Buddy walked into the room, took one look at us, and turned away.
“Do you want to fuck her?” Edward asked him, dragging me across the floor by my throat as he turned.
“She’s yours.” Buddy didn’t even look at me. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Edward.
“If she’s going to be a whore, she might as well do it for you.” Edward’s hand tightened.
“I don’t touch your things, Edward.” Buddy shook his head.
“No one should touch my things without my permission.” Edward’s attention dropped back to me. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Edward. I was wrong to go out. I won’t leave the house again.”
“Ever.” He stared at me. Then Edward said, “I don’t want to have to hurt you, Tess. Prove that you’re a good wife.”
“I am. I swear it, Edward.”
I heard footsteps as Buddy turned to walk away.
“You won’t go out again alone,” Edward announced. “I don’t want to worry like this again.”
I nodded. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when I went, but I knew he worried. I didn’t want that--or want him to hit me again. I thought I was special. I thought that I could be good enough.
“Sometimes I need to do things, Tess. I thought if you were here, I could stop. I thought you . . . I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right?”
I nodded again.
“Do you love me?”
“I do.”
For a moment, he stared at me. I knew he was possessive. I thought it would get better when he was sure of me. It still wasn’t enough.
He was silent, and I was afraid.
“I trust you, Edward.” I leaned in and kissed him.
He said nothing.
“I belong to you. I love you,” I reassured him. “No one else. Never anyone else.”
Finally, he spoke. “And you trust me to decide what’s best?”
It wasn’t really a question, but I answered. “Whatever it takes for you to feel better. I want to be with you, Edward, and I want you not to worry.”
He shook his head and pulled me closer. “Don’t ever leave me, Tess. Swear it.”
“I swear. I love you, Edward.”
“I’ll kill you if you leave,” he told me.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
Sometimes, I think that if I knew what he’d intended to do I’d have said something else. The rest of the time, I’m honest enough to admit that I would’ve agreed to anything to keep from being the one he hurt.
I know that I survived being his wife because Edward hurt other women instead.
I’m alive because he killed other women instead.
During those first months when I realized who he was, what he was, when I had to admit that I slept next to a sociopath every night, I still thought there was an answer. I thought I could be enough—because Edward thought that.
I snorted the cocaine he gave and swallowed the lies he told me. His brothers knew about the women, too. When I heard the first one scream, I asked Buddy to help her.
To help me.
Nothing changed.
I stayed in the house. I felt like a pet sometimes when he left and set the alarm. There was no phone. There was no way to go out without an alarm going off—and not one that went to a police station.
I only tried that once.
He killed the next woman in front of me.
21
Tess
I feel out of sorts, out of my skin, the moment we step off the plane. It’s wrong how quickly you can go from home to a strange land when you fly. As a girl, I liked it, but it’s been years since I was on a plane. I couldn’t afford the sort of holiday trips I was used to growing up, and Reid simply didn’t like to take me with him if he had to travel. He limited his travel. Sometimes, when he took trips, he used a different name. There was a guy, Robert, who made up fake IDs. Reid had several. I still have all three of mine. I used to think Reid would find me if I used any of them, so I have another name I use if I have to have ID—Teresa Adams.
“Are you okay?” Michael prompts as we climb into the black car that he’s hired to take us to the apartment he rented. I expect he’ll leave me there while he goes to his meetings. That, at least, is comforting to me. I need time to adjust, to listen to the music from home that I carried here, to take a few more pills without having to hide it. I need my tethers.
Few things about this trip make me feel okay. The weather isn’t humid enough, and the streets are so silent without the music I use to help keep me focused. There are sounds, horns and voices and the omnipresent rumble of a city, but it’s not my city.
He leaves with the sort of kiss Reid used to give me when he left for work, a reminder that I matter. It’s sweet, reminding of the man Reid could be when he wasn't so focused on the pretty things. People wouldn't understand that if they knew, but Reid was kind when he wasn't awful. He laughed and brushed my hair and brought me breakfast in bed. When he was happy, I was happy. I miss that. I miss mattering to someone.
Maybe that's why I am here with Michael.
The apartment has more personality than my own, but not as much as the one Michael is renting in New Orleans. Both of his rentals are obviously decorated to announce their location. His place in New Orleans has photographs of jazz singers, an overflowing bowl of beads, a few parade throws that sit on the mantel, and other assorted announcements that this is a space intended to “feel like” you belong in the city. Those of us who do, don’t need to prove it.
This apartment functions the same. I wander around the space. It’s sterile. I like that part. Combined with the jazz through the headphones, that is soothing. It reminds me a bit too much of Sterling’s house, the casual minimalism, overdone black and white. She had such a stage. I think that was during the era of the husband before the one she had when I left. Gregory. He was new money, kind in a way that heralded his short tenure from before the wedding.
The flowers in the vases are bright and fake. The bedroom furniture is some sort of reclaimed item that was undoubtedly too expensive for its value, but clearly on trend at some point. Sterling would be at ease here. Teresa’s friends would be too. I suspect the remnant of Teresa that I can’t smother is comfortable too.
For a change, I embrace the girl I used to be. The woman who was horrified by life with Reid. She’s the person I need to be to face a weekend here.
The mere thought of it makes me feel like running. Teresa remembers too much. I add an extra pill.
Too soon, Michael’s back. I don’t remember intending to sleep, but maybe I took too many Klonapin.
“Tess?”
I nod. That’s me. “My mother called me Teresa.”
Michael paused. “Do you want me to call you that?”
“No.” It’s fuzzy in my head, but I know that I’m Tess. The rest helped. The lack of dreams helped even more. The pills are doing what they must. “When I was here before, I was with her. She called me Teresa.”
I watch Michael do that thing he does when he’s feeling unsure.
“We need to meet Elizabeth in two hours. We could—”
“Walk.” I stand and stretch. “We can walk to where we’re meeting her.”