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Twenty-Five
Emilia drew a hard breath,unable to believe she was finally talking about this part of her life. A part so all-consuming, yet she’d been forced to hold on to it in silence. All because so many people didn’t want to hear.
“For years, Anthony and I had an agreement. Can you imagine what sharing a bed with that man entailed?” She blinked, and to her dismay, a fat tear rolled down her cheek.
She swatted the trail of water from her face, trying to ignore the heavy weight pressing on her lungs, a weight that made every one of her ensuing breaths shake.
“For the first few years, he forced himself on me a lot. He was rough, with zero care for what I wanted. Almost every encounter resulted in bruises somewhere on my body.” She gave a shuddering laugh, a silly reaction really, though one she couldn’t stop. “But we were married, and having sex was his right and my duty, or so they say.”
Theybeing the people in her community. She’d tried to talk, to seek help, only to receive ridicule and dismissive statements about how a husband was supposed to “chase his wife.” How she should be flattered over his “passion” for her.
She wanted to vomit just thinking about all the things she’d been told to accept, to be thankful for. Hot bile pushed against the already swollen muscles in her throat. Nothing of what Anthony inflicted on her could be classed as passion. Control, yes, but not passion.
She’d experienced passion. With Blaine. And passion then had extended beyond the physical, encompassing genuine respect and freedom, especially when one’s partner said, “no” or “stop.”
What she’d had with Anthony had been something else entirely. Each incident was his chance to exert his power, to prove himself important at her expense.
“This went on for years, though less and less, until I stopped being enough for him.” At least, Anthony had wanted to wait until their thirties before trying for children. Subjecting a child to that situation, much less leaving with one in tow now, would have been a nightmare. “Maybe in most other marriages a husband turning his attention to other women would be cause for devastation, but to me, Anthony’s infidelity was a relief. He didn’t much care when I moved out of our bedroom. I gave him open permission to bring other women home after a certain hour, as long as they stayed in his room and away from me and the rest of our house. The deal was, I’d keep his secret and play at being his wife, all on the proviso he never touched me again.”
Blaine stood quiet for a moment, the lines on his forehead bent, his gaze shifting about her face in a hint that maybe he didn’t know what to say. This in itself provided relief. There were few “right” words to say to someone who’d just admitted to surviving ten years in an abusive marriage. And if there were any right words, none of them included making excuses for Anthony or describing his behavior as “to be expected,” enough of which she’d already endured.
“Until that last night?” Blaine flexed his brow in a small, pinched sort of manner like he still hadn’t processed all she’d said. “I’m not sure I want to know, but you should probably tell me, anyway.”
She gave a taut smile. No one else knew about that last night. Maybe she should have told her dad. Maybe he should wear a portion of the darkness his knuckle-headed decisions had lumped on her. Maybe then he would be less inclined to expect her to return. Though, given all the things he had known about, maybe not…
“Anthony had been extra erratic those last few months, and I figured out why. He was attempting to get away with some shady dealings regarding his work for my dad. I played dumb, allowed him to believe he had me fooled too, all while lining things up so I could escape and destroy him in the process. That last night, he came into our apartment wanting to prove something, either to himself, or me, or both. He stank of cigarettes, sweat, and booze. He came in ranting that one day soon I would have nothing. That I’d be begging him to touch me just so he’d throw some loose change my way. He wasn’t too happy when I replied that I’d rather starve to death. As usual, I figured he just needed time to sleep off his drinking, so I left for my room. But he followed me.”
Blaine winced, a distinct tension drawing at his upper lip like he knew this story would only get worse. And because of his visible pain, she pressed on, wanting to get through this hard retelling as soon as possible for both their sakes. “He wrapped his hand around my throat and pinned me to the bed. Through my panic, I could hear the clinking of him loosening his pants. I can’t tell you what I thought at that moment because there wasn’t much time to think. I just swung at him, and his nose made this audible crack. I might have broken it. I don’t know. I hope so. His blood gushed all over me, and he let go quickly after that. I must have looked like something escaped from the pits of hell, all covered in his blood, so I ran with that image, and I screeched and screamed. I said he needed to leave, or I wouldn’t stop screaming until I woke up every last neighbor in our building, and someone called the police.”
The tension on Blaine’s face relaxed some, and he spoke again. “And that worked?”
She nodded, peering down at her hand, the one that had sported bruises, fingers clasped but fidgeting all the same. “Long enough for me to lock my door and hide. I would have left right there and then, but I didn’t want to risk running into him again, especially not while he was drunk. So, I stayed awake the entire night, researching, watching my door. I waited for him to leave for work the next morning, so I could print off all the incriminating evidence I’d collected over the months. After I did all that, I left for myself.”
“Emilia.” Blaine stepped forward, holding his arms out and then dropping them as if he’d wanted to hold her, only to second-guess the action.
She nodded, letting him know it was okay. Anthony might have left scars, but she’d only ever felt safe around Blaine. He swept in close and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, his palms encasing the back of her head.
Maybe words weren’t the best remedy for what she’d revealed, but his tender touch, a stark contrast to what she’d experienced with Anthony, made her feel a million times less alone.
Blaine kissed the top of her head, his quiet strength seeping into her bones. “Does Anthony know you’re in Harlow?”
She shook her head against the soft blue of his wool sweater, savoring the warmth, her hands wrapped around him too and pressing into his back. “At least, I hope not. I hope I never hear from him ever again.”
“I wish I’d known about this earlier,” Blaine spoke into her hair, and she closed her eyes at the comfort of his soft rumble.
“When?” Something painful shifted in her chest, the sort of shifting that threatened to reawaken her tears. “Between us fighting, me kicking you out, or you storming away? When was I supposed to tell you?”
He stepped back and inspected her through a frown as though he didn’t know where her defensive reply came from. Neither did she. A deeper part of her knew his statement was nothing more than a turn of phrase, but perhaps on some level, there were things she still wanted to hash out with him.
“How about that night you fell off the ladder?” He cocked his head to one side, extending an unimpressed facade. “Before you decided to rip into my personal life?”
“Would knowing about me and Anthony have changed things?” She peered up at him, softening her expression and peeling back from her more abrasive approach. “Would you have kept your engagement with Sarah instead of being here on this date with me?”
“That’s the dumbest thing about all of this.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and growled to himself, but not in a way that made her feel in any way unsafe. “You know I’d still be here.”
No matter the stakes, he would choose her every time. Yeah, she knew that much. And he was right, maybe none of that made any sense, but the “dumbest” thing was that she’d do the same for him too.
She lowered her chin, kicking at the crumbly earth beneath her pale-pink ballet flat, wishing things could be different, about a billion times different and far less complicated. Blaine deserved uncomplicated. Heck, so did she.
