34. Madeline
Madeline
They had actually locked us in the house. Even though it was a huge house, it felt like a cell. Five days. Five days locked in a house.
I moved on the couch. Fighting the anxiety attack. I hated the idea of being locked anywhere.
Especially after mom locked me in the garage the other week.
I wrapped the blanket around me tighter, staring at the fire.
Vince had insisted on washing the blood off me.
I was grateful he left me to shower by myself. I found crying in the shower the most convenient lately.
“Please, will you let me dry it?”
I looked up. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Your hair.” He added.
A drop of water ran down my back. I shrugged. I really couldn’t care. If it made him feel better.
Something out of the corner of my eye caused me to flinch. I felt immediately stupid when I realized it was just the towel in his hand. Of course, he didn’t miss my reaction.
I hated being so fucked up.
Very slowly, he started to dry my hair. A warm feeling flooded me. I wasn’t sure when it happened. But I found people touching me just made the anxiety worse. I managed to sit still for a few more moments before I couldn’t handle it any longer.
“Actually, um. I’ll do it.” I took the towel off him and stood up, walking to the fire. “So, do we have to stay here for five days?”
The Crows weddings were usually always arranged. I assumed the mandatory lock in was to force the couples to get to know each other. But we already knew each other.
“Two weeks.”
I turned to look at him, not even able to hide my shock. “No. It is five days I read it.”
He tapped his lighter on the cigarette packet before walking around the couch and sitting down. That intense look always made me nervous.
“And the line after that says it is up to me.”
He was right. It said a minimum of five days or as long as the groom decides.
“And why would you keep us locked up longer than necessary?” I stopped drying my hair. “I have a life. Commitments outside of your fucked up family.”
I had always only spoken of his family with respect. I had only ever been understanding. But if he thought keeping me locked up on their fucked-up estate on their island would bring out the best in me, he was wrong.
“You mean our family, my love?”
“I don’t have time for this.” I repeated, “I have an overseas trip planned for nine days.”
He lit his cigarette and just stared at me. “Maybe now is a good time to have that conversation you promised me.”
The feeling of ice rushed through me. I had blocked that night out.
I had managed to suppress most of that week.
But now, it was all flooding back to me.
Every sound, every scream, every tear. It all rushed back to me.
My ear ringing after Vince shot Nate. Dad's warm blood on my face.
Melody screaming when she saw Nate's body being cut from the car.
Zeke's deep sobs when he found Aunty Diana had overdosed after Nate's funeral.
I stared at him for a few moments longer. I had made a mistake.
“I can’t do this.”
My vision went blurry. I took a step back. I had to get out of this house.
“Madeline, what are you doing?”
I pulled hard on the door handles. Nothing. Fuck it. I walked out of the room.
“ Madeline ,”
I ignored him walking down the hallway to the large glass doors.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t be here. I can’t do this. I can’t.” I shook my head. My vision blurred. I pulled harder on the door handles
His arm wrapped around my waist, and I hit him. “I can’t do this!” I screamed. “Let go of me.”
I held my chest. Why was it suddenly hard to breathe? I pushed out of his arms, walking to the bedroom.
Suddenly, I didn’t care about his opinion on drugs. I could not survive this week or weeks with him in this house. Without drugs. I tipped my bag out over the bed. Where the fuck were my pills?
“What are you doing?”
Of course, he would follow me.
Opening my suitcase, I froze when I saw it was basically empty. No. Surely not. I opened the duffle bag. She took my stuff. Again. My crying became uncontrollable. Instantly, I felt defeated. Broken. Weak.
Holding my face, I sat down on the bed. The tears burning the cuts on my hands.
“My love, talk to me.” he brushed my hair back. I could feel him kneeling in front of me.
There was no point in us talking. I was too upset to be rational.
“I’m tired.” So very tired of everything. The constant fight. The constant fear. The never-ending grief and guilt eating at me “I’m just really fucking tired.”
I barely remember him cleaning the stuff off the bed or helping me into bed. But I was grateful he let me sleep on my own.