His hands closed around my neck, not enough to cut off air, but enough to remind me he had the capability. “That’s what I thought.”
Without warning, he released his hold, sending me tipping forward. Forcing myself upright, I kept my face blank so he could detect nothing, no defiance, no fear. Though every cell in my body screamed to run, to hide, I knew better. I swallowed, tasting copper, belatedly realizing I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.
My body, once my own, now moved on instinct, a choreography honed over years of rehearsal in caution and fear. Every muscle knew the rules by heart: don’t speak unless spoken to, never hold eye contact too long, never breathe too loud, never disappear but never be in the way, stay invisible until he decides to see you.
These were the laws carved into my bones, unwritten and immovable, enforced with fists and fury. The smallest misstep, the slightest deviation, might awaken disaster.
Vincent stood in the kitchen, his posture relaxed, but I saw the storm brewing, his jaw clenched too tight, betraying the rage waiting to be unleashed. The silence made the air hum with threat.
“I can prepare dinner if you’re hungry,” I said, making myself sound neither too eager, nor too reluctant.
His hand lashed out in a blur of motion, and the slap cracked through the room. The harsh sting spread across my face, my head snapping to the side.
“And why isn’t dinner ready now?” His tone, though not loud, held no softness, only venom diluted in calm.
“I didn’t expect you for another two hours, so I hadn’t started making it.” The excuse was feeble, already condemned. No explanation would be enough; logic had no place in this kind of fury.
“It doesn’t matter what time I get home. Dinner should be ready for whenever I arrive.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Apology came as a reflex now, branded on my tongue from repetition.
No use bringing up how last week he’d raged when I’d prepared dinner too early and he’d had to reheat it. Inconsistency remained the only constant with him, reason an unwelcome guest, always turned away at the door.
“Is there anything you’d prefer tonight? I thought we could do steak and potatoes.” That would be simple enough to prepare, and it had the benefit of being one of Vincent’s favorites. I hoped offering that would alleviate his temper.
He said nothing at first, the silence making my skin prickle. I didn’t dare move. After an eternity, he exhaled. I flinched as his hands rose, but instead of another blow, his fingers skimmed down the side of my face, the light contact burning with a strange dissonance.
“How about we order in?” he murmured, his voice stripped of its earlier edge. “It’ll take the same amount of time for delivery and then you won’t have to cook.”
The shift in his demeanor struck with whiplash force, as if the man before me had been recast mid-scene, replaced by an unreliable softness that unsettled me more than his irascibility.
Vincent’s mercurial moods, the wild, unrelenting swing from one extreme to the next, had become the rhythm of our life.
Apologies rarely came in words anymore. The early days of guilt and tears had faded into gestures, often a takeaway meal or sometimes a gentle touch. These were his reparations, attempts that sometimes came across as though he were trying to barterfor forgiveness. Other times, like now, it seemed this had become the only language of remorse he still knew how to speak.
It hadn’t always been this way. In the beginning, Vince had showered me with affection. He’d seen what others had ignored and had pulled me from the wreckage, offering sanctuary. Every moment had promised permanence; he’d seen and cherished me. For six months, he’d served as my refuge.
The shift hadn’t come in thunderclaps. It arrived in accusations that I was too sensitive, my perception unreliable because of my past trauma. It seeped in through control dressed in the costume of concern, command masquerading as care, harsh criticism disguised as the hope I might better myself. Isolation wore the mask of protection; surveillance proclaimed itself as love. All of it packaged with the excuse that I didn’t know any better. Over time, those things had erased the good, until one day I looked in the mirror and no longer recognized the person staring back. The realization struck that I’d traded one nightmare only to be trapped in another.
“I’m going to shower while we wait for the food,” Vincent said. Leaning in, he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, the same cheek he’d struck not ten minutes earlier, a gesture so discordant it made a mockery of it. Then he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Once the water turned on and I felt certain he wouldn’t return, I let myself collapse into a chair, breath escaping in a tremble. Unnatural heat still invaded my cheek where he’d slapped me. Once, Vince had been meticulous, striking only where clothing would conceal the damage. That line, like so many others, had long since been erased. Now, there were no rules, no restraint. His rage landed anywhere.
My hand shook as I reached into my pocket, retrieving the card.Luke Walker.A name that shimmered like a mirage on sun-scorched asphalt, beckoning with false hope, anothergleaming specter in the endless parade of illusions I’d mistaken for lifelines. Already holding too many shards of empty and broken promises, my splintered, damaged hands couldn’t take any more. I shredded the card into miniscule pieces, wrapped them up in a damp paper towel, placed it in the trash, then lowered the lid. Luke Walker would be nothing more than a memory.
Chapter 4
Oliver
For two weeks I existed in the early chapters again, the golden days before the unspoken war began. My days with Vincent were marked by whispered affection and the resurrection of old inside jokes. Remembering the man who rescued me from a life I never wished to return to was easy when Vincent behaved like this, when his touch gentled and his words brimmed with warmth.
The day started with my being woken to a trail of caresses across my jawline.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I stretched, arching my back and sighing, eyes still closed. “Good morning.”
“I’ll be home late. I have a debriefing regarding a case with the senior associates scheduled at six tonight.”
