25. Brynn
T he maid finds me. Still on the floor. Still lying in my urine.
If I had any self-respect left, I’d do something to cover myself, to move. It’s a moot point anyway, because I don’t have the strength.
She’s on her knees, brushing back my hair, showing her shocked expression as if she didn’t know Conrad was such a monster.
“What did he do?” She gasps.
I can’t reply, all I can do is whimper in pain. Did he break bones? Did he beat me so much that I’m now irrevocably damaged? What will he do if he’s broken my spine? If I’m now paralysed? Will he toss me aside, will he see me as useless and find a new wife?
No, I won’t be as lucky as that. Conrad won’t let me go. He’ll never let me go. Even if I was quadriplegic, I can see him still fucking me, still abusing me. Hell, he’d probably like that more because I’d be completely defenceless then.
The only way I’m escaping this man is in a coffin, though there’s a high chance he’ll be the one to put me in it.
“Why?” She asks. “Why did he do this?”
“Not pregnant.” Is all I can say back.
She screws her face up. “That sick bastard.” She says, as if we don’t know it.
She gets up, disappearing into the bathroom and comes back with a cup of water.
“Here, drink this.”
I gulp back the drink, letting it pour down my chin in my haste.
Will Conrad punish me for this, for drinking? Will he punish her too, for intervening?
She moves around, crouching beside me so I can actually look at her. Not that I want to. Shame, fear, so many emotions rush through me, and once more I’m trembling uncontrollably.
She reaches down, hugging me and that seems to be the catalyst, the final straw. I let out a wail, a broken sound that makes me feel more like an injured animal than anything else.
I just want to go home.
I just want to get out of here. But I know I’ll never escape him.
“You’re okay,” She reassures, as if we’re both now pretending this is all some misunderstanding. “You just need to hang on.”
“Han-hang on for what?”
I don’t e/ven know if I want the answer. What does she know that I don’t? Has Conrad already made a decision Has he now decided I’m too much hassle, is that it?
Perhaps a nice bullet to the head is the answer here.
But Conrad won’t do that, no way he’d give me an easy death. Oblivion is my fate, that’s where he’ll send me. And then he, his friends and all the other Lords can continue to abuse me until I really am dead.
“We’re going to get you out of here.”
Those words make me freeze, sending a chill through me. I know it’s what I want, what I’ve dreamed of but I have no friends, no allies, no one who would be willing to risk going up against the Blakes.
“What, what are you talking about?” I gasp.
This is a trick. It has to be. Is my dear husband there, is he hiding in the dark crevices of this room, waiting to see how I react and before planning to punish me accordingly?
“Your father is coming.”
I blink back, barely registering the words.
What the fuck? I don’t even know who my father is. I doubt the man knows I exist either. Beyond the scrawled pages of my mother’s diary, the man is a ghost. A figment of my imagination and nothing more. Besides, I’ve lived the last twenty-one years of my life without any contact from him, why would he suddenly appear now? Why would he even care now?
She gives me a sympathetic smile while looking at the bruising, as if my injuries alone explain why I’m not jumping for joy.
“He didn’t know where you were.” She says. “It’s complicated because of who he is, but he’s on his way now.” She states. “He’s coming back for you.”
Bullshit. I know it is.
This is a test of loyalty. Conrad is wanting to see if I’ll betray him.
She tuts, muttering under her breath. “I’m not lying, I’m trying to help you.”
“No one helps me.” I can’t hold those words back, nor the tears that follow. And I hate that it’s true. That I am so utterly alone.
“Ssssh, it’s okay.” She says, like she’s my friend, like I’d believe a word she has to say. “He’s going to get you out of here. You just need to hold on, to be patient.”
Hold on. Hold fucking on? Like I have the luxury of choice.
“I’m going to be here, waiting, doing everything I can to protect you until he rescues you.”
Somehow those words don’t give me any comfort.
“Why…?”
“Because you deserve a better fate than being Conrad Blake’s battered wife.” She hisses.
I gulp, nodding. I know that. I know I deserve better. But so far, this is the life God has given me. This is what he’s allowed to happen.
“Why didn’t he come before?” It’s a question I’ve been asking for years. Who he is, where he is. Why he abandoned us. Why he left me to grow up in that house.
She sighs. “It’s complicated. Too complicated to explain.” But she puts something into my hands.
My eyes widen as I realise what it is. The diary. My mother’s diary.
So she knows about it, about them.
For a second, I want to hold it so close, to cherish it. This book has brought me so much comfort since I found it six months ago but now, now it feels like another thing that could condemn me.
Because what will Conrad do when he finds this? Will he read it? Will he realise that I have someone coming for me, someone who actually cares?
Half of me is tempted to lob it at her head.
Is that what my husband would want me to do? Is that what a good wife would do?
My heart starts racing again, my mind starts scrambling over every scenario.
And then we both hear that sound. Footsteps.
He’s returning.
My heart suddenly races, my body freezes with sheer terror.
He’s coming back. He’s going to hurt me again.
She whispers something meant to calm me, meant to reassure, but it does nothing. If he finds her here, if he sees this diary, I don’t know what he will do.
She takes the book, pushing it between the mattress and the bed so it’s hidden.
“I’ll be back,” She says, and I don’t know if that’s a threat or a promise, but it doesn’t help.
He’s getting closer. He’s almost here.