Page 60 of Affliction
Headlights coming down the driveway shine through the darkness, making a pit form in my gut. The only reprieve I get anymore is when he’s gone, which is more often than not. The headlights get closer as Preston parks his car in the driveway, and I slowly lay myself down on the couch then pull the throw blanket up to my chin. Staring absently up at the ceiling, I wait for the front door to open. When it does I hold my breath, and wait to see what kind of night I’m about to have.
“Hey, Butterfly. I’m sorry it’s late.” He slurs, and I hear him walk into the kitchen table. “Shit.” He hisses.
Perfect, he’s drunk.
His feet lazily shuffle toward the couch I’m laying on, and I quickly shut my eyes, feigning sleep. His fingers lightly brush across my cheek, and bile rises in my throat. He almost never touches me anymore–thankfully–but when he does, I want to light myself on fire, it would feel better than this.
“Wake up, Butterfly.” He whispers, and plants a kiss on my cheek with his disgusting lips.
I’m sure they’ve been all over multiple other women, I wish he’d just keep one of them and let me go. But I’m not that lucky.
A pang of guilt hits me for the thought, I’d never wish this life on another woman.
My eyes flutter open and focus on Preston, who’s sitting on the coffee table next to the couch–leaning onto the arm of it with one hand, the other now cupping my face. He smiles, and I see a flash of the version of him I met in highschool. The quick glimpse crushes my heart just a little more, and I fake a sleepy smile.
“There you are, beautiful. I’m sorry I’m late.” He says quietly as he sways in his seat.
“It’s okay, Preston. I know that party was important for your family.”
“Yes, but not as important as you. I should have been here sooner. Here, I got you a Christmas gift.” He reaches inside of his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope. Sitting up, I eye him warily as he hands it to me with a pleased grin on his face. He’s being nice, and it makes me uneasy.
“I…I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.” I croak, running my fingers over the envelope.
“You’ve already given me the only thing I’ve ever wanted, Lizzy. Your love.” He coos, reaching out to touch my face again.
Except I don’t love you anymore, I’m trapped.
Doing my best to give him a smitten smile, I open up the envelope. Pulling out what’s inside, my heart drops. It’s a gift certificate for a spa day at a fancy, exclusive, members only spa here in town. As much as I would love to use this, I can’t. I’ve lost too much weight, I’m nothing but skin and bones, and I am covered in cuts and bruises–courtesy of Preston. He used to try to hide them, now he doesn’t even bother. I also know he will never actually let me use it, that would mean I would have to leave the house. Just some more false hope. Tears well in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat.
No no no! Do. Not. Cry. Fake it. You know what will happenif you don’t.
Clearing my throat, I force my eyes to clear and bring them to Preston’s, showing him a bright and thankful smile.
“This is an amazing gift. Thank you so much, Preston. I love it. I can’t wait to use it.” I say, as excitedly as I can muster. Reaching out, I take his hand and lean forward to kiss his cheek. When I pull back, his bright blue eyes have turned into black holes.
Fuck.
“You hate it.” He seethes.
“No! Preston, not at all I love it. I really do. I can’t imagine the strings you had to pull to get this for me. You’re so good to me.” I coddle. Those words taste like acid on my tongue, but I just want a calm night, and I’ll say anything I can to get it. He yanks his hand away from me, and I know it’s too late.
“No, you don’t! You fucking liar! Do you know how hard that was to get?” He screams and I cower back into the couch cushions. “Three months! Three. Months. Of me calling all of these different people, to get youthatfucking piece of paper. You ungrateful bitch.”
“Preston, please calm down. You’re drunk, I promise I’m-” My words are cut off by his fist, crashing into the side of my face. My head is thrown into the arm of the couch, and my vision blurs. Hands circle around my throat and I’m lifted off the couch. My feet scramble to reach the floor as I feel my body being carried in a direction I can’t make out.
“If you can’t appreciate a useless piece of paper, you don’t deserve the roof you sleep under.” He growls and I hear the front door open. His hands release me, and I crumple onto the wooden front porch.
“No, no! Preston, please! It’s freezing out here!” The door slams shut and I hear the lock click before I can stand. My weak legs struggle to pull me up, and I do my best to run to the back door. I tug on the handle and realize it, too, is locked. This part of the porch isn’t covered, and there’s fiveinches of snow covering my feet, which are only shielded from the elements with thick, wool socks.
I’m going to die out here.
My hands fall from the door, and I trudge through the thick, wet snow back to the front porch. At least that one is covered. Sitting on the gliding bench, tears fall and threaten to freeze to my cheeks in the arctic wind. We’re supposed to be getting a blizzard tonight. Heavier snow, colder winds, and I’m stuck out here only in socks, pajama pants and a hoodie–and everything is soaked already. An old wine barrel sits next to the glider, and I peer inside. My heart swells and I can no longer fight the tears when I see a blanket left inside. Since I can’t leave, I spend a lot of my time sitting out here, and must have left it last time I did just that.Maybe I am just a little lucky. Tugging the blanket out, I wrap it around my frail body and lay down. It’s cold, but it does help cut out some of the wind. My tears stop, and I absentmindedly watch as the snow falls. Large, white flakes float gracefully down onto the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.
Merry Christmas, Lizzy.
It’s still dark outside when my frozen eyelids crack open, the sound of the wooden door creaking softly waking me. Forcing my trembling body to sit up, I turn to look and see that the front door is now open. I know I shouldn’t go back inside, I should leave. The snow would only give away where I went due to the footprints; and my body probably wouldn’t carry me very far before finally giving out. Or, I should just stay out here a little longer, and I’m sure that hypothermia would finally set in. But, I’m so cold and my survival instincts have me lifting myself off of the bench. Stepping back inside the pitch black entryway, the door slams shut behind me.
“You must be freezing, Butterfly. Here, let me take care of you.” Preston's voice breaks through the shadows–low and menacing. A shiver runs through my body.
