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I feel myself going under. I'm slipping back into the darkness. I refuse to fight it.
“You had it so good, Josie. The clothes, the house, the kids. And what did I ever ask of you? To have sex with me when I wanted it? To look nice? To do a bit of manual labor when the going got tough. Was that really so much to ask?”
I want to tell him that he’s abused me for years. I want to tell him that he won't win this. Not even if he kills me. But who am I kidding? He’s already won. He won’t kill me. He likes to see me suffer.
The doorbell chimes then, bringing me back from the darkness.
“Oh, good,” he says slipping the last of the stitching through. I feel him tie it off. His tone is smooth and sarcastic. “Stay here. Our little guest is back.”
“Just let me talk to her,” she says. Her voice comes out garbled. I think I have a concussion. My brain is fuzzy. Like her words. “I’ll make her understand.”
“Isobel—please.” He’s trying to calm her. He hasn’t yet resorted to using his hands to silence her. “Just listen. It was a mistake, you coming here. Josie is very upset, and she’s gone to bed. I told you that the first time.”
More garbled speech.
I strain to hear. My husband’s voice is clear. It’s survival that lets me hear. “If you hang on a minute, I’ll get my keys and drive you home.”
I can’t hear nor understand what she says. Grant is looking for his keys. I can hear that. I recall him throwing them earlier. He’s hidden mine. I won’t be driving for a while. Not with a concussion and not after he realized I followed him. Instalook has gone by the way of my cell phone. I used our family plan to text her from his number. I wanted her to come.
I force myself to stand and open the door. I want her to know he’s a liar. I don’t want that text to have been sent in vain. I also want him to leave without locking me in. He does that sometimes. He knows I won’t run. I’ve made that mistake before. But only once.
If he’s going to kill me, better to have a witness. Plus, I invited her here for a reason. She needs to see what she’s caused. She needs to know what she’s walking into.
I round the corner. She gasps. “Oh my God.”
I don’t know how my face looks. But I’m guessing not good.
“He’ll do this to you, too,” I say.
“Come on, Josie. Don’t scare the girl.” Grant laughs nervously. “My wife was attacked today.”
I don’t say anything. I watch her face. She believes him. Also, it’s apparent she’s drunk.
He looks at me before turning to her. “Would you mind waiting outside?”
My stomach turns when she nods and heads toward the front door.
I vomit on myself when I hear it open and close.
“What in the fuck, Josie? Now—not only will she not leave me alone, she’ll talk. She’ll have something to use against us.”
“She’s not stalking you, Grant. You’re having an affair. There’s a difference.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. I want nothing to do with her. She has dozens of photos of you, of our entire family, on her phone. I tried to tell you.” He backhands me. “You never listen.”
“Why can’t you listen?” I taste blood.
“Grant.” This time he goes for my hair. He wants to put a stop to any scene I might cause. He wants to shut me up.
I smell it before I realize what’s happened. Of course, I see it, it happens in slow motion, although it happens fast. Gunpowder fills my nose. Then blood, but the fear came first. I thought it was mine. But it wasn’t mine alone. Now, I hear nothing but screams.
“Oh my God! No. No. Noooooo.” She screams and she screams and she screams. “I didn’t mean—”
Chapter Thirty
Izzy
I only wanted to return the gun to Tyler. Mostly, I didn’t want to have to cough up the money to “Big Sean.” I didn’t have it to cough up. That’s why I picked it up. That I remember, that much I’m sure of. The rest is a bit hazy. It will come later, I’m sure of it. I shouldn’t have gone there. I should have waited outside. I shouldn’t have been so nosey.
