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“Flight got canceled?” I ask, casually stopping him from kneading my breasts. His fondling hurts—an unwelcome kind of hurt because of my pregnancy. He knows it, but he doesn’t give a damn.
“The whole thing tomorrow got canceled, so there’s no point in me flying to San Fran.” He observes the glass in my hand.
“Want some? Mock margarita.”
“I don’t do fakes, honey. But I’m glad you’re into them.” He sits down, staring at me. “Something wrong with the heater?” He questions my choice of clothes.
“No. I had to go to the shop, and I haven’t had a chance to change.”
“Huh.” He throws a cold, scrutinizing gaze before leaving the kitchen.
His steps get heavy.
“Where’s Raffi?” he yells as he stands at the bottom of the stairs.
“He’s asleep. Why?”
“What’s Mr. Oreo doing here?” The fluffy toy is next to his feet.
Shit…
“Iz, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Nando seizes my hand, dragging me as he shoots up to the second floor. My feet can hardly keep up with him. I almost trip on every tread. He clutches my neck from behind as we stare at Raffi’s empty bed.
“You’re trying to run away?” He scans our son’s bare closet. “Huh?”
“Nando, listen.” I caress his hand despite his tightening grip. He lets me go, only to spin me around. “Nando… please.” I plant my hand on his chest, trying to soothe him.
I don’t have to wait to realize that nothing will ever calm his ire.
He snatches Raffi’s rocket ship bedside lamp and swings it at my belly. It breaks in two. It’s kids’ plastic decoration—it’ll hardly bruise me—but the impact is enough to push me back and stir an ache behind my belly button.
Seeing me still standing, he turns me around and presses my thirty-week bump against the wall.
“Nando! Stop!” I cry despite my hampered breathing.
“One child is bad enough. I’ve got no time to deal with another!” he yells when he finally relents.
I turn my head to him, but I don’t dare move. He’s not a big man, and unlike how he treats Raffi, he knows not to leave a mark on me. But seeing his rage-pumped fist and viperous stare, I know I’m facing an aberrant Nando. A blow to my stomach and both my baby and I will die.
He grabs the collar of my shirt. “I would’ve gotten rid of the first one if I’d known you’d be so difficult.”
“Let me go, please,” I beg when he drags me back downstairs.
“Where’s that fucking rascal?”
“He’s not here!”
“We both know he won’t go anywhere without Mr. Oreo!”
Nando kicks the soft toy away and then shoves me to the floor. My tailbone gets the brunt of the impact this time, and the pain travels fast to my abs.
“Raffi!” he shouts, heading to the garage.
I push myself up. I’ve got to stop him, or Raffi will get more than just cuts and bruises.
