23. Brynn
I can’t move.
My entire body feels like it’s been crushed. Broken.
I’m still here, on the floor, where he left me.
My ribs are throbbing from where he kicked me, and that awful necklace is still wrapped around my throat like it’s trying to choke the last of the oxygen from my lungs.
Every time I blink, I see it. That look in his eyes. That anger.
I knew Conrad was a monster. I knew from all the things he’d done to me so far but today, today was so much worse.
I shudder, letting out a chuckle that is so at odds with the situation I’m in. In what world is him choking me worse than him raping me?
But it is. It’s so much worse.
And I know now, in my heart, that this man will be the death of me. He is going to kill me. He is going to lose control, and he will snap my neck before he even considers the consequences.
Would it be better to die though? Better to just get it over with?
My tears stream more at that thought.
I’ve wanted to die for so long and yet now I’m looking it in the eye, it feels so very different.
No, I don’t want to die. Not really. I want to live in a world where I am free. Where I can be me, where I’m not subjugated and forced to bend to the ever-changing whims of a monster.
A sob escapes my bleeding lips. I try to silence it, but another one follows and then another, and I realise I have no control over myself now.
Has he broken me? Am I that easily cowed?
I shake my head, clenching my fists, groaning at the pain that shoots up my limbs.
What did I do? What awful transgressions did I commit to end up here, to end up in this life, with this horrific future before me? What sort of God allows this shit to happen? Allows the world to be like this.
I don’t know how long I’ve been laying here. Immobile. Useless.
I slip in and out of consciousness, dreaming of things I can’t have. When I open my eyes, only one seems to respond. My right eye remains shut, like it wants to jump ship and abandon me.
When I hear footsteps, I freeze. Fear takes over. My breath turns into a rattle and my heart slams into my chest like a drumbeat of war, but I can’t fight. I’m in no position to fight. No position to mount any form of defence.
The door opens.
My dear husband stands on the threshold, staring in. I can’t meet his gaze, so I do the only thing open to me. I lay there, weak and pathetic, embodying everything he thinks I am.
He doesn’t say a word as he walks towards me, doesn’t even react as he stares down at me.
What does he see? Is he proud? Is this some victory lap for him? Has he come to admire his fine handiwork?
“Get up.” He says, as if I’m merely dozing dreamily in bed.
I try to move, try to obey and my arms give way, my body crumples. I collapse back into the bloodied rug.
He tuts as though I’m being deliberately difficult and then he grabs me by my arm, yanking me up as I scream. White hot pain shoots through my body. I try to muster what little strength I have left to fight, but I’m too far gone.
He drags me to the bed and drops my useless body onto it. For one awful moment, I think he’s going to fuck me again.
But instead, he stares down at me like he has no idea how I’m so hurt.
“You did this, Brynn.” He says. “You caused this.”
I try to reply, to argue, but my voice catches in my throat. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, nothing I say will help me. Nothing I say can save me.
He reaches down, unclasping the necklace, his mother’s necklace, muttering that I don’t deserve it and then he tucks into his pocket.
“It’s your choice.” He says. “You can choose to accept this, to stop being a whiny little bitch, be my wife and build a life together. Or you can choose to fight me, to defy me, and spend the rest of your life like this; locked away, miserable and alone.”
That’s not a choice.
I scream those words, but not a sound leaves my lips.
He turns away, picking up the holdall, and he dumps it in the closet.
When he returns, he towers over me once more. “No one else wants you.” He states. “No one else will help you.”
Like anyone was ever going to help me anyway.
His nostrils flare like he can hear the very voices in my head.
“Make your choice wisely, Brynn. I’m running out of patience.”
I wake in a panic.
It’s dark in the room.
I have no idea what time it is. With the drapes drawn, it could be day or night.
A face seems to flit into view.
But it can’t be, it can’t.
“Momma?”
I sound so broken, so helpless. Something creeps up my spine, and I shudder violently as I try to get some grip on reality.
But she’s there. Still there.
She hasn’t changed, hasn’t aged, she looks exactly as I remember her.
She gives me a pained smile before she’s hugging me, comforting me, whispering in my ear that she loves me.
“He’s going to kill me.” I gasp.
She shakes her head, brushing away the tears. Soothing me in a way I so desperately need.
“Please…”
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to stay. I want her to take me with her, to take my soul, to carry me away and keep me safe forever.
“Take me with you…” I gasp.
I’d follow her anywhere. I’d follow her to hell. Which is where my family believes she is. I just don’t want her to go, I don’t want her to leave.
