I can’t tell him with what, because he’ll flip the fuck out. I can’t tell him that I’ve been spending the majority of my time when he’s at work trying to figure out who my online obsession is, where they live, where they work, a phone number or an email, anything so I can get hold of them.
Who’s the stalker now, Lizzie?
I snort at that thought. I do need to give it up at some point. BandAid42 warned me that I need to stop looking for them, but I can’t help myself. I need their voice to soothe this anxiety that they’ve left behind in their wake. Brushing my fingers through my hair, I look at Reik, hoping that my explanation is enough for him. But I should have known better.
“Distractions are for children, Lizzie. And you’re not a child. Start acting like the wife you should be.”
A chill runs down my spine. My eyes widen slightly. Is this the turn I’ve been waiting for? The one where the stress and frustration hits its peak and then turns on me? Because it’s happened more times than I can count since we’ve been married, and I have no doubts it’ll happen again.
“You’re right,” I agree quickly, knowing that I need to curb the anger lighting up in him. “I’ll do better tomorrow and the rest of this week. I promise.”
He grunts at me and drops his gaze back down to his phone.
He’s glued to that thing most days, though I don’t mind because it means he’s harping on me less for not keeping the house up to his standards. Reaching up, just under my hair, I brush my fingers against the device in my ear. Since the recording stopped, I haven’t heard anything. It’s been weeks of silence, of nothing, and still I cling to the hope that maybe BandAid42 will talk tome again, that they wouldn’t have started this entire adventure without an intention to finish it.
I hope BandAid42 is watching this right now, that they can see everything going on in this room, hear it all with the device pressed against my skin. What do they see in my relationship? Loneliness? Longing? Abuse?
I shiver at that last word. I don’t want to admit that’s what this might be, but…
“Where’s dinner, Lizzie? It’s six.”
“Oh!” I jerk with a start. I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t realized the time. “I’ll get right on that.”
Shuffling my way into the kitchen, I turn off the crockpot I’d set to run earlier and dish up Reik’s dinner and then mine. I know he’ll want to sit at the table and eat it together like a proper family, but the last thing I want to do is sit across from him while he complains about his workday. Especially when I know he likely caused most of the problems he’s complaining about.
But I don’t say anything. I look up toward the camera in the kitchen and whisper, “I wish I knew that you were still watching me.”
I don’t get a response, as much as I’m hoping for one. This is probably going to have to be my last effort to provoke some sort of reaction, because I can’t keep going on like this, can I? Reik is noticing how distracted I am, and that in and of itself will lead to harder problems going forward than anything else.
“I wish you would just take me away from here. Take me. Please.”
When I hear Reik getting up from the couch, I quickly move to set the table and put his plated food in front of him. I slide into the seat next to him and wait for him to start eating and taste test everything, deeming it okay before I take my first bite. I say nothing as he rambles on about his day, complaint after complaint.
All I know is that I should just accept this is my reality.
Reik is my husband, and I’m his wife. This is what I agreed to when we got married, nothing more and nothing less. He provides for me, and I should be grateful for that. I give him what he wants—the perfect wife, a clean house, dinner on the table at six. There’s nothing else that I should want. Nothing beyond this.
Because all those dreams aren’t reality. They’re unreasonable fantasies that will never come to fruition. In this world—no, in reality—I’m alone. There’s no one here to rescue me, to love me, to take me. No one would care enough for that. Reaching up subtly, I pull the device from my ear and slide it into my pocket while Reik isn’t paying attention.
It’s time for me to give up on dreams I should never have had in the first place.
Chapter 21
February 14 - Hour 11
I moan as I pry my eyes open from their groggy state. I breathe slowly, trying to catch my bearings. I freeze. The floor is…soft. Turning my cheek slightly, carpet brushes against my skin. It’s rough, but nothing like the cinderblock wall I’d last been pushed against.
Turning onto my back, I stare down at my hands and wrists. They’re bruised where the rope was, where the pillory held them tightly, bruised but not scratched. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I take an inventory of my body.
Bruises litter the skin on my arms and wrists, but my chest is just red, as if it’s been scratched but not bad enough to cut or even scar. It had felt so much worse than it now looks. How is that even possible? My legs look like my arms, bruises blossoming slowly on the tops and insides of my thighs, my ankles bruised more than anything from the bar they’d been strapped to.
I’m not sure I can even stand, but I know I have to try.
What day is it even?
Moving slowly so I can make sure I’m steady, I shift onto my knees and use the ottoman in the living room to pull myself to my feet one at a time before I slowly stand. My back is killing me, no doubt from being bent over as much as I have been. My pussy hurts, sore and bruised like it’s been used nonstop for hours.
Which, it has. So that makes sense.
