5. Caelia
The most dangerousthing I can do is let my guard down. I feel it slipping away, bit by bit, with each passing day. Four days ago, I left my room, and nothing happened. I spent the morning in the garden, and no one watched me to report back to him. I’m sure he still has eyes on me; he’s just not as obvious anymore. Yesterday, I ventured down to the kitchen while Giuliana was cooking, and when I asked her how her day was, she actually responded to me. Mattia had forbidden her from speaking to me, so I was taken aback and remained silent for a few minutes. Then, she asked me what I wanted to eat instead of simply placing something in front of me.
This is the third week that Mattia has been coming to my room. The second, if I don’t count the one when he was away. He always asks me questions I choose not to answer, and then he goes to sleep. It has been months since he last laid a hand on me. The last time he assaulted me was before he went on his business trip, just before my mother’s birthday. I’m so weary; I spend most of my days sleeping now. My muscles ache, and I groan with every sudden movement. Perhaps sleeping on the floor instead of in the armchair would be better, but I feel less vulnerable there for some reason. I can’t live like this.
Mattia started bringing his laptop with him and working on something. He doesn’t even flinch when I decide to stand up. He keeps typing away while I take cautious, small steps toward the bed, moving on tiptoes, careful not to make too much noise. I may resist him every step of the way, but I’m still afraid of him and what he’s capable of doing to me.
“Just so we’re clear. This doesn’t mean that I agree to any of this,” I tell him as I lie down, positioning myself as close to the edge of the bed as possible.
“Of course not,” he replies without glancing at me.
“I just can’t sleep in that armchair any longer.”
“You lasted longer than I expected.” He grins.
I’ve witnessed his emotions in their most grotesque forms, but he has never smiled at me. There’s a hint of a dimple on his cheek, something I’ve never noticed before. It’s not deep, as he’s not amused enough to reveal it fully.
His long legs are stretched over the covers, his ankles are crossed, and the laptop rests on his lap. He’s my husband, yet he remains a stranger to me. I don’t know who he truly is or what he likes or dislikes. We’ve never shared stories. We’ve never truly connected. I don’t wish to alter these things, but I find them peculiar and heartbreaking.
I have something to ask him. I try to assess his mood before I do, but I can never be sure about him.
“Could I call my sister tomorrow?” I blurt out.
His fingers freeze mid-air above the keyboard. Slowly, he turns his head, his gray eyes piercing into my soul.
“What?”
“I haven’t spoken with her in a while.” I shrug.
I miss her.
I keep that to myself. He possesses enough ammunition to hurt me without me handing him more.
“Why are you asking me if you can call her?” He inquires, appearing genuinely perplexed. I’m beginning to suspect that he has missing fragments of memory.
“Because I don’t have a phone and need your permission?”
For now, we are two confused strangers sharing a bed.
“What happened to your phone?”
I purse my lips, my eyes widening. “Is this amusing to you?”
“What are you talking about?”
He closes the laptop, directing his full attention toward me. The lump in my throat makes swallowing difficult, and my throat feels parched. I was more at ease when his focus was elsewhere, and I could fade into the background.
“You took away everything I had after the wedding.” I bite my tongue, trying to remain composed and refrain from wrapping my hands around his neck. “I have no phone, no laptop, and no belongings. You believed you were teaching me a lesson.”
“Right.” He nods, but the memory doesn’t seem to resurface. “What else?”
“What else? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Just refresh my memory, will you?”
Perhaps he suffered an accident while he was away, which would explain his recent bizarre behavior. If he hit his head, it clearly wasn’t hard enough. He’s still alive.
“Let’s see. I can’t speak with my family without your permission.” Not that I want to speak with anyone else besides my sister. “I can’t leave the property without you. I’m not allowed to speak with anyone, including your employees, and they act like I don’t exist anyway.” I don’t mention that Giuliana spoke to me recently. I’d hate to get her on his radar. “I’m not allowed to buy anything. Not that I have money or anything like it. Does any of this jog your memory, you fucking bastard?”
Past experiences have taught me nothing. I should know better by now than to curse at him. It only infuriates him further. A minute of silence stretches between us.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he finally says, cracking his knuckles one by one.
I loathe him, but I’m not stupid enough not to take advantage of this. Mattia has never shown any interest in making deals with me. He takes what he wants when he wants. And recently, he wanted nothing from me that would crush my soul.
“I’m listening.”
“Starting tomorrow, we’ll move into a bigger bedroom, and you’ll sleep in the same bed as me.” He smirks. “We’ll have breakfast and dinner together.” I’m about to object, but he shakes his head. “I have to attend some upcoming events, and you’ll accompany me.” The urge to tell him to go fuck himself is overpowering, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Anything else?”
“Some replies to my questions would be nice, even if it’s just to tell me to go to hell.”
“What would I receive in return?”
He’s asking for a great deal for a man who has treated me like the dirt beneath his shoes since we married.
“A phone. A laptop. Money to spend on whatever you want. I’ll speak to our employees. They’ll start treating you as you deserve, or we’ll find others. You can come and go as you please, but you’ll have a bodyguard, not because I want to control you, but because this family has too many enemies. And since I’ve noticed that you’ve been reading the same book repeatedly, we’ll transform half of the house into a library. You can have whatever you want. Whatever you need. Just ask, and it will be yours.”
My foolish heart skips a beat; the bridge of my nose itches. Mattia is returning to me my fundamental human rights, and I’m such a mess that I’m on the verge of tears. To be treated as I deserve. I don’t even know what that truly means.
“Nothing can erase what you’ve done to me. Returning to me what you never had the right to take in the first place won’t change how I feel about you.”
“And how do you feel about me?”
There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—an element that was absent before. It resembles a flicker of curiosity and remorse, causing me to question if this is indeed the same man I married.
“You never once stopped to consider how I felt. Not before you said those things to me at the wedding or later that night. You didn’t pause when you struck me, called me a whore, and tore my dress to shreds. You didn’t stop when I cried and begged, or when I tried to tell you that you were mistaken,” I swallow. “You left me on the floor, bleeding and torn apart, and all you could say was, Who would have thought you were a virgin?” Mattia clenches his jaw.
He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He’ll regret asking me how I feel about him. Memories swarm within the cage I’ve attempted to bury them in. I won’t be able to hold them down for long.
“You never paused to consider how I felt when my grandmother passed away, and you forbade me from attending her funeral.” I grind my teeth, looking for the last spark of strength to tell him everything I’ve bottled up inside. I’m falling apart in front of him. “You didn’t stop, you fucking bastard! You didn’t stop when I tried to tell you I was pregnant, so you hit me again and again and again.” All the color drains from Mattia’s face. He appears to want to strike something, and for the first time in our marriage, I don’t believe the target of his rage will be me. “You wouldn’t let me go to the hospital. You didn’t even bother to call a doctor.” Everything becomes a blur. “And then you said your only regret was that I didn’t die that night as well. So,” I take a deep breath, “if, after all of this, you’re uncertain about how I fucking feel about you ... You’re even more stupid than I thought.”
Silence stretches between us for what feels like an eternity. My heart pounds in my chest, my hands are clammy, and my breathing is erratic.
He stares at me, unblinking.
“Fuck!” he shouts, hurling his laptop across the room, his body tense.
It collides with the wall, shattering into pieces, much like what remains of my heart.
Then he storms out of the room, punching a hole in the wall near the door.
I never reminded him of the child I lost. I never told him that, as cruel as it may sound, I believe he did me a favor that night. No child should have Mattia Benedetti as their father. No one should endure that kind of hell.