Holy Crap I'm 25, married, and still sane?!?!
an excerpt

"Hey Jess, can you go outside and pick up another bottle of cider? They're on the table out back." Andrew asked me as he slung a kitchen towel over his shoulder.
"Sure, no problem." I stood up and made my way to the back door and opened one of the French doors to the wide back yard that settled against a large open space. Chelsea was sitting on a chair at the table that was lined with cider and champagne. I shivered as I stepped out. I twas definitely cold enough to keep the cider and champagne chilled. I smiled at Chelsea and grabbed the nearest bottle of cider. Marc was standing at the other end of the table, leaning against it. His Military buzz cut made his head and face more square, paralleling his broad shoulders with lean muscled arms hanging down. The term "Jar Head" came to mind.
Marc looked at me with a smug look in his eye and the corner of his mouth slid up to a smirked grin. "So why are you telling people I have a drinking problem?" he asked maliciously.
I stood shocked at the sudden tone of attack from him. "Where did you hear that?" I said, my head reeling as my breath caught in my throat.
"Oh, I have my sources," Marc said coyly, his grin spreading across his face like a wold who has snared a struggling rabbit.
I felt my eyebrows narrowing in a frown, knowing it was Nana and not sure why he couldn't just say it. "I said that because you do. Every time I've talked to you, you're drinking to excess, and that's a problem. Not to mention you've had problems with Alcohol before."
"How often do we speak on the phone?"
"He really doesn't drink that much, only on the weekends." Chelsea chimed in to defend him.
"You should really keep your mouth shut Jess on things you don't know," he snarled at me tilting his head down slightly so the bright light from the overhead lamp spilled down his forehead and cheek bones keeping his eyes in shadow. It was the silent warning that cats give right before they pounce.
"You can't ever be nice can you?" It blurted from my mouth as I stood with my back to the French door, leading to warmth and safety from this predatory person who just wanted to hurt me. He barked something at me as he stood up to his full six feet, squaring his shoulders, which would have towered over my modest five feet four inches, if I were much closer. My mind was shutting down as the overwhelming sensation of being trapped by him swarmed me. He wanted me to scream at him, be angry, and eventually submit to his male authority by agreeing to what ever he wanted; proving the lies told to his new wife, and to himself, that I was crazy, emotionally disturbed, and not worth being part of "The Family." He wanted to rile me up so that he could feast on the energy released from me like some demented vampire. "You can't ever just be nice!" I shouted. It seemed to be the only thing that would come out of my mouth as my brain fluttered and flapped against the walls of my skull, desperately looking for escape from this monster who touched old triggers of fears from an abusive mother and aunt.
"Marc," Chelsea intervened from her chair ineffectively calling the dog off.
"Yeah, that's fuckin' right, I can't be nice," he said confidently as though it were a compliment. The snarl faded on his face to the smug grin that was there before as he puffed on his cigarette.
"You can't ever just be nice," I sad a last time turning from him as I fled into the house.