Page 3 of Misery Manor

“It’s Halloween, Jamal,” I remind him gently. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

He walks over to me and gets in my face; I can already smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes are dark and angry, not one ounce of love in them.

“I will be safe. I don’t need you to protect me, Aliyah. That’s not how this relationship works. I protect you. I provide for you, and in return you make my life easy. And you certainly don’t question me.” He scoffs harshly and looks me up and down. “Isn’t that what your mother told you?”

Pain slashes through my chest at his words. He always brings up my mom because he knows it will hurt me every single time. I know his game, but even though I tell myself not to let it get to me, it always does.

A quick glance at his ringless ring finger is the cherry on top of what I know will be a fucked up night.

When I nod, he practically flies out the door. I stand at the window and watch his black BMW pull out of the driveway and down the road.

I’m not stupid. I know he’s not hanging out with his friends; he’s going to see Megan, the girl he’s told me several times not to worry about.

“She’s just a friend, Aliyah, stop being so insecure,” he’d told me when I came home from the grocery store one day and found them in our bedroom together. Yes, they were fully clothed, and they were just watching a movie, but I couldn’t ignore the faint scent of sweat and sex that lingered in the air underneath the artificial fragrance of the lemon air freshener we keep in the laundry room. And why did they have to watch the movie in our room—on our bed, which did look unruffled, but still—when they could have just watched it in the living room?

When I kept pressing him about the topic, he slapped me and told me to stop accusing him of cheating.

So, I stopped.

But Megan’s smug smirk as she left that day is still imprinted in my mind.

When the taillights of his car are finally out of sight, I put on my boots, grab my keys and jean jacket from the coat rack, lock up the house, and get into my car.

The late October chill is brutal; my teeth instantly start chattering as soon as I get in the car, and now I wish I’d changed out of this knee-length, spaghetti strap dress. I shiver at the feeling of the freezing leather of the seat on the backs of my thighs.

After waiting a few more minutes, I back out of the driveway and make my way to the bar.

Our apartment is only five minutes away, so the drive there doesn’t take long. When I pull into the packed parking lot, I immediately spot Jamal’s black BMW right in front of the entrance, so I quickly get out and go inside.

My senses are instantly overstimulated by loud talking and the heavy scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol. It doesn’t take long to find Jamal in a booth all the way at the back cozied up with her.

Megan’s platinum blonde hair and overly tanned skin are hard to miss even in the dimness of the bar.

I march over there with a purpose. I don’t know why I care so much that he’s cheating on me when he continues to treat me so horribly. I understand that I can do more to be a better wife, but he’s not even giving me a chance to try.

Jamal’s eyes widen when he sees me. As I get closer to the table, I’m surprised—and, at the same time, not—to see that all of our friends are here, too. Tyler, Anya, Cherise, and Ronnie. All of them are here with Jamal and Megan. I try not to let the image of her sitting so comfortably with our friends sting too much. It took almost two years before I felt like I could fit in with the group—and I still don’t completely feel like I belong, if I’m being honest—so how long did it take her?

Speaking of the Devil, she shoots me an irritated look before scooting away from my husband.

“Hey, guys,” I say breathlessly, more so from the fact that my heart is racing in anticipation than the trek back here.

Everyone offers me a tense, half-hearted greeting in return and starts sipping their beers.

Jamal, on the other hand, looks like he wants to throttle me. His dark brown eyes glare at me scathingly as I take a seat next to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he grits, not wanting to cause a scene.

I wring my hands together under the table and spin my engagement ring and wedding band on my finger nervously. “I just want to hang out with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be around you right now,” he snaps, chugging his beer and immediately ordering another one.

I reach for his hand, but he snatches it away from me. I let out an exasperated huff and swipe my hair out of my face furiously.

How much longer am I going to keep dealing with this?

The table is silent, tension hanging in the air thick and heavy.

“Is anyone going to the game next week?” Tyler, Jamal’s childhood best friend, asks, breaking through the awkwardness of the situation.