5. Ivy
Chapter five
Ivy
They said I was lucky to live, but I don’t feel that way when the taxi driver picks Cody and me up from the hospital. Heading to the cabin with him alone was bad enough, but we’d had the car in case we needed it—in case I needed it.
I knew he’d kill me one day, and it looks like ‘one day’ is approaching soon. And once again, it’s all my fault. Because I’m fucking stupid.
I stayed with Cody for years in spite of the escalating violence. When I woke up last week on the ground after he’d choked me out, I realized I had to leave or be okay with not knowing when I was going to die.
But where do you go when you have nowhere to go and no money to get there? He never put me on our checking accounts, and I haven’t talked to my mother since my dad died, when she told me to honor my wedding vows— the vow that they manipulated me into taking.
The cabin was a stupid fucking idea, a desperate hope that I could hide away from him until he decided to move on. He doesn’t love me, doesn’t touch me or fuck me, and doesn’t need anything I can give him. I thought he would hardly notice if I disappeared, truly, so I got the key out of the bottom of my underwear drawer.
I was wrong about him not caring if I went. He found the key, and it all fell apart from there. He found out about the cabin and decided we’d come together, and it’s been a nightmare from the moment we left our high-rise apartment to now. Thankfully, though, he’s content to sink onto the couch and recover from the emotional trauma of the accident he caused, and I get to take a bath alone.
I wonder vaguely if I have the grit to drown myself in here.
Exactly what point in my life I fucked everything up is still a mystery to me. My life was never perfect, despite what my parents would have everyone think, but there were times where it was good. And times where it was great, though they were fleeting—summers spent gathering wildflowers outside this cabin, watching the sunlight dissipate between the mountains, stealing moments of pleasure in a sea of so much pain.
The water covers me up to my breasts, and I’m considering sliding under the surface entirely, but I’m not supposed to get my casted wrist wet. The wall of windows tosses my reflection back at me, the night beyond it too dark to see anything of the view, so I close my eyes instead and tip my head back, letting the muscle relaxer I just took work its way through my system. It does ease my body—I can feel the tension melt away. Unfortunately, it can’t work wonders on my brain, which still spins.
The only way I can see out of my current predicament is death, which I suppose is fitting since our wedding vows literally said, ‘ until death do us part ’. The only question now is whether I let him kill me or I take it into my own hands. And if I take it into my own hands, how do I do it?
A knife to my wrist and a literal bloodbath would be an easy cleanup for Gerald, our caretaker who keeps this place from falling to rot and ruin. It would also make a lovely statement to my mother. I could probably string myself up in a tree—if I wear the tacky jewelry I loved so much as a child, I might even make pretty windchimes.
Whatever I do, I have to make it clear that it wasn’t an accident. If I decide to live, laugh, toaster bath, they’d know it wasn’t an accident, right? My mother and husband both think that I’m stupid, but they can’t possibly believe I’m stupid enough to do that by accident?
A sound from outside the window makes my eyes pop open, and I squint to see through the dark. It’s not uncommon for the deer to trod right through the yard, though they tend to stay away from the lights, so I can’t imagine one out the window. Then again, the privacy film on the windows means that they can’t see in. It was always my favorite feature of this bathroom, not that I got to use it very often. The view looking out over the mountainside is unparalleled, and there’s something about enjoying it from this vast, lavishly accommodated bathroom that makes it even better. I feel small here, in a good way, as if my problems aren’t so catastrophic after all.
It’s the bears I’m worried about, though it’s a somewhat irrational fear, given that my husband is probably the cruelest of any creature I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a few cruel men in my life, not the least of which was my own father. A classic fuckup with daddy issues, I married a man just like him, right down to the fact they’re both doctors who care more about the power they have over other people than they do about the altruistic benefits of saving lives.
I ease back again, deciding that the bear may be a better fate than whatever Cody or I can come up with, and let my eyes flutter closed, feeling the beads of sweat rolling down my neck. The water is hot enough that it burns my skin, but I force myself to sit in it, liking the way the bite on my flesh takes the ache out of the rest of my injuries.
When the doctors at the hospital said I was lucky to be alive, they meant ‘ It could have been so much worse ’. I lost a fair amount of blood, apparently, but that came down to the cut across my right cheek—facial wounds bleed a lot, I’ve heard. Three stitches there, the surgeon had said, just to prevent scarring, as if I give a fuck about another scar. I suppose he didn’t see the others, though, so it was nice of him to care.
Other than some more minor scratches, the broken wrist that can conveniently be attributed to the accident, and the potential for a concussion, I was spared any other damage.
The creak of the floorboard behind me only gives me half a second of warning.
It’s not enough.
The hand is around my throat, sinking me underwater before I’ve even had a chance to open my eyes. The scream that bubbles out of my throat pushes bubbles to the surface of the water, which immediately floods my lungs in the absence of air as instinct guides me to fight for my breath. The face is distorted from the bottom of the tub, the light behind him casting his face entirely in shadows.
