Page 101 of Dark Ugly Places

He smiles and flips the frittata again. “Well, she must have done something with it. It’s gone.”

Bambi stirs her coffee, the white foam circling like a tiny hurricane in her cup. “She didn’t take it.”

Jason nods. He sets the pan down. A long sigh barrels through his lips at her. “When are you planning on introducing me to your new helper?”

Bambi shrugs, a weak, suggestible movement that she instantly hates in herself. “I don’t know. I didn’t think you were interested in meeting her.”

Jason shuts off the burner and transfers the frittata onto a plate. He reaches for a knife and cuts it into two servings. “Why wouldn’t I be interested? This is my home.” Jason’s hand jets out and clamps around her wrist. “Bambs?”

Bambi looks at his hand on her wrist and up into his eyes.

“Jason, you’re hurting me.”

He shakes her, spilling hot coffee onto her skin. She yelps out and staggers away from him, but he keeps a firm grip, pushing her into the counter. “Bambs?”

“Christ! Jason! You’re never here. It wasn’t intentional.”

He leans toward her, pushing his full weight into her, his breath pungent from the liquor he must have drunk the night before. “I don’t like you keeping things from me.”

Bambi pushes back with her full strength, but it’s not enough. She can’t move all two hundred thirty pounds of Jason. He smiles at her as she struggles to move, pinned against the kitchen island and his body. “Jason, stop! Let me go!”

He pushes harder. Bambi feels something in her pelvis start to ache, the handle of a drawer digging deep into her womb. “You’re hurting me!”

“I’m hurting you? You’re hurting me, Bambs. Marriages are supposed to be built on trust and loyalty.”

His face is so near, she can spot every clogged pore, every ingrown hair on his unkempt beard. She hates him. It’s true. The words bubble up, and she cannot hold them back. In spite of herself, she shouts, “Were you thinking about trust and loyalty while you were fucking Lauren LaMonte?”

He slams her against the counter, harder this time. “You know that isn’t what happened.”

Her teeth grit with pain, and she steels herself, ignoring it. Nothing could be worse than what he’s already done to her, what he’s already taken. “Then what did happen, Jason?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“I’m your wife!”

His hand clamps over her mouth. Bambi feels her cheek ache as his fingers push into her.

Behind her, the second knife rack. She angles for it, arm outstretched, and lunges for the nearest knife—a large butcher’s knife with a silver handle—and raises it up to his beard, trembling. Jason grabs her hand in his and pushes the knife away from him, up to her throat, until the cool blade is against her skin.

Bambi holds her breath. The scent of his armpit sweat mixed with pig fat is enough to make her sick. She wishes she could be sick, but nothing comes. The cold blade presses against her.

“See what you make me do?” Jason breathes.

The sound of a key in the lock. Jason releases her and steps back. The knife clatters to the floor. She darts to the side to keep it from cutting her bare feet.

“Hola! Good morning!”

She watches her husband’s face change, the actor’s smile growing over his expression like a mask.

Bambi steadies herself against the counter and turns as Lucita comes into the kitchen. She stops, her face blank, like she’s just seen a ghost. She pauses for a moment, taking them in like a painting before saying, “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Redfern. You want I start upstairs?”

He nods. “That would be excellent, yes, Lucita.”

Lucita smiles, unsure. “Okay, Mr. Redfern. I will go upstairs. Mrs. Bambi, you want a coffee or something?”

Bambi’s hands are shaking. She wants to run toward her. To grab her, to stop her, and tell her not to leave. She needs the hours to tick by faster, for Martha to arrive. For everything to be over. Instead, she swallows and says, “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Lucita takes off her shoes and puts on her blue house slippers. “You want I open some windows?”