His grip was unyielding, a vice wrapped cruelly about my hair, yanking me across the unforgiving floor. I sobbed, my fingers desperately clutching his wrist—futile, useless against his brute strength. There was no mercy in his fury, no room for reason.
"I told you—straight home from school! Straight home!" His voice thundered through the house, each syllable dripping with unbridled rage. "Did I not make myself clear? I didn't buy that car for you to ferry men about!"
"Robert, stop!" My voice quivered, my legs faltering as he dragged me towards the cellar door. The staircase loomed ahead, steep, dark, unwelcoming. "It's not what you think—you have it all wrong!"
"Oh, I have it all wrong, do I?" He scoffed, each breath seething with contempt. "So it's me who's mistaken? Me who's blind to your deceit, your betrayal? You lying, cheating witch!"
The slap came swift, unexpected—a cruel force that whipped my head sideways, fire igniting across my cheek.
"Stop it, Robert, please!" My voice cracked beneath the weight of his wrath. "I swear—he's just a student. He's no one to me. I haven't done anything!"
His fist tightened around my hair, a savage tug tearing a wail from my throat as he hauled me headfirst down into the chilling embrace of the wine cellar. Shadows loomed, cold air clawed at my skin. He flung me to the ground like discarded refuse.
"You will stay here," he spat, "until you are ready to tell the truth."
"Robert, please—" My knees met the hard stone floor, hands clasped together, trembling, supplicating. Tears poured, uncontrollable, raw. My lips, swollen, stung with a dull ache. My face, burning, screamed in protest.
I begged, my voice a whisper of broken hope. "Don't do this. I am telling you the truth."
He looked at me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something shift in his eyes—a flicker of remorse, a softening of the storm within. But then, as quickly as it came, it vanished. He shook his head, his hand waving dismissively, as though brushing away the very idea of compassion.
"Why must you make me into this person?" His voice was low, almost mournful, yet laced with an edge that cut deeper than any blade. "I am not this person. I don't want to hurt you, but you keep making me. You will stay here tonight. Tomorrow, you will tell me the truth."
I shook my head weakly, my throat raw and burning from the hours of crying, wailing, screaming—each sound torn from me as he unleashed his fury the moment I stepped through the door.
"Robert, don't—" My words were barely a whisper, powerless against the finality of his actions. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, the sound reverberating through the cold, empty space.
I crumpled to the floor, my body trembling as I drew in a shaky breath. My hands moved instinctively to my face, rubbing at my swollen eyes as though I could somehow erase the tears that refused to stop. My nose was blocked, each sniffle a painful reminder of my helplessness.
I pressed my fingers against my eyelids, squeezing them shut, as if darkness could shield me from the reality that surrounded me. The cold cement beneath me seeped into my bones, and the shadows of the cellar closed in, suffocating and unrelenting.
Robert's jealousy was no stranger to me. It had been my unwelcome companion since the first year of our marriage, a shadow that loomed over every moment of my life. But what I could never grow accustomed to was the sheer injustice of it all—the knowledge that I didn't deserve this, that I had done nothing wrong, and yet I was the one condemned to suffer.
That was the bitterest pill to swallow. The unfairness, the unrelenting pain, the inescapable truth that being married to Robert was a necessity—a cruel, unyielding bond I could not sever, no matter how much it hurt me.
I folded my legs tightly, drawing my knees to my chest as I sniffed, desperate to quell the storm of emotions raging within me. The clothes I had worn all day clung to me like a second skin, their fabric steeped in the faint aroma of Japanese food—a lingering reminder of the fleeting joy I had shared with Ash. That laughter, those moments of lightness, felt like a distant memory now, swallowed by the darkness that surrounded me.
Driving Ash home had been a decision made against my better judgment, a gamble I knew I shouldn't have taken. Robert despised coming home to find me gone, hated the very idea that I had a life beyond him. But I had thought—hoped—that he would be with his mistress. Fridays were her days, his so-called "business meetings." I had expected his call, the usual charade, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of him waiting when I returned.
The first thing he did was smell my car, his nostrils flaring as though searching for evidence of betrayal. Then came the slap—sharp, sudden, without explanation. The force of it left me reeling, and before I could gather my thoughts, he had dragged me inside, his grip unrelenting, his voice demanding answers.
"Who did you give a lift to?" His words were venomous, each syllable a dagger aimed at my heart.
It hadn't even crossed his mind that it could have been a female friend, a colleague. But then again, Robert had driven them all away—my friends, my colleagues, anyone who might have offered me solace. At the university, I was still too new, too isolated to form connections.
He was furious, more so than I had ever seen him. His rage eclipsed even the night I had turned down his advances, when he had tried to take what I refused to give. Madder than the night I fought him off, locked my door, and told him I was leaving.
This was a fury born of jealousy, of possessiveness, of a need to control. And I, trapped in the web of necessity that bound me to him, could do nothing but endure.
It was only yesterday, and yet today, here I am once more. How much longer can I endure this torment? How much more can I bear before I shatter entirely?
"Angelina," I sobbed, her name falling from my lips like an old, familiar prayer. My body trembled violently with each sob, as I huddled in the crushing darkness. "Angelina, help me."
It was Instinct, a desperate plea borne out of years of habit, though I knew it was futile. My sister could no longer hear me, no longer come to my aid, no matter how much I cried. Yet still, the name tumbled from my lips.
