Chapter 68 Eliza
Eliza
“Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” My brows pull together in question, but I know exactly what he’s talking about. I felt her from the moment we set foot in this room.
Even more specifically, I picked this room out of all the others, wanting to put our quickly failing marriage to the test.
We’re here with a huge group of friends, staying in this random vacation rental, but most would not call this place a vacation… It’s rumored you may not make it out of the house, and depending on which room you decide to stay in, the odds of making it out become less and less.
Are they rumors, or are there actual missing persons cases?
I know I’ll make it out, but I’m not so sure about my marriage, or Banjo for that matter. A normal person would feel a twinge of guilt over not caring if their husband survived a vacation or not, but I don’t even recognize the man I fell in love with so many years ago.
He’s changed.
To a point of no return.
And the life decisions he’s making—almost forcing upon me at this point—have me wanting to divorce him daily.
“I don’t think we should be here.” Banjo’s breathing has picked up, and the panicked look on his face is giving me sick joy.
With hooded eyes and a wicked smile, I reassure him. “We’re right where we need to be.”
He’s scared of me, to the point that he’s tried to take any autonomy away from me any way he can.
Wanted me to quit my job once we got married, told me I need to stop getting tattoos and think of getting the traditional pieces that litter my body, and that I love so much, covered up.
He even went as far as pushing away most of my friends recently.
He’s failed miserably. We’re here with all my friends now. I would never quit my job and have to rely on him, especially after the shit he’s been spewing recently, and he’d have to skin me alive to get my tattoos off my body.
But with all that said, we’re still married, and he won’t even tolerate me saying the word “divorce” because we’ve only been married for a little over a year.
It’s like a switch flipped in him the moment we got back from our honeymoon. I don’t even know the person that’s inside him. My only guess is that he was acting the whole two years we dated, plus the year we were engaged. And he was doing a damn good job at it, might I add.
“I’m going to find food,” he murmurs under his breath, and I know for a fact he just wants out of this room, but I hate to be the one to tell him—he’s not escaping me or the ghost that occupies this room.
I chose this room knowing the ghost that occupies it is known to be violent to men, and men only. The deep internet dives I’ve fallen down also mention she hates men who have no respect for women. And if my intuition is right, I know Banjo is cheating on me.
And even worse, I suspect that it’s with one of the women here on this trip.
One of my fucking friends… how fitting he would want to seclude me from them.
Or maybe it’s one of their boyfriends he’s cheating with, at this point, how could I tell?
That’s the max amount of disrespect he could dish out, and I know the ghost occupying this room will not enjoy him touching her space.
Maybe I should care, but I just don’t have it in me to.
As Banjo finally leaves the room, I swear the air shifts, and I see the thin lace blush pink curtains sway despite the lack of breeze. I know what Cecilia, the ghost that occupies this room, looks like, but I won’t hold my breath that she’ll show herself to me…
One thing I do know is that the woman was fucking stunning while she was alive. But she’s been dead for many years now. Ghosts don’t get older, right? She’d be pushing seventy at this point; that’d make her some kind of ghost cougar.
Why is that hot to think about, too?
I need to book an appointment with my therapist again… she’ll have a field day with that last train of thought.