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Grabbing a handful of my hair, he yanked me forward, pushing me onto my knees in front of the rumpled, wet clothes.
“Fold them. Now.” He towered over me, his presence making my eyes water as I picked up the clothes and folded them precisely before stacking them neatly together.
How did you get like this, Lars? What happened to you?
When that was done, I started to rise, and he grabbed my shoulder, forcing me back down. “Did I tell you to get up?”
I stayed down, not bothering to reply. Silence was compliance after all. At least to Oskar.
After several moments, which felt like an eternity, he grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. “Get up.”
He led me to the kitchen, past our cooling dinner, and to a cabinet I hated. It was on my tongue to ask him not to, but I kept it in because it would only make it worse.
Reaching into the cabinet, he grabbed a container and shoved it close to my face. I recoiled, and he laughed.
“You don’t appreciate the food I stocked in our home?” he said, dragging me to the table with his free hand. “You want to throw your shit around like a spoiled, kept whore?”
“I’m not a whore,” I said through gritted teeth. “Just because I was too tired to cook doesn’t mean I’m not appreciative.”
“Too tired to cook?” he parroted, shoving me into my chair and uncapping the container in his hand. “Well, maybe you’re too tired to eat too.”
“Please don’t.” The words slipped out, a pathetic whisper that made me hate myself. That made me feel utterly worthless.
Tilting the container, Oskar covered the dishes I’d cooked with pine nuts. Little sprinkles of death he kept in that cabinet to torment me with whenever he felt like it.
Laughing, he grabbed a fork, scooping up some noodles with nuts clinging to the bite. He pushed it toward my mouth, laughing when I skittered back, nearly toppling the chair in my haste.
“Stop,” I gritted out.
Chuckling, he dropped the fork back on my plate, and I stared at the food I couldn’t eat because it would kill me.
“I’ll make something else,” I said, starting to get up.
“The fuck you will,” he spat. “If you want to eat, you can eat what’s already made.”
I went to bed hungry, and he kept his arm over me like a shackle so I couldn’t get up and make something when he fell asleep.
“Lars!” The hands grabbing my shoulders made me jolt. I flinched, trying to scurry back, but the lockers at my back kept me trapped. “Lars, are you okay?”
Blinking, I focused on the voice, realizing it wasn’t one from the past. Realizing it held an inkling of familiarity and comfort. Wes stood there wearing nothing but a Speedo, a towel draped around his neck. Concern darkened his eyes and tugged down the corners of his mouth.
I tried to smile, knew I failed, and settled for straightening off the cold metal wall at my back. My eyes wanted to stray to the locker.
No. No, it can’t be.
“What happened?” Wes asked, and the two guys at his back shifted, making me realize it wasn’t just Wes here but Ryan and Jamie as well.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Tripped trying to take off my pants and fell over the bench.” I laughed at myself for being a klutz.
How easy it is to slip into pretending, to lie about the damage he’s done.
“Good thing you swim better than you stand,” Jamie quipped.
This time, my smile felt more genuine. “I think you’re right.”
“You hurt yourself?” Ryan asked. “You want me to call Win or Russel?”
“No.” I was quick to refuse. “I’m fine, just clumsy.”
