Page 52 of Affliction
My hands tremble and I struggle to get a good grip on my Ruger. Sobs bubble out of my chest, and the shadow advances on me.
“GO AWAY!” I scream through broken wails and pinch my eyes closed again.
This isn’t real, this isn’t real. This isn’t real!I chant, at this point I can’t tell if it’s in my head or out loud. Opening my eyes, the shadow lowers itself in front of me.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. Drop the gun baby.” A voice croons. I would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Maverick?”
AHT AHT! PAUSE
Before continuing on, please know that this next chapter is rough. It depicts very explicit rape, and physical abuse. If you choose to skip it, there will be some things in later chapters that may not make sense. That said, you’re mental health means more to me than reading this fucked up scene.
If you choose to skip, I’ll see you in chapter 29.
Chapter twenty-eight
Age Twenty-three
Life is dull, boring,and fucking lonely. It’s been two years since I tried to leave Preston, and I have regretted the choice to come back ever since. For a while, our relationship seemed to flourish. Preston was attentive, apologetic and everything I could have ever wanted. My very own Prince Charming. We were happy. Little by little, he started falling back into old patterns he promised to stop. Getting irritated at menial things, yelling, putting me down and eventually he started hitting me.
The first time, I was washing dishes at the sink and listening to music. He came into the house and I didn’t hear him. He snuck up behind me and put his arm around me, trying to be sweet. It scared the hell out of me and I jumped, dropping the glass I was washing on the floor. He berated me while I cleaned the glass up off of the floor, alone.
“I’m sorry, Preston. You just scared the shit out of me. It’s okay, I’m cleaning it up. You see me cleaning it up.”I soothed…or tried to anyway.
“If you hadn’t been blasting that god awful trash you call music, you would have heard me come in and this wouldn’t have even happened, Lizzy.”
“So are you going to take music away from me now too?”I snapped without thinking. When I stood up he backhanded me, causing me to drop the broken shards of glass in my hand again. My hand sliced open and blood dripped all over the floor. After cleaning everything up again and tending to my wound, he called me pathetic and left the house. It was then I noticed a bouquet of beautiful white roses on the counter. Placing my hand to my cheek where he hit me, I broke down and sobbed. I felt terrible. He was trying to be sweet and I ruined the evening.
Things have only gotten worse and I feel stuck. There’s no way out for me. After coming back from my uncle’s house, Preston sold my car back to the dealership. He told me he was getting me an upgrade, but it never came. My phone is monitored heavily by him, so I don’t even try to make contact with Uncle Nick, or anyone else for that matter; knowing if I do, I’ll pay for it. The only time I can leave this house is with him. I spend most of my day outside or cleaning while he’s at work, and it’s the only solace I have. He has made it so he’a the only other person I see or speak to, unless he’s with me. We don’t go out anymore unless it’s to see his parents, and I’m pretty sure they hate me. I know they see the bruises, but they just look at me with disdain. As if I deserve it.
Maybe I do.
If I had never tried to leave him in the first place, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are today, and things would be better.
Finishing folding our laundry and putting it away, I hurry into the bathroom to take a shower. Preston still isn’t home from work–shocker–and I’d like to try to be asleep when he gets home. We had a fight this morning and I haven’t heard from him all day. Not that I do any other time, but I’ve been sick to my stomach all day thinking of what tonight would be like when he came back.
Making quick work of washing my body and hair, I shut the water off and wrap myself in a towel. Stepping over to the bathroom counter, I use my hand to wipe the condensation off of the mirror and flinch at my reflection. My eyes are lifeless with bags under them that are almost purple. My complexion is ashen and my hair, though wet, is dull and ratty looking. My sunken cheeks and collar bones make me look even sicker. I don’t eat much anymore, if at all. The stress makes me not hungry–thus resulting in me losing far too much weight. Knowing I need to eat, I try but sometimes it just comes right back up.
What the fuck happened to me?
A lone tear slips down my cheek and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
Don’t cry. Put your big girl panties on and deal with it. You made this bed and now you have to lay in it.
How do I escape when my entire world has been Preston for almost ten years? How do I just give up and walk away? How would I even walk away at this point when he’s made sure I have no way to?
Shaking off the nerves, I begin to towel dry my hair asGlass Housesby Bad Omens softly plays on my phone that sits on the bathroom counter. Finishing up with my hair, I turn to put the towel on the hook when a loud bang sounds from downstairs. It’s the front door slamming up against the wall. Over the years, I’ve been able to tell what kind of a mood Preston is in based on how he comes through the door; how he walks, the way he stands, and use that to determine how I interact with him. Slamming and stomping? Avoidance and silent compliance. Opening the door like a normal person, but heavy footsteps? Proceed with caution. And right now, I want to throw the fuck up and hide.
Fuck, I wasn’t fast enough.
Reaching over to my phone, I shut the music off and grip it in my hands. Securing the towel around my body, I silently tip toe over to the door then open it slowly. My heart races and I listen for movement on the floor below me. From what I can hear, he’s rummaging through the refrigerator. Glass bottles clink together and I can make out the sound of things being shuffled around.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door all the way and silently creep across the hall and into our bedroom. After the last time he caught me in the guest room and threw me to the ground, I don’t sleep in there anymore. As long as I stay right where he wants me, I might be able to get a full night's sleep. With slow movements, I hang the towel up on the hook on the back of the door and tip toe to the dresser to get some pajamas. I step into a pair of flannel shorts and matching top, then slide silently into bed. Turning my back to the door, I pull the covers over my mid section and close my eyes.
Please don’t come up yet. Please. Don’t come up yet.
My hopes are smashed when I hear heavy footsteps come up the stairs and stop at the bedroom door. The door knob turns roughly and I close my eyes tightly. Doing my best to keep my breathing slow and even, Preston steps closer to the bed. He stops at the edge and his fingertips make contact with my exposed arm. He lightly trails them down the length of my body and I shudder.
