backside, massaging it so it seems, and then he laughed. I stared at him, looking entirely confused of what was happening while I stood in front of him with a heart that was beating hard and fast. I held the book near my chest tightly, preparing to attack him with it if he ever dared to take another step closer. I watched him move from his spot: his long fingers that ran through his dark brown hair which only fell flat on top of his head; his pink lips that curled up as he smiled; and his dark gentle eyes that investigated mine. There was something about him that made me feel safe, made me think as though that he was not a bad person. I loosened the grip on the book in my hands.

"I am sorry if I scared you. I will not blame you for what you did back there, for I did seem like a creep for getting behind you like that." He clapped his hands softly; they must have caught dirt when he bumped into the shelf. The smile on his lips did not fade. I would have taken a few steps back if I could, but my back was already against the wooden shelf behind me. He studied my expression before he said, "I'm Brandon."