I try, but his grip prevents any sound from coming out. Tears start to stream down my cheeks.
“Stupid beautiful girl.”
My legs buckle and he lets me drop to the floor, releasing his grip. I gasp and fight to push the sudden rush of oxygen through my lungs. He crouches next to me and strokes my hair gently. Too gently. Past experience has me drawing my knees up into my chest.
“Get up,” he orders softly.
When I don’t comply immediately, he stands and yells, “GET UP!” His temper overtakes his mask of composure. I am thrown back in time as his foot hits my ribs and I hear the familiar crack of the bones breaking, again. The air whooshes out of my body,and I lay in a heap on the floor trying to stop myself from being sick from the pain and the fear.
“Arianna … Get. Up.”
I muster every last bit of energy that I have left, and push myself up onto my knees, holding onto the edge of the bath for support. My breaths are shallow and shaky, every inhale hurts, and every exhale leaves me exhausted.
Jonny sighs and drops his head before dragging his hand over his face and through his angular beard. “Why do you always make me do this to you? Why do you always have to push me? I’ve done nothing but care for you. I’ve taken careofyou, while you’ve sulked and acted like an adolescent. But I gave that to you. I let you have your moment, and youstillpush me.” His voice is neutral now. Maybe even soft, but it has a dangerous undertone.
He helps me up, supporting me by holding my arm at the elbow. When I’m nearly at full height, he cups my face gently with his hand. “I just want to love you, Arianna, baby. Let me love you,” he whispers.
My mind is exhausted. My body is broken, again. I don’t have the strength to fight him. So, I don’t. I just nod my acceptance of the situation. But I won’t accept his twisted kind of love.
“I’ll help you get dressed,” he offers.
“I can do it,” I say quietly, and I feel him stiffen beside me. “I want to surprise you, okay?” I insist and force a fake smile through the pain of my ribs, and the situation. Every second I think of Denham. I see his face and imagine the hurt that would show in his eyes if he knew what I was doing right now.
But he would have come looking for me if he wanted me, right? He would have fought for me like he promised he would, if he really wanted me. Every second that passes, my heart beats a little slower. I am dying inside. My love for him is killing mysoul, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I endure the pain to save his life, that’s the way it has to be.
No alternative.
No way out.
Life has gone from being inexplicably beautiful, to hopelessly dark.
“I need to use the bathroom and get showered.” I manage to get the words out on shaky breaths. I might only be delaying the inevitable but I need to buy myself more time. I’m not ready to even think about doing this. I don’t know how I’m going to make myself ready, no amount of preparation could do that, but I need to figure out a way.
“Okay,” he answers simply.
“Okay.” I smile to placate him, anything to get him to leave.
“I’ll wait right here.” He sits in the leather armchair in the corner of the room, stretching back and resting one ankle on his knee. He smiles crookedly at me then brings his hand up to his chin and rests it on his knuckles.
Shit.
“You don’t need to wait,” I whisper. “I might be a while; a girl has to look good for her wedding day and all that.”
I step forward, encouraging him to step back out of the bathroom and let me close the door behind him. I slip the lock in place as quietly as I possibly can; puzzling that he hasn’t taken all the locks off the doors in this condo, like he had the one we used to live in together. There was no such thing as privacy. I’m not sure if it’s something he’s overlooked, or if it’s meant to lull me into a false sense of security. Either way, I let out a painful breath when the lock is fully engaged.
I look around the room, not knowing why I’m really in here. I need time. But what for? Isn’t this just making it worse? Isn’t this just a form of torture, prolonging the agony of what’s to come?
I run the cold water and splash my face. I gasp when it hits me, but I’m grateful for the split second distraction.
I brace my hands on both sides of the sink and take several deep breaths before looking up at my reflection. This is the closest I’ve looked in the mirror for days. My skin is sallow, my eyes sunken and sad. What was a familiar sight a few years ago has come back to visit like an old unwelcome acquaintance. Time may have passed, but nothing has really changed.
I mindlessly open the cabinet above the sink, as if there will be a miraculous solution hiding amongst the ointments and lotions. This is the first time I have thought to look through anything of Jonny’s, nothing interesting in there, until…
A small brown bottle catches my eye…
A solution to this situation. In fact, a solution to every situation.
Do I have time? How long will it take for Jonny to break down the door?
