Chapter 18
Amelia
Maybe the girls were right. I needed to take a break, even if it was a couple of days.
What I wouldn’t have done for a cruise or maybe a beach.
Maybe a margarita in my hands, the sun on my skin.
That was the one thing I missed about being back home on the farm, I was always out in the sun.
But once I got married and moved, I had missed the sun working longer hours indoors and barely having time for myself.
Maybe that’s why I enjoyed some of the walks with Shooter; it was one of the few chances I felt the sun kiss my skin, warming the soul if you would.
Pulling almost doubles was some of the hardest I have felt. But necessary for what I needed. The week before I had made the weekly contribution to the dwindling debt. A drop in the bucket that felt like it was still overflowing.
Night was still coating the sky and the moon shined brightly, lighting my way home.
Though dark, stormy clouds were rolling in.
Exhaustion ruled my body, and the ache in my feet from constantly moving, sleep was calling my name.
Part of me couldn’t wait for the lullaby of an evening rain to drift me off into my dreams.
As I pulled to my street, an unpleasant surprise in the driveway sent my body into protective mode. The internal panic and the sincere hope that he was fast asleep and I could just sneak in was my only comfort.
You could call Shooter, you know he’ll be over here in a heartbeat.
I shook my head from the thought. I was still coming to terms with the idea that Shooter wanted me, before I took the next step to accept it.
But I wasn’t ready to jump in, unlike him.
He was infuriating, making me feel like things that have been locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
I didn’t need him to be involved with my situation, at least not yet. Or so I told myself.
I played with my phone, thinking that I would send him a message, knowing that he would be quick to respond. The thought of him responding had my heart pounding in my chest. Fuck, I was starting to give into him, fall right into his arms.
And yet, he was someone that was willing and wanting to catch me. In more ways than one.
I crept to the front door, but before I could twist my key the door ripped open. My gut sank further into my body, my thoughts raced. Seeing him in the doorway should have sent me running. But I fought not to back down from him.
Alcohol filled my senses; he had been out and came home drunk off his ass.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Welcome home, wife,” he slurred. He stepped to the side, allowing space for me to move past him. I hated the way he said “wife” like I still belonged to him. As far as my signature on the paper, I wasn’t his. I rushed through the door, hearing the door slam behind me.
Something didn’t feel right, everything felt off.
“How was work, wife?” he taunted. He didn’t care about my work only that it paid for everything in his name. He wanted a fight.
“Sleep it off, Chris. Whatever happened to you, just sleep it off,” I said, rushing toward the back of the house, into the kitchen to grab some food. I prayed that he didn’t follow me, but I guess some prayers weren't answered.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that he was close by, watching my movement.
It wasn’t the same as Shooter. Shooter watched with adoration and wonder.
Chris watched to spark whatever his agenda was, whether it was to spew hatred or anger.
Shooter’s stares made me blush, Chris’s stares made me feel disgusted and scared.
“I asked you a question.” He sneered.
“And I’m not answering.”
Just make it through the night. That’s all I had to do. Maybe he would just sleep it off and I could go somewhere for a few days until he cooled off. I had options, right?
That’s what I thought the entire time. I had to make it through the night. I fought the urge to use a sedative on him. I knew where I stashed them. No one needed to know, but I had help from the inside and it would only be used for emergencies.
I grabbed a cold water bottle, and as I turned I saw Chris in the bright kitchen lights. He looked rougher, the same amount of drunkenness, but his eyes were almost swollen. A swell of curiosity and smugness rushed over me. I bet someone knocked him out, probably for being a cocky bastard.
But with his one good eye, there was a sense of hurt and ambition, like he was ready to make a move but was waiting for the right moment.
“What happened to you?” I asked, almost regretting the words.
He scoffed, “Like you don’t already know.” He stalked around the kitchen island. “I bet you told them I’d be there. You just knew.”
I held back my chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lying bitch.”
“I would need to know the truth before I could attempt to lie,” I snapped back, bracing myself for whatever would happen next.
He inched closer to me, but I wasn’t going to be near him. He was pissed off, and I knew all too well what would happen. Sweat dripped down my body. Chris just stared at me, full of disgust. The feelings were mutual.
