Friends you’ve isolated me from.
“Friends,” he scoffs. “How do I know you’re not lying to me now? Are you sure you weren’t out being a little whore?”
I don’t respond to that because it will do no good. He’s going to hurl insults, accusations, and curse words at me until he’s blue in the face.
I feel the car roll to a stop and I want to cry even more. I sniff back tears and wipe my face away with my hand when I sit back up straight. “I’m downstairs. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Ma’am?” the driver says from the front seat, and I look up to see his eyes on me, full of concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s just been a bad day.” I lie to him.
I’ve gotten really good at that.
***
He’s sitting in one of the chairs in the entryway when I walk in the door. He’s still dressed in his pressed dress shirt and slacks from work and has one leg crossed over the other. He looks everything of the man that wooed me, that made me feel cared for and desired, but there is evil in his eyes now. I’ll never be able to unsee that.
“Come here,” he demands
“Can’t I just shower? It’s been a long day, and I really just want to shower and go to bed.”
“I said come here, Nora.” It’s programmed in me to obey, so I do. I can’t believe the man who I once thought loved me, that I was once comfortable enough to dominate me, is now this monster.
I’m quaking like I leaf with every step. My shoes click and clack against the overpriced hardwood floors as I cross the foyer. I am curling my hands into fists at my side so tightly that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. I almost crave that pain. At least I can control it.
I stop when I’m about a foot away from him and wait for him to say something.
“On my lap, Nor.” He pats his thighs with his large hands and I feel sick to my stomach. “Like always when it’s time for punishments.”
The last thing that I want to do is touch him, but what happens to me when I reject him is worse than the nausea I feel at his hand.
I gingerly sit sideways across his lap and fold my hands in my lap and look down at them, slipping into position. When he places his hand at the small of my back, I want to curl into a ball in the corner of the room and cry. I brace for the pain that I know is on the horizon.
“Tell me where you were,” he says softly against my ear.
“I told you where I was, I was having dinner with—Ahh!” I scream when he slams his hand into the back of my neck and grips me there hard, so hard it brings tears to my eyes.
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” he says, growling like a monster.
“I’m not lying.” I am starting to cry and I hate myself for it. “I swear, just please… please don’t.”
“I wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t lie to me, Nora.” He squeezes tighter and tighter before ripping his hand away, only to fist it into my hair and yank my head back so I’m forced to look into his eyes.
“Stop!” I beg, I plead even, but I don’t fight him. I’m too afraid. I do the only thing I can think of to make him understand that I’m scared, even though I know it’ll be ignored. “Marigold. Marigold. Please.” Our safe word lingers in the air for a moment, but ultimately, it’s disregarded completely.
“Then tell me who all was there, Nora. Who was with you?”
“It was just us,” I croak out, sobs escape my throat, even though I try my hardest to keep them at bay. My tears only make him more upset.
He scrapes his fingers painfully against my scalp then shoves me away and off of his lap, sending me tumbling onto the hardwood.
I land with a harsh thud, my hip cracking on collision and my palms breaking my fall enough to keep my head from its own connection on the floor.
I scramble back and away from him until my back touches the wall on the opposite side of the room. I’m scared he’s not finished. He’s unpredictable and that’s the scariest part sometimes.
He rises to his feet and takes a step toward me with a look of amusement on his face.
“Look at you,” he shakes his head, “like a scared little mouse.”
“Evan… please don’t,” I say quietly.
“Another stunt like tonight, and I’ll put my foot down about the modeling bullshit. I won’t allow it for another second. Understood?”
Full control over my life is something he craves, and my career would be the final nail in that coffin for him.
I nod when I want to scream, when I want to fight, but there are invisible chains around my wrists, keeping me pliant and quiet, just how he wants me.
I know, without a doubt, he’ll climb in bed with me later, demanding I roll onto my back for him, and I will because I don’t have the strength or the energy to fight even more today.
Now
I can feel a shake and shiver to my body before my eyes burst open and I bolt upright in bed. My hair flips around my face as I clutch the soft sheet to my body. Fuck these dreams. Fuck them.
I lie back down and wait for the inevitable hands that melt around me. When they don’t. I roll over to where I left him on his back just a hair away from snoring. The dent of his head is still in the pillow, but the sheet and blanket are pulled up as if the bed was never used. On the pillowcase is a single red rose. The stem is long with the thorns snipped and all the leaves removed. I pull the swirl of petals to my nose. It has the sweetest scent. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone to bed with someone and woke up alone. I just wish he’d stayed.
I flop to my back, holding the rose to my chest, when a piece of pink paper folded just so on my bedside table catches my eye. I reach across my body to grab it. The outside of it says simply Petal. At least the asshole left a note.
Petal -
I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do by leaving you.
You’re even more beautiful when you sleep. I can’t wait to immortalize the images on
canvas. What happened between us last night deserves a conversation over wine and
dinner. I know how it must seem. I didn’t have the courage to say goodbye. I don’t want
you to feel as though you did anything wrong. You didn’t. Come to my apartment this
evening at seven. You need not be afraid. - Tristan
***
My hand is gripping the railing inside of the elevator so tightly, like I’ll float away if I loosen my grip. He was over, on me… inside of me…not even twenty-four hours ago, and yet I’m still nervous to be seeing him.
Especially since he left this morning, just leaving the note behind.
Though, the rose did soften that blow somewhat. I’ve always been a sucker for flowers… especially now. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten flowers that weren’t an apology for something happening to me or from someone I didn’t want them from. That single red rose had more feeling behind it than the dozens that came before it.
The doors open and a wave of Chopin softly hits me in the foyer, along with several amazing smells. Some I can immediately clock. Stir-fry is going on the stove. The musky scent of him and a candle or two. Then I round the corner to his enormous dining table to see the center covered in white gardenias and two place settings. One with a red rose on the dinner plate.