I Ran Before He Could Lie

I never meant to hurt her.

She threw the first slap, spat the insults too. Then—bam—a tiny scratch on her face, and suddenly I was the monster.

Psych ward.

Labeled the campus freak. The crazy girl no one dared sit next to.

Hugh visited once. Same look he was giving me now—disgust, fear, like I was contagious.

I remembered trying to explain, hands shaking, voice cracking. Didn't matter.

It took months of meds and therapy just to feel half normal again.

I thought he'd forgiven me.

Thought he saw me.

But nah.

To him, I was always that broken, reckless girl. Just one misstep away from ruining everything.

The words stuck in my throat, bitter and heavy.

'Guess what, Hugh? I don't like you anymore.'

***

He threw me back in the psych ward.

Told the doctors, "Up her treatment. The wedding's in a month—no screw-ups."

So yeah—they strapped me down, hit me with shocks till I could barely breathe.

And the sick joke? I hadn't even touched Mia.

He never showed. But there he was on TV, smiling next to her like some power-couple poster boy.

Me? I got fried daily. Each jolt clearing the fog a little more.

And with every hit, I knew—I was getting out.

***

Wedding day. Finally.

The Zellers' people came early, dragging me from the ward.

Scars down my arms, burns on my neck—nothing to hide behind.

Hugh's eyes landed on me, and his whole vibe shifted. His jaw clenched, eyes almost soft.

He grabbed a first-aid kit, gently dabbing at my skin. "What happened? Does it hurt? Why didn't you call me?"

Yeah, maybe because your nurse shattered my phone. I stayed silent.

He took it as anger. Of course he did. "I've been swamped, I know. But after the wedding, it'll be different. You saved my life—I owe you. I'll take care of you. But you've gotta stop acting out. No more hurting Mia, okay?"

I said nothing.

He sighed, classic Hugh move, and gave me a head pat like I was five. "I'm off to greet the guests. Be good—listen to the stylist, get your hair done, dress up pretty. After the ceremony, I'll get you cake. No more tantrums, yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Someone called his name, and he was gone.

I stared after him. Then, quiet and steady, I said,

"Hugh, I'm never eating your cake again."

***

By noon, the wedding kicked off.

Hugh stood on stage gripping a huge bouquet of red roses. He wasn't exactly thrilled, but now that it was happening, nerves hit anyway.

He caught himself wondering what the girl he'd babysat—sorry, "cared for"—all these years would look like in a wedding dress. Probably stunning, right?

Then the doors opened. The bride walked in—white dress, perfect smile, all eyes on her.

Hugh smiled back—until she got close.

His grin dropped. Voice low and pissed, he snapped, "Why is it you? Where's Wenna?!"