When I was younger—wild and rebellious, forever getting into trouble—my mother would chase me with a stick, her wrath relentless. I would dart around the small compound, seeking refuge with the horses, thinking they might shield me, but she would always find me. In those moments, I would call for my sister, Angelina. And without fail, she would come. Her arms would reach out to me, steady and sure, offering me her protection, even though it meant she too would bear the brunt of our mother's anger. She never hesitated, never minded that the bruises would accumulate on her own skin.
I cried for her, my voice shaking with emotion, and she would always say the same thing: "Don't cry, Ailina. These tears are precious to me. Only shed them in joy. You are the most precious thing to me."
I clutched my knees to my chest more tightly, as if to hold myself together. A loneliness so profound engulfed me, its weight more unbearable than the physical pain. The ache was deeper than any wound—an agony I could hardly endure.
My sister—the one who had shielded me, the one who loved me more than life itself—who had been my protector in every moment of peril, was gone. She could no longer come to my side, could no longer save me. She could no longer hold me in her arms, and the void she left behind seemed to widen with each passing moment, each new hurt.
She couldn't protect me anymore.
In this cruel, twisted world of men, I am utterly alone. No one will save me. No one cares. Anyone who dares step into my life will turn into a monster, just like Robert.
I am truly alone.
"Angelina." The name tore through me, my throat raw, the tears relentless. Those precious tears Angelina had once safeguarded—tears she had insisted were too valuable to spill—now flowed freely, staining my cheeks, my soul.
Morning came, and with it, Robert's latest transformation. He was a different man now, or at least, he played the part well. He freed me from the cellar, where my feet had frozen and my back ached from the unforgiving ground. He led me to the dining room and knelt beside me, his hands reaching, pleading.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what came over me. I lost my head. Darling, please, don't be angry with me."
His words drifted through the haze of my mind, distant, unimportant. I didn't hear him. I couldn't look at him. This was simply the next act in a well-rehearsed play, the beginning of yet another endless cycle.
Robert wasn't going to change. He wasn't going to let me go, not for good. Even if I threatened to leave him—threatened to divorce him, like I had countless times before after particularly brutal beatings—he would simply slow down for a moment, just long enough to gather his strength, and then it would start all over again.
Always. Unrelenting.
Yet, despite the agony, despite the certainty of more suffering, I needed him. Or rather, I needed his name. His connections. The invisible chains that bound me to him were stronger than just marriage—they were necessity, survival.
But I could not go on like this. Not forever.
Something had to change.
""Darling, look at me," he whispered, his hand trembling as it cupped mine against his cheek. His eyes, wide and soft, carried the weight of remorse, yet I could still see it—the beast lurking beneath, the monster whose temper could shift without warning, a storm waiting to erupt.
"Do you forgive me?" he asked, his voice trembling with contrition.
I stared at him in silence, my expression blank, unreadable.
"I'll buy you whatever you want—jewelry, a new car, anything. Just name it."
"I don't want any of that, Robert. None of it." The words burned in my mind, unspoken but searing. I wished, with every fiber of my being, that he didn't exist. That he would simply vanish from this world.
But I said none of it. I kept my face impassive, my emotions buried deep. Instead, I met his gaze and said, "I just want you to trust me, my love."
The words caught in my throat, nearly choking me, threatening to unravel the fragile control I clung to. "Trust me, please. I am not doing anything that will hurt you. I am your faithful wife, forever."
"Yes, yes, I know," he nodded fervently, his cheek pressing against my palm. "I know you are innocent, virtuous. I love you, Ailina, and I promise—never again will I mistreat you."
Empty words. Empty promises. My eyes lowered, unable to meet his, afraid that my rage might spill forth, unbidden.
"I will always put you first. Everything I have belongs to you, Ailina."
Does it? I thought bitterly. Well, it better.
I let my hand rest against his face, cupping it gently as I spoke in a soft, measured tone.
"I'm sorry, my love, for making you feel so uncomfortable."
He quivered, his body trembling as he moved to embrace me. "No, no—I am the one who is sorry. Don't you ever apologize. I am the one without self-control, always hurting you. Please, please forgive me."
My eyes, lifeless and hollow, stared blankly over his shoulder—at nothing, at everything. As his arms encircled me, I rubbed my hand over his back, offering comfort he neither needed nor deserved.
"All is forgiven," I murmured, my voice devoid of emotion. "Don't worry about it."
When he finally released me, I retreated to the bathroom, the sanctuary of my reflection. I stood before the mirror, gazing at the face that stared back at me. My cheeks, still flushed from the sting of his slaps, bore the faintest swell, though the redness had begun to fade. My eyes, puffy and swollen from hours of tears, betrayed the anguish I tried to suppress. My lip, split and tender, throbbed as I touched it, the pain sharp enough to make me flinch.
A smile ghosted across my lips, hollow and detached, never reaching my eyes. If Ash were to see me now, I wondered what his expression would be. Yesterday, he had looked furious when he noticed the marks on my waist. Would he be angrier if he saw this?
Wouldn't that be good?
I leaned against the countertop and smiled at my pathetic face—so weak, so battered, yet still lovely. The kind of face Ash wanted to protect.
But could he protect me? Could he truly be what I was searching for?
The road ahead stretched long and uncertain, a journey fraught with pain and doubt. I still had a long way to go. A very long way.