I kick desperately, my legs searching for purchase to try and sit up, twist out of his grip, anything. But it’s all futile, only serving to make my limbs grow heavier and the panic grips me tighter. The sudden realization that I couldn’t have done this to myself makes me want to sob, but I can’t draw more water into my lungs. I claw at his arm, hoping that this isn’t the end, that he can’t try and turn this around on me and make me a victim of myself in death.
When he draws me to the surface, I gasp for air before clearing the water from my lungs, launching myself into a coughing fit. Cody lifts me out of the tub entirely by my throat, displaying strength I’ve never seen from him, and pulls me against him. I’m sopping wet, water pouring down around our feet as I struggle to breathe, to cough, to replace the water with air. My vision is blurred with panic, and my toes don’t touch the ground as he stands before me.
Stay awake, I tell myself, just like I did last time. If I pass out, I might not wake up.
Last time, I was either lucky or unfortunate enough to wake up a few moments later. If I fade out now, how long will he strangle me still? Will he bury me out here, in my favorite place, and pretend it never happened? There would be some solace in that, at least. To rest in the ground here forever, to turn into dust that flowers will rise from, I suppose it will finally give my life some beauty.
I’m just on the verge of darkness when the hand comes off my neck, dropping me to the ground to catch my breath. I roll onto my good hand and knees, choking on all the air and water, and the deepest fucking regret I’ve ever had from marrying this fucker who has never loved me a day in his life.
His boots move over either side of me, boxing me in as I heave a giant breath, tears streaming down my face to mix with the streams of water from my hair. When he sinks down over my hips, knocking me to the ground, I expect the bite of a blade in my back or his hands to gravitate back to my throat, but he does neither, wrapping an arm around my waist and dragging me into the spot he wants me.
The feel of his erection through his jeans shouldn’t terrify me—we’ve fucked before, no matter how rare or uninspired it is. But it’s been months without any contact beyond the physical abuse, and when he’s this violent, I can’t imagine anything enjoyable is about to unfold.
“Stop,” I gasp, trying to claw away from him as his arm anchors me to him and the shape of his cock nudges against my center. “Please, I’m sorry!”
I don’t know what I am apologizing for, but my apologies are often the only way to appease him.
The laugh that comes out of him isn’t amused. It’s cold, dark, and hollow.
“You aren’t sorry yet,” he growls.
My stomach drops. If he wasn’t holding me still, it may have dropped right onto the ground because the voice takes my newly found breath away. “But you will be.”
It’s not my husband.
No .
Panic bursts through me, and I do my best to kick away from him, bucking like a wild horse. It gets a laugh out of him, particularly as he settles his hips against my ass and I begin to scream, scrabbling for anything I can use to get out of his grip.
But he doesn’t let me loose—he walks me forward, toward the windows, and presses me against the glass so that my body flattens against it, the cold panel making everything in me tighten. I think, for a minute, he’s going to slam my head against it, but then I catch his reflection.
The fencing mask on his face sends a jolt of terror through me, straight down to my core.
No, it’s definitely not my husband.
In the fight for my life, I hadn’t realized just how huge this man is—broad shoulders, thick muscles, and well over a foot taller than me. He could have snapped my neck the minute he pushed me under the water, but something tells me that’s not the objective.
“Cody!” I scream for the man who’s supposed to honor and cherish me, my only possible chance at getting out of this. “Help!”
The chuckle behind me sinks dread into my toes, and the breath on my neck chases chills after it. He’s pinned me to the glass with his body, his rough jeans on my skin, and a hand on the back of my neck, making sure I don’t look away as he reaches up with his other hand. I’m not sure what he’s doing, at first, and then I see the window film peeling away and realization hits. I struggle to get away from him, to get away from the window and whoever is on the other side of it, but he holds me still as he rips the film away.
The night isn’t as dark as I expected it to be, lit up with little pinpricks of starlight. The moon is hiding somewhere beyond the trees, wanting no part in whatever depravity is about to unfold. But it’s the light from inside, from behind me that lets me see them.
I scream at the proximity, being effectively sandwiched between complete strangers. Another masked man is pressed up against the glass, one hand curling against the window pane where mine is planted. I can’t see anything of his face—the mask covers too much, but I can tell that he’s not just watching me.
Motion behind him catches my attention, and I realize there’s a third, wearing the identical mesh mask. They’ve each painted them differently, proving that it’s not a side-effect causing me to see double.
A stranger broke into my house for God knows what reason, and he didn’t come alone.
The rhythmic, jerking motion behind the man pressed up against the glass opposite me tells me exactly what’s going on. It’s so depraved I don’t know whether to scream or not, because though they’re clearly watching me from the outside, they’re not just spectating.
They’re fucking.