Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
The whittling knife slipped against the soft wood, my thick protective glove the only thing stopping me from taking a nasty hit from the blade, and I gripped it harder, willing myself to concentrate on the little frog I was carving beside the already finished lily pad.
I could already feel the bruise forming on the side of my finger from the impact of the knife.
I needed to eat, sleep, but with my stomach churning and my mind racing, those things seemed pretty much impossible right now.
I couldn’t help the quick, furtive glances I kept shooting across the wooden workbench.
I shifted on my stool, trying and failing to look away from the glint of silver, the freshly sharpened metal catching in the ray of sun streaming through the open workshop door.
I hadn’t known what had come over me when I’d found myself in the back of the rickety garden shed earlier, delving into the piles of dust-coated tools to find the axe I knew to be there.
Hadn’t let myself think about why I was carrying it into the workshop, casting nervous glances over my shoulder as if I was afraid of being caught.
But now I couldn’t avoid the thoughts. The need to defend myself had overcome me.
I was just sitting here waiting for what I knew was coming for me.
A victim, just as I’d always let him believe.
Just as I had learned to believe too, if I was honest. And if I did nothing – if I was too scared to make a change, take control for once in my miserable life – it would carry on as before. Until he killed me.
I looked back down at the tiny half-carved frog, biting my lip as I tried to focus on whittling his back legs, a detailed, intricate process I usually adored, saw as a meditation, an escape from all worry, all fear.
The knife slipped again in my shaking hands, and I watched, numb, as his head was severed from his little body, falling with a soft thump onto the workbench.
In a rush of blind anger and frustration, I swept the nearly finished birdhouse to one side with a furious slash of my hand, watching as it fell to the hard stone floor below, the huddle of blue tits snapping from the base, the curved pillar that held up the roof shattering in two.
I stared down at the ruined mess, my eyes flicking back to the axe, and wished he would come soon. That I could end this now.
The waiting was unbearable.