Page 16 of Descent
I lay there on the shower floor, salty tears mixing with blood and the water going down the drain long after the temperature turned icy, and my skin turned wrinkly. It still wasn’t long enough. I didn’t want to leave the steamed-up sanctuary of this shower. Didn’t want to face him. But I didn’t want him to find me like this either.
Vulnerable.
Terrified.
Broken.
After wrapping myself in a bath sheet, I entered the bedroom and froze. This room no longer felt like it belonged to Rafe and me. From the second Zach took me by force in our own bed, this room stopped being ours.
It belonged to Zach now.
Another sob bubbled up, almost breaking free, and I swallowed it down, because I’d cried enough. Tears wouldn’t erase what Zach had done. They wouldn’t protect me from what he’d do again.
Again and again if I didn’t find a way out of here. Escape was the only thing on my mind when I tiptoed down the stairs, naked as the day I was born and trying not to tremble. Trying to make as little noise as possible. Because catching Zach unaware was the only way to get the upper hand, the same way he’d caught Rafe and me. We’d lowered our defenses at the most inopportune time, foolishly believing in the fairy tale.
Believing in Happily Ever After.
I heard movement coming from the kitchen—the same place I first discovered Zach the morning after my wedding. Creeping through the dining room, I poked my head around the corner and found him at the oven. Something sizzled, and my eyes immediately zeroed in on the cast-iron skillet on the stovetop.
I didn’t see a pan; I saw a weapon. Suddenly, every item in view became a potential ally against Zach.
A potential way out.
Zach turned and spotted me from his periphery. As his hazel eyes took a lascivious journey from my breasts to the space between my thighs, I resisted the urge to cover myself, because fighting him got me nowhere. I needed him to relax around me, to buy into his ridiculous belief that I cared about him. That I loved him even.
The thought made me sick.
“Are you hungry?” His lips quirked at the corners. “That’s probably a stupid question. You must be famished.”
“It smells good,” I said lightly, taking a seat at the small eat-in table for two. As I slid onto the bench, I realized that this was the first time I’d set eyes on the room—really seeing the space as I took in the rustic decor and stainless steel appliances.
The ceramic bowl of apples on the counter.
The memory of Rafe gagging me with the fruit played behind my eyelids, and I blinked the bittersweet recollection away. I wouldn’t make it through the next fifteen seconds without breaking down if I kept thinking of him.
Zach placed two plates onto the table before sliding onto the other bench seat. My stomach let out a painful growl at the sight of the steaming chicken, rice, and vegetables in front of me. Zach nodded for me to dig in, so I did. Famished didn’t begin to describe my level of hunger. Since becoming pregnant, I’d had a healthy appetite for the first time in a long time, so eating once in several days had been unbearable.
After I’d swallowed the last bite, I set my fork down and met Zach’s unsettling gaze from across the table.
Always watching.
Yet he never thought to question me about the fresh gouges in my skin. For years, he’d turned a blind eye to the scars, never caring enough to ask about them. He’d definitely never cared enough to punish me for them. His sole focus had always been to get between my legs.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pack away food with that much enthusiasm. I’m glad to see the anorexia isn’t a problem anymore. I’m not into fucking a skeleton.”
Of course, that’s all he cared about—how useful I was to him.
“Anorexia was never a problem to begin with,” I said. “Dad admitted he pushed the eating disorder angle so he could lock me away from you.” I didn’t have to glance at him to sense the anger washing over his features, tightening his lips and locking his jaw.
Five laborious seconds passed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck him. If he hadn’t interfered, maybe we wouldn’t be in this place. Did you ever think of that?”
I could tell him how I’d cried myself to sleep every night reliving the rapes, or how the guilt of sending Rafe to prison had eaten me alive. I could tell him that those few weeks locked away in an eating disorder clinic had been the closest I’d had to happiness while living under the same roof as him.
But that would only prod the beast, and it was time to try a new method.
“You really think things would have turned out differently?”
