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I'm not sure when I became this woman, when I turned into a housewife. It's not who I am. I'm messy, chaotic, and free-spirited. Or I was. Now, everything must be in the right place. I haven’t dyed my hair a fun color for the past four years, and I used to change it every other month. I'm drowning and there's no way out.
"The fuck?" he snarls as he enters the kitchen. "Seriously, Esmerelda? You're joking with me, right?"
I blink once as I continue to stir the bolognaise sauce that I made from scratch. "What?" I ask, wondering what the hell I've done wrong.
"I've been at work all day. I come home and my dinner's not even on the fucking table? Christ, Esmerelda, you're a fucking bitch, you know that?"
Tears sting the back of my eyes. God, why is he always such a dick?
"I was working too," I tell him, trying to keep the anger from my voice. That doesn't do anyone any good. Talking back to him just angers him. It infuriates him.
"Told you already, bitch," he snarls. "You shouldn't be working. Once we're married, you won't be."
My heart starts to pound and my palms become sweaty at the mere thought of having to give up my job. I worked so hard to become a teacher, a job that I've dreamed of doing since I was a little girl. I don't want to become a stay-at-home wife or mom. I want to be able to continue teaching. Harry knows that. We spoke at length over the years about what each of us wanted from our lives, and he used to be so supportive. But the moment I said yes to marrying him, he changed. This shit has become a nightmare, and I'm barely able to breathe around the fear that everything I've worked hard for is going to be destroyed the moment I say, 'I do’.
I pull the sauce off the heat and turn to face him. His once gentle face has a scowl, his eyes narrowed as he looks at me, and not for the first time, I wonder why he wants to marry me when it seems that he despises me. "Dinner is ready," I tell him as I plaster on a fake smile.
His lip curls at the corner. "Christ, Esmerelda, what the fuck are you wearing? Did you leave the house looking like that?"
I glance down at my floral print dress, one that I've had for months and have worn multiple times. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's hideous. You look like you've put on at least fifteen pounds."
I swallow hard. This isn't the first time he's commented on my weight. It also won't be the last.
"Christ, Esmerelda, why can't you be like Natalie? Hmm?"
That sickening feeling in my gut starts to rise. Natalie is his newest co-worker. He has a new 'flavor' of the month every month. He loves to tell me how I'm not like the other women in his office, and he tells me what I'm doing wrong.
"You're so fucking disgusting," he snaps. "I can't bear to look at you." He turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.
A lone tear falls as I continue to serve the dinner. I don't sob. I used to, but I'm so used to his words that they don't hurt as much as they once did. I'll never be good enough, never be exactly who he wants.
Some days are the worst, but when the good days come, they're the best I've ever had. He does love me, that I believe. I just feel as though he's stressed and he's taking it out on the person closest to him.
I bring the dinner plates to the dining room and set them down. I take a seat and wait for him to return. My heart beats wildly as I wait to see if he's calmed down or if he's still as wound up as he was before.
Five minutes later and he's walking into the dining room, his attention on his cell as he types furiously on it. "Good to see that dinner is ready," he says snarkily before taking a seat. He raises his head and looks over at me. "The carbs from the pasta aren't good for you. You need to go on a diet."
I stare at the dinner I made, the one I've spent the past twenty minutes making, and wonder what the fuck happened to the man I fell in love with. Where's the kind-hearted man who used to shower me with compliments and tell me that he loved me more than anything? That man would never tell me that I was overweight or needed to go on a diet. I'm a size twelve. I used to love my body. I was confident in who I was. Now, I hate to look at myself in the mirror.
"The fuck?" he yells, and I shrink back in fear as I turn to face him. His eyes are narrowed and filled with anger, his jaw clenched, and his hands are balled into fists on the table. "Can't you fucking do anything right?" he demands. "Christ, Esmerelda, you really are fucking useless. You can't even make a simple meal properly."
I watch in complete horror as he lifts his plate and throws it at the wall, the porcelain smashing as it connects with the hard surface The bolognaise sauce splatters against the white paint as the food and broken plate clatter to the floor.
He pushes away from the table and gets to his feet. "I can't even look at you right now," he snaps.
I stay seated, my hands shaking and my heart breaking. Why did he do that?
I hear the front door slam shut and my body jumps in fear. God. What the hell is going on? When did my life become this messed up?
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER
"Hey," I greet Harry as I enter the house. He's sitting on the sofa, watching TV while on his cell. The moment I greet him, his gaze turns to me and narrows.
It's been so good to get out and spend some time with my best friend, Serenity. I love that woman. She's the greatest friend a girl could ever ask for, and she's the one who is always here to cheer me up.
