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Maybe the normality of it will make her relax. And maybe spending some normal, quality time with me will make her see that I am not so bad. I can be like everybody else. I can withdraw my claws and teeth and rip my heart out and put it on her plate if that is what she wants. It belongs to her anyway.
And for fucks sake, I am not a psycho. But maybe she thinks that I am. Maybe she will always recoil from me, shun my touch or shudder when she thinks she’s forced to endure it. Slowly squeezing my eyes, I let out an exhale.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This is not ideal and maybe...maybe I reacted too soon. The notion that I might have made a mistake angers me and I bark,
“Didn’t you hear what I said? Said it’s time for dinner.”
“I’m not having dinner with you!” she snaps and I feel something break in my chest at her refusal and I whip around and I must look terrifying because she winces.
“Do you prefer to starve then? Starve yourself just to punish me?” I say in a harsh tone, knowing that there’s no fucking way I’ll ever let her starve. If she wants to have dinner curled up in the corner of her room with a cover over head and a flashlight then so be it. But...her refusal still impales me.
“I’m just not h...hungry,” she stutters but I can see the hunger in her eyes. She’s barely eaten anything today.
“Daphne...” I begin but she shakes her head, causing those flaxen locks to lash around her face and for a second I stand as if transfixed, losing my train of thought. I jerk myself. “Fine...if you don’t want dinner then you’re going to bed. It’s late.”
“I’m not tired,” she protests but in that moment she almost sways. Naturally she is tired, she’s had a hell of a day.
“Then what else do you want to do besides sleep?” I ask with narrowed eyes and her gaze flickers.
“Want to ask you something,” she says in a soft voice, “about what you said earlier.”
She wants to question me, see if she can find out my name but I’m not going to hand her everything on a silver platter. I want her to remember me all on her own.
I shake my head. “No, you’re going straight to bed.
Daphne ignores me. “Why did you say what you said to me in front of the mirror? Why did you say that you have clothed me, combed my hair and now you want me to smile?”
Her forehead is in a deep frown, like she’s trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. But if she can’t come up with an answer then I’m not going to help her and I turn for the door.
“I’ll wait outside for you to put on one of your nightgowns and then I’ll tuck you in.”
“Tuck me in?”
She sounds like I just said that I’m planning on burying her six feet under.
“Yeah, you heard me right,” I reply before walking out. I let out a deep breath, because I will be doing more than just tucking her in. And I put my hand in my pocket and a shudder goes through me at the feel of the cold metal.
Six
Daphne
Going out into the hallway where Husband is waiting, I clasp my hands in front of me and hesitantly look up at him but he’s not looking at my face. Instead his eyes are fascinated by the nightie that I’m wearing.
It’s the color of magenta, made out of chiffon and ends just above my knees and has a built in bustier and a lacy hemline. And it’s twisted how it doesn’t make me feel like a captive, instead it makes me feel like this is something one would put on for someone they adore.
But maybe that’s exactly what Husband wants me to feel.
He’s rubbing his hand over his neck, his eyes unblinking and he clears his throat when he notices that I’m watching him watch me. Straightening, he puts his hand on my lower back and I can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric.
We walk to my bedroom and the mood between us is loaded and pressing and it makes it hard to breathe. Why does he insist on tucking me in? Why not just throw me into my room and lock the door?
Maybe in his mind he’s doing something nice for me but in my mind he’s making everything worse. I’ve always had sleep issues. Always had particular hang-ups around going to bed. It’s always been stressful for me to go to sleep.
I don’t need him to add salt to the wound.
He opens the door, allowing me to walk inside before him and to my surprise he closes it behind us as if he doesn’t plan on leaving soon. I throw a taxing glance over my shoulder. Why did he close that door?
“Now w...what?” I stutter and I know that I’m looking at him, like I expect him to eat me. I’m standing in the middle of the room, awaiting further instructions when he walks over to the bed and pulls the duvet aside. He nods his head for me to slide inside and I swallow.
