Chapter 66 Domestic Violence
Mia got force-fed some strong liquor and passed out. I hurt my wrist, so we all went to the hospital.
The doctor patched me up, saying the cut wasn't deep but hit a blood vessel, causing more bleeding. He told me to keep it dry, change the dressing regularly, and eat more iron-rich foods to help it heal in a few days.
Mia woke up after getting her stomach pumped but felt weak and dizzy. The doctor put her on an IV and suggested she stay overnight for observation.
Benjamin wanted us to go home, saying he'd take care of Mia.
Isabella and I were worried Mia might refuse Benjamin's help and cause a scene. We felt responsible for our roommate, so we insisted on staying. Brad had to stay with me.
Honestly, I wanted Brad to go home. He looked angry, and I was scared he'd scold me for going to the bar. I hoped he'd cool off by the next day.
But Brad said he'd stay with me to keep me out of trouble.
His logic made sense, so Brad stayed, and I didn't dare argue, knowing I was in the wrong.
The hospital room had three beds. Each of us girls took one. Isabella fell asleep quickly; she was exhausted from drinking and the fight.
Mia ignored everyone, facing the wall. Benjamin sat beside her, trying to comfort her, but she didn't respond, frustrating him.
I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I saw Mia staring blankly out the window.
Determined, Benjamin climbed onto the bed, took off his shoes, and held Mia tightly despite her struggles. Even when she bit his arm, he didn't let go.
Mia cried, cursed, and fought him, but Benjamin didn't fight back or let go. He silenced her with a kiss, finally giving us some peace.
When Mia stopped struggling, Benjamin loosened his grip and hoarsely said, "Go to sleep. Move again, and I'll kiss you more."
Mia calmed down and fell asleep within minutes, snoring softly.
Asleep? Just like that?
After days of crying, a kiss and a hug solved everything?
So all Mia needed to sleep and eat again was a hug!
When Benjamin kissed Mia, Brad covered my eyes with his hand. "Don't look. You're too young for this."
I ignored Brad. Missing a live kiss scene would be a shame.
Luckily, Brad didn't cover my eyes tightly, so I peeked through his fingers. It felt like watching a widescreen movie, not perfect but satisfying.
Caught up in the drama, I forgot my situation and Brad's stern face. I said, "They made up so quickly. If I'd known a fight would solve things, we should've fought sooner."
As soon as I spoke, the room felt like it dropped ten degrees, and I shivered more than during the fight. I quickly pulled the blanket over myself.
Oops, I forgot Brad was right there.
I nervously pulled the blanket higher, trying to cover my face.
"Don't hide under there. Your turn. How many bottles did you drink?" Brad pulled the blanket down, revealing my face, his usually refined face now showing a hint of roguishness.
I didn't dare not answer. I extended two fingers from under the blanket.
"Two bottles?" Brad gritted his teeth.
I smiled slightly and added another finger.
"Three bottles?" A vein throbbed on Brad's temple.
I added another finger.
"How many bottles exactly?" Brad seemed to be grinding his teeth.
Reluctantly, I opened my whole hand.
"Just five bottles, really, no lie."
The vein on Brad's temple bulged as he grabbed my five fingers, gritting his teeth. "You snuck off to drink and had five bottles. Do you know what kind of place that was? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
I glanced at Brad's dark face, terrified. What should I do?
Helen once said, "People don't hit smiling faces." Right, smile and be nice. Maybe Brad would go easy on me.
"We dared to go because we knew, no matter what happened, Brad, you'd always come to save us, right?" I flattered Brad, hoping he'd be lenient because of my trust in him.
"What if I couldn't make it in time? Did you think about the consequences? Jane, if I don't punish you this time, you'll do something even more outrageous next time."
I was about to say I wouldn't when Brad suddenly flipped my blanket, pressing me face down on the bed.
He held my back with his left hand and raised his right hand. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room.
The sting on my butt finally registered, and I realized, at twenty-one, Brad was spanking me.
My face turned as red as a ripe tomato, shame and anger flooding me, my ears ringing.
"Let go! Even my dad never hit me. What gives you the right?" I was furious, forgetting we were in a hospital, yelling and struggling.
'If you must hit, hit anywhere but the butt. You're not my dad, right?' I thought.
I flailed like an octopus on the bed, knocking the pillow aside and a water bottle off the nightstand, waking Mia and Isabella. They watched my plight with glee.
Despite my efforts, I couldn't escape Brad's grasp and received eight spanks.
I was utterly humiliated, wanting to die.
Someone, save me!
No one did.
Overwhelmed with shame and anger, I cried, "Let go, Brad! You have no right to hit me. This is domestic violence. I'm calling the police."
Being spanked felt like a social death, too embarrassing. I wanted to faint.
Brad, initially furious, laughed at my words and spanked me again. "Do you even know what domestic violence is? We're not even married, so how can it be domestic violence?"
I ignored him, focusing on crying.
I was mortified. Besides crying, I didn't know how to ease the awkwardness or calm Brad's burning anger.
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