It’s nearly eight and after spending all day with Ollie, I’m dragging my feet, walking through the front door of the place I share with Floyd. It’s quiet, all the lights off apart from the tall lamp that sits beside the sofa. I tiptoe down the corridor, past Floyd’s closed door, stalling when I reach the threshold of my room.
Beyond the open door – one I know I closed before I left – my possessions lie strewn around, discarded like trash. My clothing. My skincare. My books. The few penguin ornaments I brought with me, including the one from Oliver. The lid to Norman’s aquarium is toppled to the side.
The place is a mess. Ransacked.
If it wasn’t for the fact that the rest of the flat is perfectly put together, I’d have thought we’d been robbed.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, kicking a pair of trainers out of the way. A few of my shirts are torn, and there’s an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on its side between the mess.
I pick up pieces as I move around the room, stopping when I get to my dresser and the upturned drawer that held my underwear. A shudder works through me, the air around methick with a cold tension that settles in my bones. Falling to my knees, I frantically shove aside my pile of lace and satin.
“Shit.” Lifting the wooden drawer, I look beneath it, then move piles of books out of the way, not finding what I’m looking for.
“I knew I’d seen him somewhere.” Floyd’s voice startles me, and I flinch, then slowly stand, turning to face him. My gut sinks. “He came to our wedding.” He’s holding the photos of Oliver that I’d hidden in my underwear drawer. “You invited yourboyfriendto our wedding.”
I shake my head, “No.” Floyd ignores me as he continues.
“And then he was there at Bar La Vella. Tell me,husband. That night, while I was entertaining my mother and grandmother, selling this marriage, where did you disappear to?” I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me, a palm raised. “And don’t give me that bullshit about you not feeling well. Is this where you were?” He shakes the photograph. “Fucking him?”
Floyd takes a step forward and then another and I edge backwards, stumbling over a pile of books at my feet. My back hits the wall as he advances on me.
“I told you the day we made this deal to get rid of him. And you had the fucking audacity to bring him to our wedding?” Floyd’s breath hits my face, the acrid stench of alcohol wafting off of him. “You’re going out of your way to ruin things for me.” He laughs, the sound grating. “All I asked was that you pretend to be a good husband fortwo fucking years. How is that so difficult?”
“You didn’t ask for anything,” I snap back, my pulse racing. “You forced me into this!”
He drops the photos, crushing them beneath his loafer covered foot.
“Where were you this weekend?”
“None of your business.” I try to move to my left, but he closes in, his larger body shielding my retreat. Floyd grips my chinbetween his meaty fingers. There’s no doubt he can feel the fear making my body tremble.
He leans forward and sniffs me, dragging his nose along the expanse of my neck. “You smell like sex.”
I know that’s impossible. I showered before leaving Oliver’s.
“I don’t,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper. “Let me go.”
Hetsks. “I can’t have my husband running around with another man. How do you think that looks?”
“To who, Floyd? Because I play my part around your family – that was the deal. What I do outside of that doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters!” he yells, fingers digging into my cheeks. “They’re already suspicious. Just waiting to find a reason to call this marriage a sham and take awaymyrightful inheritance.”
“Jesus,” I try to shake my head. “You’ll get your fucking money.” With my hands on his chest, I push, trying to get space between us, but he’s a solid wall, firmly planted.
“I’m not repeating this, sweet boy. You won’t see him again. You married me, Darius. That makes youmine. And as much as I find you tiresome, you’re an important possession and I do not share.”
I laugh, a bitter, ugly sound. “Newsflash. This isn’t a real marriage. This is blackmail. Coercion.” I wave my hands in the air. “It’s all a fucking ruse.” Anger bubbles, hot and furious inside of me. “I’m not your possession. I’m not your anything.” I jab a finger into his chest. “And you know what? I fuckinghopethey figure it out. I hope you lose it all.”
Floyd uses his hold on my face to slam my head back against the wall, and I’m too shocked by the action to see the hit coming.
His fist lands with force against my chin, a crack ringing in my ears, pain burning in my jaw. The taste of metal fills my mouth from where he’s split my lip and my eyes water, blurring my vision. I lift a hand to wipe the blood from my face and that’swhen he hits me again, this time in the stomach. He’s rambling on, but I can’t focus on the words, my body folding in on itself as I choke on air. The next punch gets me in the ribs, and I crumple to the floor, rolling into a ball. Bile rises in my throat and I gulp it back, holding my hands over my head.
“If they figure it out, I will take your father down with me and you’ll be sorry, Darius.” Floyd’s foot connects with my side, and the pain is sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. Tears stream down my face and black dots cloud my vision. “I did not spend all those years sucking up to that fucking man, that fucking family, only to be left with nothing!” I’d be appalled at how he speaks about his family, his flesh and blood, if I wasn’t in so much excruciating pain.
He kicks me again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to take my mind away from this moment, to a place where I’m safe. Oliver, smiling. The beach. The London skyline. Sunflowers in a garden that is not yet ours. But it doesn’t work. The danger is too immediate and the pain too severe to be ignored.
Floyd’s rage is volcanic, spewing out of him in hot waves that land with scorching blows. I beg him to stop, but he just yells more profanities, his foot finding my injured wrist and stamping down on it the same way he did to my photos earlier. “I wonder how the will works if my husband dies in an unfortunate accident,” he muses. The dead serious, detached, heartless way he delivers the comment covers me in an ice bucket of fear.