But I can hear the footsteps, the sounds of someone approaching.
Is it him? Is he back?
“Please momma,” I sob. “Please…”
The door opens. Bright, blinding light fills the space. I throw my hand up to cover my eyes and I groan from the horrific pain that shoots through my body at the movement.
He’s dressed in his usual suit, with his shirt slightly unbuttoned. His hair is ruffled. There’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and he looks tired. Like something has been keeping him up at night.
Good.
I hope the bastard is struggling to sleep.
He lets out a sigh as he walks into the room and he shrugs off his jacket, revealing those bulging muscles.
As he undoes his shirt, my eyes dart about, trying to spot where my mother is. Where she’s hiding.
Only, I can’t see her. It’s like she vanished into thin air.
She left. She left me alone.
I can’t keep the pain in, I can’t contain it. That old grief stirs in my belly, and the bitter unfairness of my life hits me at full force.
Conrad walks up to me, crouching down to sweep the hair from my face.
“Have you slept all day?” He asks, sounding every bit the loving husband now.
I blink back, afraid that if I admit that I have, he’ll beat me again for the sin of slothfulness.
I can feel his warm breath on my face, I can smell that intense hit of his aftershave. My skin erupts into goosebumps as sheer terror creeps down my spine at the thought of him being so close to me.
His thumb brushes aside the last remnants of my tears.
“Let’s get you up.” He says, pulling the covers off.
Cold air hits my body. It’s soothing, relieving against the bruises but the feeling is short lived, stolen almost immediately as he reaches down and scoops me up into his arms.
I whimper as he presses me into him and thankfully, he seems to take that as a response to my pain and not a response to him touching me.
He carries me through to the bathroom and places me down delicately on the ridiculous couch in there.
I watch him warily, the way a mouse does a tiger, preparing for the moment that playfulness turns to something deadly.
He pulls something out of a drawer, fiddling with the box to get it open.
When he holds it out to me, I stare back dumbfounded. We’re doing this now? Surely, it’s too soon? My thoughts race as he gestures to the toilet.
“I’ve fucked you enough times.” He says, proudly. As if it’s some sort of Olympic sport and he’s already claimed the gold.
I can barely muster the strength to walk, and I almost fall face first into the pan. Conrad has to grab me, has to help me which if anything, makes it even more degrading.
I don’t even know how to do these tests. How they work.
“Piss on it.” He says, clearly seeing my confusion.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust, but I know I can’t refuse him. He’ll only force me anyway and I doubt I’d survive another beating.
I can’t look at him as I follow his instructions. Shame heats my face. He holds his hand out expectantly and I put the plastic into it, doing everything I can to avoid my fingers touching his.
What if I’m pregnant?
What then?
I don’t know how long the test takes but it feels like forever as I sit here, paralysed.
Will he treat me better if I am carrying his child? Will he stop hurting me? Stop raping me?
My stomach turns at the thought of it. Of something growing inside me, of a part of Conrad now forever tied to me.
I don’t want it.
I don’t want his child. If I’m pregnant, I’ll never be able to escape. I’ll never be able to leave.
I bite my lip hard, trying to keep in the sobs. This can’t be my future. This can’t be it. No loving God would allow this to happen.
“Fuck.”
I know from the tone that it’s negative.
The relief that washes over feels indescribable. I feel suddenly saved, I feel suddenly spared. I clap my hands to my mouth but it’s too late to hold the sound in and it escapes, filling the room, echoing off the tiles like a merry little tune.
“You think it’s funny?” Conrad snarls. “You dare to fucking laugh?”
The plastic test hits my head with enough force to bruise.
His hand grabs my hair, wrenching me up and I’m thrown across the room like I weigh nothing. My body collides with the solid door frame, and
I crumple once more.
Only, Conrad doesn’t leave me there. No, he’s too angry. Too furious. He drags me out by my hair. He dumps me on that same bloodied rug and as he starts to land more blows, I wonder if that’s what the rug is for. To soak up my blood. To ensure his precious hardwood floors don’t get damaged.
His boot comes down, slamming into my ribs. I scream out, but it makes no difference.
Would he even notice if he killed me? Would he stop? I wonder if he would keep going, keep crushing my bones until I was nothing but dust.
My eyes swell shut, my mouth is filled with the metallic taste of my own blood. It’s streaming down my face, it’s covering me.
In my fear, in my wretched state my bladder gives way, warm urine streaming down my leg and I’m lying there, curled up into it when Conrad walks away and all but leaves me to die.