Chapter 9 ~ Isabella #2
Hum... Black Queen switches black rook. I entice him, and I make my move on the board without even having to think about it.
“I’ll take care of these.” He yanks his t-shirt and shorts from beneath my head and walks away to his room.
White bishop to E2. A defensive move.
I run my hand over my hair, tucking the wayward strands back into place that he ripped out as he took his clothes. As I wait, I sip my coffee. Mrs. Isabella Russo, the new role I have to play in the last chapter of Isabella Gallo's book.
I smile over my coffee cup and take a sip. I can do this. It won’t be easy and he will do everything in his power to break me. But there is not much left to break, so he can give it his best shot.
He comes out of his room; I watch his reflection in the glass.
He’s standing there watching me, too. He drops his bag by the door, comes behind the couch, and his vanilla musk fills the surrounding air.
I close my eyes at the memory of tasting his skin as that scent filled my lungs as he made me fly. I take a sip of my coffee.
“Lean forward, Isabella.” So I do. He takes my wedding dress in his hand and runs his other hand over the silk.
“I’ll put this in my garment bag with my suit.” He says gruffly. I give him a thumbs up over my head while sipping my coffee loudly just to annoy him. Why I need to poke the bear, I don’t know. It’s almost as if I’m on some sort of autopilot and this new version of Mrs. Russo doesn’t give a shit.
He huffs out a mouthful of air and stomps off. To be honest, he can burn it for all I care. Black pawn to E5.
Carlos opens the door just as Alexander slams his.
“And good morning to you too, Mr. Russo.” He stops short and stares at Alexander’s door.
“Ha avuto una lunga notte, e non abbastanza caffè.” I turn sideways on the couch and smile at Carlos. (He had a long night and not enough coffee.)
Carlos laughs and comes over to me, kissing my cheek.
“Lo vedo. ti Trovo bene?” he says. (I can see that. You look well)
“Ringraziamento.” I smile up at him. (Thank you)
“Fucken speak English, you two. I’m ready to go home.” He picks up his duffle bag, the garment bag already slung over his shoulder. He opens the door and leaves us staring after him.
White pawn to E5, he takes my pawn.
Carlos makes a yikes’ face and grabs my duffle bag. I set my cup down and follow him out. Alexander is waiting by the elevator. It opens as soon as we get there, and we all pile inside.
No one speaks. We all just stand there, all of us watching the numbers count down. As soon as the doors open, Alexander bolts out. Carlos gives me a skeptical look. I just hunch my shoulders up and give a feeble smile.
The car pulls up and I hand my bag off to Carlos and climb in the back seat across from where Alexander usually sits. The farther away from him as I can get today the better. For once I'm looking forward to getting back home into my room.
The car ride is quiet as I had expected; I have nothing to say, really, and he’s obviously tired of trying to get me to speak so he can finish his argument. He digs in his inside breast pocket and reaches his hand out to me.
“I have something for you.” I look down, and it’s my phone lying in his large hand. For a split second, I almost reach out and grab it. I’m so excited. I can text Anna and talk to her.
But I remain still. I’m not stupid. Since he found me at Helen's, I would assume he put a tracking device on there. I would also guess he’s got a way of reading and seeing everything I do on that phone.
Nice try, Mr. Russo. Black pawn to E5, I take the white pawn. One less on your wall of defense.
His voice is a little higher pitched. “What do you mean, No Thank you? Take it, it’s your phone. You need one.”
“No, thank you.” I say sweetly as I look out the window, avoiding his silver glare.
He tosses it on the seat beside me, causing it to bounce and land on my thigh. I gently put it back on the seat beside me.
“For fuck's sake, Isabella, take the damn phone!” He barks this time.
“No, thank you.” I say again.
“You need a phone,” he scowled, his voice lowering in annoyance. “What if I need to get a hold of you?”
I finally look over at him, my voice steady. “If you need to get a hold of me, Sasha will inform me. She is to be by my side at all times, is she not?”
He shakes his lower jaw back and forth and grits his teeth. “Must you be so goddamn stubborn?”
Looking back out the window I ignore his glares.
I don’t need or want that phone or my laptop.
It's best I try to avoid all electronic ways he can trace me. I stopped carrying my backpack in case he has something sewn into the lining. I’ve watched enough spy movies.
It may be over dramatic on my part, but he found me at Helen’s somehow and I don't trust him.
No one knew about Helen, not even Anna.
We arrive at the house, and Carlos opens the door. Alexander hops out and goes to the back of the car, grabbing his garment bag. I take my duffle from Carlos’s hand.
“I can carry my bag. Thanks, Carlos.” He begrudgingly lets me take it, and I follow Alexander into the house and up the stairs leading to our bedrooms. He stops in the hall in between our bedroom doors.
I stop and look up at him. He said after the marriage I would be sleeping in his room.
I'll respect his orders if that's what he wants.
I almost don’t want to ask for fear of the answer. “Where am I sleeping?”
He looks down at me. “I don’t give a fuck where you sleep.” He opens his door and closes it in my face.
White Queen to E8, he takes my black King.
He meant that to hurt. It does, but I am happier knowing I have my own space, opening my door and closing it behind me.
I look around the room. My flowers are almost all dead now.
The table is littered with dried-up leaves and petals.
I toss my bag beside my suitcase and go over to them, gathering them all up and putting them in the bowl.
I sit down and look out my window, my hand between my knees as I put my feet up on the coffee table. I wasn’t given instructions on today’s schedule, only that he would be gone until after midnight.
