Chapter Text
In The Shade
“Are you sure about this?”
His voice, low and soft like velvet to my ears and heart, breaks the silence in the car which has persisted ever since we left our house half an hour ago.
I nod, looking out of the car window next to me down the empty, dusty street. “Yes, I am,” I mumble, looking at Tom shortly. “I’m with you,” he reminds me and I smile a little before opening the door of the black Jaguar.
The heat lingers over the concrete, blurring the colours into an indistinguishable mass of grey and brown and emptiness.
A red double decker bus whizzes past, the few passengers who leave it at the nearby bus stop hurrying into the multitudinous alleyways leading off the high road as quickly as they can. Nobody wants to linger here longer than necessary. It’s not safe. Never has been, never will be.
Welcome to hell!
I close my eyes shortly, as I feel his slender fingers intertwining with mine. I am glad that he is with me. I am not sure I could have done this alone but it needs to be done.
For me, for him, for us.
Gently, he presses a kiss onto my temple and I turn my head to look at him. “I love you,” I whisper, a faint smile resting on my lips and he returns it, lovingly. “I love you, too!”
The smell of burnt wood and rubber lies in the air, getting stronger the closer we get to the origin of it. The front wall of the house is still standing but everything behind it is just a massive heap of debris, wood, and the odd piece of porcelain from either the bathtub or the sinks. The front door is hanging loosely in the doorway, one hinge broken, the other barely holding up the remainders of the door. Naturally, the scene is fenced in to prevent curious or stupid - or both - people to climb around on the scene of fire.
I only realise I am trembling when Tom’s arms sneak around me gently, holding me closely to his chest while he whispers soothing, calming words into my ear. “It’s over,” he breathes, his hot, minty breath tickling my ear.
I simply nod, still staring at the black, burnt ruins of the place I spent most of my life at. An article in yesterday morning’s paper had informed me of the fire and I had spent most of the previous day and night contemplating whether I wanted to go there or not. To finally put it behind me.
A man had died in the fire, the article said, though both Tom and I know this isn’t true. I’m not surprised nobody has found him those last two years lying there, beaten to death.
By me.
His so-called friends had been mere maggots feeding off his generosity when he had been drunk, whether he had given away money, drinks or me.
I shudder as I think back to all these years in hell, the seemingly endless nights of fear and pain and humiliation.
Only now have I learned why people refer to sex as ‘making love’. So many years I had had no idea what they meant as for me it was one of the most horrible experiences a human being could ever live through.
Surprised, I turn towards the bathroom door as it is being opened, his huge, bulky frame filling the doorway and blocking out the light coming from the small lamp in the hallway.
I never lock the bathroom door when having a shower. A matter of safety he had explained to me once. In case I slipped and fell, he would be able to help me. It sounded logical to me back then but recently he is coming into the bathroom more and more often while I’m having a shower.
I’m a girl growing into a woman with a changing body and a changing mind, and I feel uncomfortable being naked in his presence. Actually, I feel uncomfortable being in his presence at all.
“Go ahead. Don’t let me disturb you,” he says as I hold the towel in front of my naked body. Approaching the sink, he starts getting his shaving utensils out of the bathroom cabinet, his eyes resting on me in the mirror.
Hesitantly, I drop the towel on the little stool next to the shower and untie my hair before I step into the shower base. Closing the see-through door behind me, I turn on the tap, relishing the warm water running over my skin. Slowly, I rub the peach flavoured shampoo into my long, black hair, inhaling the fresh scent which makes me forget the dark, grey, and dangerous world right on our doorstep.
I startle as I feel his hands on my waist and turn around quickly, realising that he is naked as well. Trying to cover my modesty with my hands and my long hair, I look at him. “What are you doing?,” I mumble, not sure whether he can hear me over the rushing of the water but he simply smirks. “I’m having a shower,” he answers matter-of-factly and I shudder as his hands glide over my skin.
Please, not again!
Shocked as I am, I dare not move as he slowly takes my hands away and brushes my hair away from my breasts. I swallow while he lets his fingertips glide over my skin, stroking along my collarbone, over my nipples down to my stomach.
This feels so wrong and yet I cannot move. My legs won’t listen to my brain as they are probably knowing better by now what he is capable of. As long as I live under the same roof there is no escaping him, no way out. I’m trapped like a bird in a cage for him to look at and play with as he pleases.
Closing my eyes, I try to concentrate on the splatter of water on my skin, my hair, my every being while his hands move further and further. His lips glide over my exposed neck, over the curvature of my breasts until he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.
Under different circumstances this might be erotic, sensual, wanted. But not now. Not with him.
I bite my bottom lip to refrain from crying as he pushes one knee between my legs followed suit by his hand, touching me in the most intimate place.
“Don’t,” he growls as I inevitably move my hands to push him away. “Keep your hands behind your back or I’ll handcuff you again. It’s your choice,” he adds in a threatening whisper and quickly I intertwine my fingers behind my back.
The first tears leave my eyes, mixing with the warm water flowing out of the shower head onto our bodies, while he resumes his actions.
Silent and relieved, he leaves me in the shower a while later, taking my towel to dry himself off while I slowly sink down onto the cold porcelain, hoping to wash the pain and humiliation down the drain together with the water running over my skin.
I don’t know how long I stay in here until he turns off the main tap. My skin is red and scalded from the hot water I had hoped would bring different pain so I could forget the one he inflicted on me. I should have known it doesn’t work.
It would have been too easy.
With shaking knees I get up and walk first out of the shower and then out of the bathroom down the hallway into my room, leaving behind a wet trail of footsteps on the wooden floor. I know he is watching me, smirking at his cleverness for taking away my towel so he can have another look at me. At his creation, his toy.
I don’t bother with getting dressed as I lay down in my bed, staring blankly at the wall. He would take them off later anyway.
It’s dark outside when I finally realise that we are home, that I am safe. I don’t remember going back to the car and driving away. His arms, strong and gentle, are around me, cradling me like a child who needs to be saved from a nightmare. He looks at me with his blue eyes as I move and I can see concern in them. Am I okay? I don’t know.
“Are you hungry?,” he whispers, stroking slowly along my arm with his thumb. Distraction. He’s good. I nod and he helps me get up from the bed, his arm never letting go of me as we walk downstairs in silence. Carefully, he helps me onto one of the high bar chairs before he starts rummaging around in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the both of us.
I watch him, his every move and it slowly calms me down, reminds me of where I am and who is with me. His head swivels round as I sob quietly and embarrassed I bury my face in my hands, the cold, gleaming silver of my engagement ring touching my flushed cheek. Tom is beside me within seconds, pulling me tenderly into his arms and kissing the top of my head.
“Honey, you are safe. You’re with me. He’ll never hurt you again,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, rocking me gently back and forth.
“I know but sometimes I wish I had died in that car crash with my Mum and Dad all those many years ago,” I mumble against the soft fabric of his red plaid shirt.