A hot huff escapes him and it’s the sound of annoyance. He wraps a hand around my neck and that has my eyes snapping open.
“I said to wake the fuck up, you stupid bitch,” he sneers, flipping me onto my back and straddling my waist. Kenneth wraps both hands around my throat and squeezes so hard I don’t have time to inhale a deep breath to prepare for the lack of oxygen. “You can’t do anything right,” he sneers. “I don’t know why I ever settled for you.” He removes one hand and backhands me, the loud slap causing my ears to ring. “You’re going to get up, get dressed, and go grocery shopping because we are out of food. Take care of your husband. Do you understand me?”
I nod and gasp, gripping his wrist harder as it becomes more difficult to breathe.
He smiles wide and the insanity is gone in a flash. He is wearing a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s causal because it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t work today, which means I’m stuck with him all weekend. Everyone loves the weekends, but not me. Every Saturday and Sunday, I worry I won’t live to see Monday.
“Get ready,” he says. “I won’t repeat myself.”
I nod and roll out of bed, shivering as the cold wraps around me from the air conditioning. I’m in a small tank top and shorts. My nipples harden and poke through the material, which used to grab his attention, but it doesn’t now.
A huge relief.
I run to the master bedroom and get dressed. I slip on a pair of blue skinny jeans and a long-sleeve plum-colored blouse, then rush to the bathroom. I wash my face and the cold water does nothing to wake me up, Kenneth took care of that already. Brushing my teeth, I stare at the angry red marks around my neck.
I’ll have to wear another scarf.
Kill him.
Thank God for dry shampoo. I spray along the roots to soak up the extra oils. I cringe when the aluminum bottle hits the counter too hard. I wait to see if he says anything about being too loud, but I don’t hear his footsteps coming down the hallway.
While I apply my makeup, covering up the fading bruises from a few weeks ago, I think about my mom. She’d be so disappointed in me to know I haven’t fought harder. She died five years ago from a car accident, but a day didn’t pass where Mom wasn’t a fighter.
She stood up for herself, consequences be damned. She never backed down from anyone. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she killed Kenneth herself and burned the body. She was a real badass.
That gene must have skipped me. I slide the mascara into the holder, unable to stomach my reflection in the mirror.
How can I change when everything scares me, even change?
I’ve been locked away for so long, the only person I know how to be is the one Kenneth has formed.
I snag my purse from the dresser and a hot sweat engulfs my entire body when I walk down the hallway. The low hum of SportsCenter sounds from the TV in the living room. He’s occupied. That works in my favor. The hardwood groans from my weight and I close my eyes, silently cursing to myself.
“List is on the counter. Don’t stray from it or there will be consequences. Understand me?”
“Yes, Kenneth,” I answer pliantly, sliding the small square paper from the countertop. I fold it in half and stick it in my purse. “I’ll be back soon.”
He doesn’t say anything to me as I leave and I give the door the middle finger, wishing I could tell him to fuck off.
Mr. Grant is in the yard weeding his garden. He is wearing a bright pink speedo today and nothing else besides a big straw hat. He has gloves on to protect his hands as he yanks the pesky weeds. “Hey, Charlie!” He waves at me and has to tilt his head back so he can see me from under his hat.
I chuckle, feeling better than I did inside the house. Mr. Grant is good at that. “Hi, Mr. Grant. How’s your day going?”
“Oh, you know, it’s good. It’s hot out. A great day to work on my tan for the ladies.”
“I’m sure you’re a real heartbreaker, Mr. Grant.”
“Oh, one or two when I was younger.”
“Don’t be modest,” I tease him, and he cackles before taking a sip of water.
“Well, I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll see you later.”
“Charlie, before you go, I have a question for you.” He struggles to stand, and I’m tempted to go help him, but I know Mr. Grant is independent and young at heart. He likes to act young too, so I don’t want to offend him. He walks up to me and it’s so hard to keep my eyes focused on his face.
I mean an old man in a pink speedo is walking up to me and it’s shocking. It’s not something you see every day.
Oh god, he has his left nipple pierced.
I cough to cover a giggle. “What’s up, Mr. Grant?” I ask as I open the truck door, hinges squeaking as always.
“Have you noticed a strange man on a bike at night sitting outside my house?”
My tongue dries out. “What?”
“Yeah, the last few weeks there has been this fella parked on the other side of the street. He sits on his bike for hours. I can’t tell what he does. I don’t think he means any harm, but I’m not sure. I think he’s a part of that new motorcycle gang. They bought that old Peep Show place. I wonder what they are turning it into.”
“My dad’s company is remodeling it for them. They did buy it.”
“Maybe you know the guy that is sitting outside my house.”
“I doubt it. I don’t talk to any of the bikers,” I explain, but something tells me that if it is a biker, I bet it is Whistler sitting outside in the dark.
Why would he do that?
“I’ll tell Kenneth to keep an eye out,” I say with a tight smile.
Mr. Grant curls his lip. “No, thanks. I’ll rather take my chances on my own. Your husband is a worthless piece of shit. Don’t think I don’t know what he does to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“—Don’t, Charlie. I know the truth. I’ve called the cops a few times, you know. I can hear when things get bad.”
I glance away, ashamed. He probably thinks I’m so weak. I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “I need to go before he comes out here and checks on me.”
“He must have friends at the department because no one ever comes, but I want you to know that you’re not alone. You can come to me.”
“Believe me, Mr. Grant, it’s better if you don’t get in the middle. You’ll wind up getting hurt.” I slam the truck door and roll down the window. “Thank you,” I add.
“You can run away. I’ll help you. I have no kids and I have money. Let me get you away from here.” He clutches the edge of the window so I can’t reverse out of the driveway. If I do, I’ll run his feet over with the tires.
“It isn’t that easy, Mr. Grant.” Tears begin to brim my eyes as he tries to beg me.
“I know. I know, it isn’t, but I can help.”
“Hey, is there a problem out here?”
I stop breathing, not knowing what to do. I’m usually quick with the lies, but today nothing is coming to mind. I think I’m too stunned with the fact that Mr. Grant would help me with his own money to save me from the nightmare of Kenneth.