I have been effectively silenced.
Not so strong after all, I have discovered. Not where it counts most.
I amweak.
Is it still strength, to sit still and do nothing to protect the ones you love? Because I thought so, but now I’m not so sure.
Knives and guns are so much easier thanthis.
My shoulders are breaking beneath the weight of the lives I’m carrying, and I’m so fucking tired.
I close my eyes as my hair is dried, brushed and curled into feminine waves.
It could be worse.
After all, I could be forced to fuck my husband. But for the time being at least, he seems content to watch me, glee in his pale blue eyes as my spirit breaks a little more, every day.
To watch as I take food from his hands, to play with my hair.
I am a toy.
I often wonder what precise moment he’s waiting for, to take that final step. How much longer before he decides that it is enough.
That I’m brokenenough.
Stefano was right. Salvatore thrives on emotional torture.
The waiting… the waiting is almostworse.Waking up in the middle of the night, waiting for hands on my body, breath across my face, night after night—
A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye, and I glance up. Stefano’s arms are crossed as he leans against the doorway, his eyes on my face.
Breathe.
I take a breath, and the tension in his shoulders loosens. “He’s waiting.”
Cecile sniffs. “I’m not done.”
I look like a doll. Like a lovely, pretty accessory. Cecile zips up my short dress, another shade of pink that almost hurts my eyes and leaves my shoulders bare, mybrandon full display. I slip my feet into useless matching ballet shoes that threaten to fall off my feet, sit still as she clasps the choker around my neck.
It feels like a collar.
Stefano is expressionless as I pass him. But I sense the apology in the brush of his fingers against mine, the encouragement.
Breathe.
Salvatore spreads his hands out as we reach the main doors. His eyes linger on the choker around my neck, his symbol in my skin. “You look beautiful,wife.”
I’ve never despised a word more.
His hand spreads across my lower back as we leave Cecile behind.
The sunlight makes me squint, blinding me as Salvatore pushes me forward. Stumbling, I lift a hand to my face, breathing in.
Six weeks without fresh air. Without the sun on my face.
Stefano slides into the seat opposite me, Salvatore on his phone. I can feel Stefano’s eyes on me as I stare out of thewindow. Watching the estate disappear behind us, those tall gray prison walls replaced with green fields and corn before we reach the highway.
I soak it in, trying to pull a little of the bright afternoon light into myself. Stealing just a little. Something to brighten the darkness that spreads through my veins.
