As I cradled my cheek, hot tears running down them, he leaned close, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. “I know you’ve been texting and talking with someone, Marisha. It’s only a matter of time before I know who it is. Did you think I wouldn’t check the goddamn phone bill?”
Ivan reached around my body and gripped the handle, pulling me out of the way as he opened the door. He shoved me into the passenger seat of his car so hard I fell sideways, cringing as he slammed the door. I was already anticipating the bruises I’d wake up with tomorrow. I’d never seen him so enraged though, so perhaps this time it would be broken bones and not just bruises.
It surprised me how numb I was at the prospect of more pain from him.
How normal it was.
I was still sprawled across the middle console trembling with fear when Ivan opened his door and slid into his seat, pushing me roughly back into place on the passenger side.
“Buckle up, Marisha.”
When I didn’t respond, he jammed his body against mine, taking my seatbelt and roughly yanking it across my body to clip into place.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. My heart was racing a mile a minute.
All I could focus on was what he’d said.
The phone bill.
Of course he would see the phone bill. He checked all of our accounts periodically. He poured over the phone numbers I’d called or texted with. He checked the video camera footage in and around the house and made sure I didn’t have any unauthorized visitors. Like anyone could get past the front gate without his permission. He could check our house from his phone for God’s sake.
How had I ever thought I’d get away with what… whatever was going on with Alexander and I?
Ivan was quiet on the drive home, his face stern. Every few seconds, he fiddled with his tie, loosening it over and over again until the two ends separated completely and hung around his neck limply. It meant something, the way he’d undone his tie like everything was wrong, everything was falling apart.
His business deal.
Our marriage.
His nerves.
Fraying at the edges like century-old chiffon, poorly preserved, unable to stand the test of time.
What would become of me when the last thread unraveled?
Who would save me this time?
As we approached the double gates to our property, Ivan laid on the horn with gusto, blaring the shrill sound out into the night to wake the neighbors. It was too late in the evening for our security guard to respond to his urgings so quickly, but I was too scared to remind him.
He came to a screeching halt next to the security box, rolling down his window and slamming his fingers one by one against the metal numbers to punch in the six digit code. I shrunk back against the leather seat, wishing I could sink fully into the material and disappear forever. He was going to hurt me tonight, more than he already had at the gardens. I knew it…
This might be the time that finally sent me to the hospital.
Or to the morgue.
But, God, at least then I’d be free of him.
No one would care though. No one would come to my aid. I was alone in this. Alone with him in this house of horrors.
He didn’t bother pulling into the garage, instead careening carelessly around the fountain to park near the front stairs in a spin of wheels on gravel.
“You’re going to leave the car out overnight?” The question spilled from my mouth unbidden. I hadn’t meant to say anything. I didn’t want to call attention to myself.
“No, I’m not going to leave the fucking car out overnight, Marisha. Decatur can move it later. I’ve got to get back to the goddamn meeting I had to leave to deal with you.” He got out, leaving the car running, and made his way over to me.
I cringed against the seat, which only made him angrier as he opened the door and reached in to grab my wrist.
“Stop playing the wounded fucking bird, Marisha, and get out of the fucking car. You’ll go inside and stay inside until I come home. Do you understand?” He stared down at me, looking unkempt and wild eyed. “Do. You. Understand?” he repeated, punctuating each word. I felt blood on my wrist as his nails made fresh marks on my skin.