I watch the tops of the trees sway back and forth in the breeze. I can’t just sit here hour after hour, day after day, waiting for my chance to run. I need to prepare for my moment when it comes. Helen will have all my papers soon.
Looking over at my duffle bag and three sad suitcases that represent my life. When I finally leave here I’ll have even less than those sad-looking bags in the corner. Just the clothes on my back and whatever Helen can provide.
I get up and pace my room. At these moments, this tension coiled inside me. I need to put it to use. It will drive me crazy if I see these four walls day after day, stuck here with my thoughts.
I stop and look at my art room. I go over and open the door.
His precious Persian rug is still on the floor.
Someone cleaned up my bed too, because the covers are gone.
I go back out to my suitcase, dig through and find my painting clothes.
I strip out of my leggings and sweater, toss my t-shirt on the bed, and get into my red paint splatter t-shirt and jean overalls.
This is me. I am not the coiffed princess with the pearls and white silk dress. I look at my nails and cringe. His mother will be so disappointed when she sees what a mess I’m going to make of my perfect nails. I smile and wrap my hair in a messy bun, digging in my backpack for an elastic.
I head over to the art room and start to stack my paintings along one wall. I shove everything over to one side and start to roll the mammoth rug. It is heavy, but I am determined not to sit here going stir-crazy like I did last week. He still hasn’t told me if I can go back to work.
It’s probably for the best that Professor Daniels fills my position now; I’ll be leaving it, anyway. At least this way, he will have a reason, not the disappearing act I plan on performing. The rug is halfway rolled, and I hear a knock on my door.
I get up, wipe the sweat off my brow, and answer it. Sasha is holding a tray; she has a look of sympathy as she hands it to me.
“He said you’re to take your meals in your room until further notice. Sorry, Isabella.”
I smile and take the tray. “it’s okay, I fully expected it. Is Danny around?”
Sasha looks at me. “Ahh, I think so. Why? Do you need me to get him?”
I hunch my shoulders. “I was just checking, I might need his assistance with a rug, I'll come get you if I need him. Thank you again for my lunch, Sasha.”
As I close my door, I smile at her to make her feel better. I walk over to the coffee table and set my tray down. Then I grab my plate and go to my usual spot in the window to eat while looking out at the backyard.
Soon, I will leave this place one way or another.
I put my empty plate on the tray and leave it by the door and head back into my studio, moving everything to the other side of the room, then roll up the rug and begin dragging it out, one foot at a time.
I manage to get close to the wall in my bedroom, just off to the side, out of the way, and my bedroom door comes flying open.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alexander comes right up to my face, his silver eyes scanning me. I moan and stand up, putting my hand on my aching lower back.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I walk away from him, heading back into my studio. He follows me and blocks the door with his big shoulders.
“You could have asked for help? You are so fucken stubborn, you could have hurt yourself.”
I look at him over my shoulder, roll my eyes, and grab a cardboard box and set it on a chair, starting to take out my paint brushes.
“Isabella!” He barks now, stepping into the room. I stop and brush my fingertips back and forth over the soft bristles, ignoring him.
His voice is softer now as he says, “Enough of the theatrics. Don’t talk to me if you don’t want to, but you will not purposely hurt yourself. Ask for help when you need it.”
I exhale deeply; I’m so tired of his mood swings. “The bruises on my body are not of my making. I’m fine.”
It's childish and I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth but, he took my king so I'll take his queen.
Black rook to E8, I take his white Queen.
I can hear him suck in a shocked breath as he takes a step in my direction.
We stand in silence for a few minutes, with my back vulnerable to his advancement if he so chooses, but I’m past the fear of being manhandled by him.
I internally brace myself for it; I anticipate the moment when he turns me and backs me into the wall so I am forced to see the fury etched on his features.
I hear his steps move away from me, and the door slams. This time I do jump, my shoulders hunching around my ears as the sound echoes around the room. I put my brushes in the glass jar and take out my apron and towels, laying them on the other side of the room.
I may have pushed too far, spoken a truth I should have kept to myself, but that’s the thing about truths. They often hurt when you harden yourself from hearing them.
I start putting my room together, arranging everything, carefully placing my paintings near the easel and my towels over the rung.
I need a chair so I look out the door into the bedroom; the desk has one, so I head toward it and carry it back inside.
A bar stool would be better for height and comfort, but I can make do with whatever I can find in this room.
Placing the chair and put it in front of my easel. I lower the stand and test it a few times by sitting in the chair, getting up and adjusting it till everything is just right.
Snagging my empty jar I head to the bathroom to get some water. My poor flowers. More petals have fallen. And like any addiction, my flower hourglass is all I have to occupy me in this room. Gathering them up, and putting them in my bowl, I smile as I touch the withered stems.
The flowers are mostly dry now, a twisted mass of amber brown and tan stocks forced to curve as they whither.
The flower petals fading and curling in on themselves, a once vibrant shade of magenta, now dark burgundy and muddy cream cling to the thin vine.
The thick stocks that held them now sunken and distorted, twisting as they dry in a misshapen form frozen in place without the life source needed to flourish.
I hold the drying pedal in my hand, be it my pride or the way I am trying to manage to play the chess match they set. I will not ask him for anything. My desires and needs have never mattered before and I won’t start now by letting him see any vulnerability if I can help it.
I touch the petal, and it crumbles, turning to dust as it lands on the table. I will not become this lifeless flower, slowly dying, twisted and withered from the rules of men.