Page 16

Thinking about seeing Steven at the end of the day never made me smile.

I tuck my legs up underneath myself and look into the empty fireplace. I’m holding a book from Lucien’s collection, but I know I won’t read it because my mind is already wandering.

I close my eyes.

I hear Steven’s voice as if it’s here in the room with me.

“You’ve been at home all day, Luna.” Steven is standing by the sink. He reaches in, picks up a dirty breakfast spoon and lets it land with a clash on top of the unwashed cereal bowls. “The dishwasher is right there.” In an exaggerated fashion, he takes one stride toward the dishwasher and jerks it open.

He turns to glare at me.

His shirt is sticking to his back. A little sweat has dampened his armpits.

His face is flushed.

He picks up one of the spoons from the sink and jams it into the cutlery basket. Then another. Then the bowls.

“I can do it. I was going to do it, I just—” I’m finding it hard to speak and although I have the overwhelming urge to run over and take the dishes from him and sort it out so he stops being angry, I seem to be rooted to the spot.

“No point now. I’m doing it, aren’t I? Despite being at work all fucking day.” He slams the dishwasher shut again and I hear him mutter under his breath, “Lazy bitch.”

I swallow hard, tears biting at my eyes.

When he turns around, he’s still quivering with anger but he has arranged his features into something softer and he’s attempting to smile at me. “So, what have you been doing all day?”

I think about the fact the sofa has a discarded blanket on it. If he goes into the living room, he’ll know I’ve been sleeping most of the day.

“I went for a walk. Tried to do some gentle exercise, like you suggested. That’s why I forgot the dishes. I was going to do them after lunch, but I⁠—”

“Forget the dishes. It’s done now.”

Emotion swells in my throat. Before I can stop myself, I’m crying.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this.” Steven leans back, gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles have whitened. “Now you’re crying? Over dishes?”

“I just don’t like making you cross. I’m sorry.” I can hear how pathetic I sound. How weak. And I hate myself for it. I should unleash the rage that’s swirling in my gut. I should have thrown the dish at him and told him to stop being so fucking awful.

But maybe he’s right? Maybe this is all laziness. Not depression or sadness or loneliness.

Maybe I am just taking advantage of him.

Maybe I need to try harder.

Maybe I’ve allowed myself to get into this state because I stopped doing things. Stopped showering and washing my hair and getting dressed.

Although, I did get dressed today.

I am sobbing now. Big ugly tears stream down my face and all I want is for him to put his arms around me, but he doesn’t. He just watches, growing angrier and angrier.

Then he strides toward me, loosening his tie, and I think maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment he’ll finally take his rage out on my face, or my body, and I won’t have to keep wondering what it would be like.

I’ll know.

I won’t be anticipating it anymore.

I won’t be terrified.

I won’t be standing here, muscles tense, trying not to move so the wasp doesn’t sting me. The sting will have happened. And at least then I’ll have something else to focus on. The pain instead of the anticipation of the pain.