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He cocked his head to the side, eyes raging like a wildfire burned inside his skull. And it probably did – my psychotic husband. I stumbled over the word. Husband. Seven letters, my death sentence.
‘How stupid do you think I am?’ he said.
I held his gaze. ‘Stop. Stop! Just ask me. Just tell me what’s going on, because I don’t understand!’ My voice got louder as I spoke, rising to a feverish pitch by the end of my sentence. I didn’t know if I was yelling or begging at that point. All I knew was, he had that hand on me, the one he’d just threatened to disembowel me with, and I couldn’t stop shaking, and he had the phone.
‘Is. This. Your. Phone?’
‘Yes!’ I screamed.
His eyes lit up like wildfire. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGod.
His face gave away nothing. I wondered if it would be the last thing I would ever see.
I tried not to struggle as Dornan traced a finger underneath each of my eyes, in the hollow part, the socket, and it took every ounce of selfrestraint not to flinch. I was half-convinced he was going to poke my eyes out, but his finger travelled down to my mouth. He pushed it between my lips and I let him, because more than anything, I really did not want him to hit me with that fucking phone again.
Had he found phone records? I deleted John’s number every time I called him. Still, a lot had changed in ten years. It was 2008, and you could find almost anything you wanted information-wise if you looked in the right places.
‘It’s not what you think,’ I said around his finger, needing to break the unbearable silence that stretched between us.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Dornan whispered. I couldn’t respond, because his finger was halfway down my throat, but I shook my head anyway.
He dropped the phone onto the counter that he had me pinned against and brought his free hand to my throat, squeezing.
Idiot. He had a finger in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could, and suddenly I was flying through the air again.
‘You fucking cunt!’ Dornan yelled, as I crashed into the bathroom door.
Dazed, and with blood in my mouth – his, not mine – I scrambled to my knees, crawling away from him.
I wasn’t fast enough, and the only escape in this room was the goddamn door anyway. He was between me and that precious exit, so I had nowhere to go.
There was never anywhere to go.
How many times had I repeated that thought to myself lately?
Too many.
Hands found my hair and yanked me up. I decided I was going to shave my head so he couldn’t use my hair as a weapon against me anymore. For now, wanting to keep my scalp, I followed his momentum as he tossed me onto the bed.
‘This finger is very fucking important,’ he said, holding up his bloodied index finger. ‘I use it to shoot people. I use it when I ride. I use it when I fuck you.’ He leaned down so that his nose was touching mine, his breath hot on my mouth. ‘If you’ve damaged it, I’ll cut yours off. I’ll cut all of them off.’
‘Don’tbesuchababy,’ I said, my words slurring together. He slapped me across the face, but I barely felt it. Something had dulled in my head when it hit the bathroom door. My thoughts were slow. My pain receptors slower.
A hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed, Dornan’s expression resigned as he stared down at me. ‘Whose fucking blood is it?’
Tears were streaming out of my eyes of their own accord, an entirely reflexive response. I felt like I was about to die.
‘Mine,’ I said. ‘The blood is mine.’
He shook me. ‘You’re LYING!’
Jesus, fuck, he was going to kill me.
‘I cut myself!’ I gasped, fighting for breath, for the ability to speak. ‘You know I cut myself. It’s my blood. I swear.’
Dornan appeared torn. ‘You promised me you didn’t do that anymore.’
‘I started doing it again,’ I lied.