“Because of you, I can’t go back. You did something, I know you did.”
“Hard to do something, if I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have the energy tonight.”
“I lost it all.”
Rain started to pour down, pelting against the windows. Filling the silence between the predator and prey. I ignored him, only because he wasn’t worth the fight, nor did I have any idea what he was talking about. He was raging mad, delusional at best.
“You wouldn’t be sleeping with another man, would you? Opening your legs for someone else that’s not your husband.” He was egging me on, wanting to start something.
I walked away from him, stepping closer to a hidden place that would buy me time.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement. One, you’re not my husband.
You’re the dipshit that won’t sign the papers for years now.
And two, that’s rich coming from a man that sleeps around from city to city. ”
My hands grazed over the drawer that had exactly what I needed. The emergency I hoped I never needed.
“You could have been a better wife.”
“I have been the only one in this scam of a marriage that gave a shit. I tried to support you. I tried to love you, you bastard.”
He scoffed. “All lies. I bet the baby was a lie too.”
I froze.
It had been years since I thought about the loss of my unborn child.
I spent months in therapy understanding that it wasn’t my fault no matter how many times he blamed me.
I cried so many nights thinking about what could have been.
Chris knew how much I wanted a child that we could love.
I wanted to be a mom, whether by blood or opening my home.
“Shut the fuck up.” I held back the tears that were burning in the corners of my eyes.
“You caused all this.” He pointed at me, raising his voice above the sound of the rainfall.
“Look in the mirror, and you’ll see who caused your downfall.”
“I’m looking at her. And I think you should make it up to me.” he threatened. “Time to be a good little wife.”
I shook my head, pulling my courage to the surface, frantically trying to open the drawer. One injection and I could get to safety. I needed just one moment to break free. A bandage on a breaking dam.
Chris lunged for me, causing me to pull away from the drawer.
He circled around the island, pulling us into a chase.
Hot tears started to stream down my face, my mind spun thinking of different scenarios.
My phone was across the room, I couldn’t reach it.
I had to fight, if only long enough to grab the syringe.
I screamed, sobs that mixed in with the screams. Another nightmare plaguing me. I needed to think fast. Chris grunted, swerving around. In his drunk stupor, he wasn’t walking straight. I had to outrun him. If I could outrun him, I stood a chance. He slowed his pace, running back and forth.
We’d went back and forth, my legs burned with an intensity like I’d never felt before, like a fire coursing through my muscles.
But maybe it was the adrenaline that helped me.
I thought for one moment. I paused, standing still as Chris reached for me.
I lifted my leg and kicked him in the chest, throwing him back against the counter.
His own steps faltered. It gave me the chance to search for the drawer, yanking it open.
The drawer was a mess. I wanted to cry harder with frustration.
I rummaged through it, pushing aside the contents, trying to find the case.
A bright yellow box caught my eyes. With the shaky hands, I grabbed the syringe, already loaded with the drug.
I barely turned when Chris snuck up and yanked on my ankles, pulling me down to the floor. My body collided, shooting pain. I yelped at the pain.
Chris, in a rage, yanked on my scrub top, ripping it, exposing my skin, down to my breast. I clawed at his face, pushing against his already black eye. He screamed in agony, I screamed pushing him off me.
With one powerful swing, Chris smacked my face. It radiated with heat and throbbing pain.
“You thought you could fight me. Like it or not, I’m still your husband. You still belong to me. And I’ll fucking do whatever I want to this body, even if it’s tainted by scum that bastard in the club,” he hissed out, putting all his weight on me as he straddled me.
I attempted to shove him, tried to punch him in the face, something to give me the chance to escape him.
He leaned in closer. “What’s the matter, you don’t want your husband to fuck you?” He laughed.
Every time he said the word “husband” I cringed, the word lost its meaning to me.
“Chris, please.” I pleaded with him, hoping that he’d ease up, but it was hopeless. I was defeated, I wasn’t strong enough. It didn’t matter to him. He grabbed at my clothes, trying to find an easy access.
Shooter.