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He lurches toward me at those words, grabbing me by the back of my neck and hurrying me across the hall to our bedroom. He slams the door shut behind him, throwing me onto the bed.
“You’d better watch your fucking mouth,” he growls.
I blow the hair out of my face, giving him a dirty look. “Make me, fuckhead.”
“Making a scene isn’t going to change what happened. I don’t know what you expect to gain from this little display, but I’m getting tired of it.”
“I’m getting tired ofyou!” I scream, sliding across the bed and snatching a heavy marble bust of some Greek philosopher off the bedside table.
I chuck it at him, and he ducks. It explodes against the door, leaving a deep gash in the wood and splinters of marble all over the floor.
He glares at me, his eyes alight with fury. “That was my grandmother’s.”
“Fuck your grandma,” I spit, looking around the room for something else to throw at him.
He shakes his head. “You don’t mean that,” he says, and it feels like he’s saying it to calm himself more than anything.
I probably shouldn’t test him, but my rage is difficult to contain. I’ve never really had to exercise control before, so when I burst, everything comes out, and I can’t be stopped until I burn myself out and collapse in bed with a splitting migraine.
“Do something, dickwad. Or are you too much of a coward?” I snarl, grabbing a lamp and chucking it in his direction. It hits the floor at his feet and rolls without breaking.
“I’ll leave you to sort yourself out,” he says softly, turning to the door.
“Pussy!”
He doesn’t react as he leaves.
I fly into a rage so uncontrollable that I feel like my head is going to explode. My heart rate climbs to a dangerous speed, and I can feel every vein in my forehead pounding as I run around the room, smashing everything in sight.
I topple dressers, tearing down curtains and breaking windows until I cut myself and start bleeding on the floor. I swing my arm around, spraying blood around the room. I want to ruin everything in here just like Danya ruined my life. I couldn’t give less of a shit who in his family it previously belonged to.
I know I’m fucked up, that I’m probably unlovable and I have serious problems, but even so, I feel justified in what I’m doing. Danya killed my father, taking away the only parent I had left.
It doesn’t matter that I hated my father. What matters is that Danya killed him.
The bathroom has been untouched in all of this, but I’m not going to give it a pass. I swing the door open so hard that the doorknob imbeds itself into the wall. Like an angry bull, I charge inside.
I plug the sink and turn the tap on, blood dripping from my arm and turning the water pink as it fills up. I’m going to flood this fucking place until the water drowns me and everyone else here.
I move to the bathtub, doing the same. I want to wash away all the memories of the sex we had here, all the times he made me cum. I want to forget the way he pushed my head under the water when I was climaxing, fucking me hard as I struggled for air. I want to forget how hard it made me cum, and how good the air tasted when he finally allowed me to breathe again.
Only a lunatic could fuck like that, and I married him. It was all a big mistake.
I look down at the ring on my finger as my anger begins to subside. If I had considered it earlier, I probably would’ve flung it out the window, but I keep it on as I drag myself out of the soggy bathroom.
The bedroom is a total wreck, and I feel a tinge of embarrassment at what I’ve done. I tell myself that Danya deserves it, but I don’t even care about my father. Had he actually had an accident, I wouldn’t have shed a tear.
I laugh when I realize I haven’t cried in this case either.
I’m not sad about my father. I’m angry at Danya for being the monster I wanted to believe he wasn’t.
I use the remainder of my strength to move as much furniture as I can in front of the door. I know that Danya is strong enough to open it if he really wants to, so it’s more about sending a message.
I don’t want him in this bedroom with me.
I need to be alone.
20
