Looking down at my outfit, I huff, then open the door and pad through in my socks to the main living area. Fuck him if he thinks he can control me in my own house. This may never be my home, but it is still my fucking space.
“Darius!” Floyd’s mum exclaims when I come into view. She’s dressed in a white pantsuit with a pink blouse. She looks beautiful. She loves to talk to me about my uncle and how happy they were together before he passed. I still can’t wrap my headaround how she gave birth to the narcissist standing on the opposite side of the room, anger and distaste flashing across his features as he rakes his gaze over me.
“Hi, Mrs Hastings. We weren’t expecting you this evening.”
“We were in the area and thought we would stop in,” Floyd’s grandmother, Elizabeth, the matriarch of the family, says, coming around the sofa to greet me. It’s the second time she’s ‘popped’ in unexpectedly and I think Floyd may be right that she’s looking to catch us out. “Hope that’s okay?” she asks, taking my hands in hers and giving them a squeeze.
I smile. “Of course, you’re always welcome.”
It’s only when she looks down at my hands that she’s clutching between hers that I realise the mistake I’ve made. She raises a well-manicured brow.
“Oh! Where is your ring? Don’t say you’ve lost it already?” She tries to joke, but there’s something in her voice that says she’s smarter than both me and her grandson.
Over her shoulder, Floyd shoots me a glare that could kill, before he replaces it with a smile that he hopes resembles real human emotion and moves swiftly towards us.
“The fit was wrong,” he says. “It was much too loose.” He wraps his arm around me, and I fight back the wince as he digs his fingers in so hard I know there will be bruises.
“Yes.” I cough, to hide the bite of pain he’s inflicting on me. “It was too big. Floyd kindly took it in to be resized. I should have it back later this week.” His grandmother narrows her eyes, but eventually drops my hands and changes the subject, moving around the apartment and inspecting the bits and pieces dotted around to make the space look like somewhere a happy couple lives.
“Shall we go out for dinner?” Floyd asks and I’m already thinking up excuses for why I can’t join them, but am saved from having to lie when his grandmother shakes her head.
“No, we have plans with your grandfather’s lawyer this evening.”
“On a Sunday night?” Floyd asks, failing to hide his surprise.
His grandmother grins. “He’s a close family friend.” I don’t miss the way Floyd bristles, his eyes briefly flitting my way.
“We have time for a quick cup of tea, don’t we, Liz?” Floyd’s mother asks her mother-in-law.
“Sure,” Liz says, and I use the opportunity to dash out of the room and put the kettle on.
They stay for an hour, making idle chitchat about sports and the weather and when we’re going on our honeymoon (we’re not), before they say their goodbyes. At the door, Floyd’s grandmother leaves with a suggestion of meeting up with my father for drinks later in the week.
And isn’t that great? Another chance to play happy fucking families. I have to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. How I’m going to do this for another seven hundred plus days, I do not know.
When the door closes behind our guests, I turn to head back to my room, caught completely off guard by the strong hand that grabs the back of my neck. I cry out as Floyd throws me against the wall, my head hitting the concrete with a thud.
“Stupid little slut,” he seethes, getting right into my space and pressing his forearm with force across my collarbone. The pressure he uses is so intense, I know there will be bruises there soon. I go to speak, but he uses his free hand to grip my chin tightly. “I told you to change, and you ignored me.” I thrash against him, trying to knee him in the groin, but he presses his lower body tightly against me, crowding me completely against the wall. “And then you forgot your fucking ring!”
“Let me go,” I say around my gritted teeth, but he ignores me, spittle landing on my cheek as he rants on about how I’m tryingto ruin this for him, how he should throw my father to the wolves for my insolence.
He uses his grip on my face to lift my head, then drops his nose to my neck, sniffing me like an animal. “You smell scared, sweet boy.” I cringe at his words, and the heat of his erection pressed up against me.
Until now, he’s been cold. Rude. An asshole with strong opinions, but not violent. So, yeah, I am scared, but I’m also fucking furious that he thinks he can treat me like this.
“Fuck off,” I mumble, trying to inch myself away from him, but it’s no use because the grip he has on me is too strong and he’s so much bigger than me. When his tongue comes out to lick across my neck, I lose it, twisting and turning until I land a kick to his shin. He loosens his grip on me and I make to run, but he grabs my hair and slams me into the wall. I have just enough time to get my hand up to stop my face from hitting the concrete. My wrist takes the brunt of my weight and with the amount of force he used to throw me, the impact causes it to twist back with a god awful crack.
“Fuck!” I yell, pain searing through me.
Floyd releases me and steps back. I cradle my hand against my chest and turn to look at him. He straightens his jumper, a completely blank expression on his face.
“Let that be a lesson, Darius. Do not fuck with me again. If you think those files leaking are the worst thing I can do to you, think again.”
I lean against the wall, too afraid to move, pain throbbing in my wrist. Floyd heads to his office, returning a moment later with his coat.
“Don’t wait up,” he says, stepping out of the front door and slamming it behind him. When I’m sure he’s not coming back, I go through to my en suite, take two ibuprofen and turn on the shower. My throat is tight and my eyes sting and by the time I’veworked my clothes off with one hand, my face is wet with tears. Climbing under the hot spray, I press my back to the cold tiles, then slide down the wall until I’m sitting, the spray mixing with the evidence of my anguish.
“Seven hundred and sixteen days,” I mumble to myself. “You’re doing this for dad and for all the people who would lose their jobs. You made the right choice.” I say the words over and over until the water runs cold. Then I get out, throw on a tee Oliver left in my flat after our trip to Devon, check my bedroom door is locked and climb into bed.
