I stumbled onto the landing, and he slammed the door behind me. I stood stock still and blinked hard, running plausible excuses for his behaviour through my brain—pressure from work, my pregnancy hormones.
A kick from our daughter reminded me that she would soon be here, and so I made my way downstairs to prepare his dinner.
∾∾∾
We made our way upstairs after a dinner spent enduring an uncomfortable silence. I contained my gasp at the entire contents of my suitcase emptied on the grey carpeted floor.
“Elora, some of the things you packed were highly inappropriate. You can put them away now.”
“What do you mean?” The question left my lips before I realised I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.
“Are you questioning my judgment? I know what’s good for you. Haven’t I looked after you well enough by now?”
I nodded, weak. “You’re absolutely right. Come on, we’ll get this done together.”
Appeased by my statement, he moved to my wardrobe to remove clothes he deemed suitable. After all, he planned the whole trip, even down to our activities; he knew better what I needed.
It didn’t take him long to stuff my suitcase with suitable attire. I didn’t check what he packed. He wouldn’t have liked me undermining his judgment.
Daniel made his way downstairs while I opted to take a shower. I wanted to be fresh for the next day’s travel, but I didn’t want to spend too much time on it in the morning; Daniel would want to leave sharpish.
Shedding my T-shirt and jeans, his voice boomed out, “Elora, get down here right now!”
Oh God. I did not like the livid tone laced through his words.
Wasting no time, I ambled down the stairs—wrapped in a white towel—with all the speed I could muster, despite my condition. Daniel stood over the kitchen table, the collection of Alice’s brochures splayed across it. Damn, I knew I should’ve taken them straight outside. I shivered while I waited for the ensuing argument.
I hesitated in the kitchen doorway—Daniel’s face blood red with rage—and I prayed my shaking body went undetected. I didn’t want to succeed in making my mistake a whole lot worse.
“I can explain.” The uncomfortable silence encouraged me to utter something, while his wide eyes bore into me.
“Go on.” He spoke slow, purposeful, through gritted teeth.
“Alice thought she was helping, that’s all. She didn’t know you’d already thought it all through, and I hadn’t the heart to tell her, after the effort she went to.” My words were panicked, hurried.
He glared at me. My body quaked and my skin prickled. I clutched the towel, holding the hem tight against my breasts.
“What was she doing here?” He stood tall and his chest heaved with every breath he took, jaw pulsating through clenched teeth.
“Sh-she came around to drop those off, that’s all.” I pointed, trembling with fear, at the array of catalogues on the table.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t know why you still give her the time of day. She doesn’t like me, and she doesn’t want to see you happy.” Venom spiked his patronising tone. “She fills your head with poison, wants to turn you against me. She is not to come into this house anymore, do you understand?”
He grabbed a handful of the brochures and threw them in my direction, screaming profanities at me. I raised my arms to protect my face, but the catalogues never made it all the way over to me.
My body shook when he marched over to me, his nostrils flared, his eyes wide with malicious intent.
He got close to my face and his large hands grasped my upper arms in a tight hold. He hissed at me, “Why am I not enough for you?”
I stared at him while throbbing pain ebbed through my shoulders. My vocal chords refused to form anything approaching a sentence. I stuttered, but nothing coherent came out.
Seeing this side of him again put the fear of God into me. I needed to calm him down before he did something regrettable.
His face reddened further, body tensed, his eyes glazed over.
Releasing his hold on me, he balled up a hand, and his jaw clenched and unclenched. Without warning his fist flew past my face and punched a hole in the wall beside me. I jumped.
Too scared to scream, to cry, I held my breath as my eyes welled up. Staring at his emotionless expression, I didn’t dare let out a breath. I closed my eyes and the first tears fell.
Daniel barged past me, stomping upstairs, leaving me to piece together what I might’ve done to fuel the fires he’d kept under control for the past seven months.
Trembling against the wall for endless minutes, my brain clicked and whirred a million times per second.
Frightened, numb and confused, I put his outburst down to his job and my pregnancy. Structural issues with a property nearby shouldered him with a lot of responsibility, the pressure weighed on him daily. Frustration must be what set him off. My pregnancy hormones, aches and pains only added to the tension.
I cradled my swollen belly. When our daughter arrived, he would get better—with no other family, Daniel’s eager anticipation convinced me of that. I understood his anxieties so, resolved myself to being nicer to him.
Putting the kettle on, I spooned a couple of heaped teaspoons of chocolate powder into large mugs—he liked to have a warm drink to go to bed with.
Pouring the water in, I stirred the beverages and picked up the two steaming cups before I made my way to our bedroom.
Daniel lay in bed, and I placed his mug beside him, on the bedside drawer before I walked around to my side and did the same.
After I changed into my nightshirt, I climbed under the blue-grey covers and propped myself against the headboard.
Daniel lay down his book and turned to me. “You’re too good for me, Elora. I don’t know why you put up with me.”
I returned a weak smile.
“You must know the pressure I’m under at work, but maybe your pregnancy is scrambling your brain. I know you won’t do it again.”
Guilt shadowed me at my carelessness.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. I don’t think sometimes—”
“I know you don’t. It’s okay, though. We’ve talked about it and you know better now.” He picked up his book to signify the end of the matter.
I looked at him like a child reprimanded. He ignored my gaze, his expression impassive. The holiday will mellow him out, he just needs to relax, I thought to myself, while I lay down.
“Don’t forget your drink. You know I don’t like to see things wasted.” He didn’t even take his eyes off his book.
Of course, how mindless of me. I sat, grabbed my drink, and took long gulps.
“Not too fast. You’ll burn the back of your throat.”
My cheeks flared at his parent-to-child scolding. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him while I took smaller sips—he wouldn’t have bothered to look at me when he spoke.
After a few agonising minutes, I finished my drink and lay back down. Daniel, satisfied, remained silent. After several more minutes, he closed his book, turned his bedside light off, and lay down next to me. I didn’t have a lamp on my side, Daniel preferred it that way; I couldn’t keep him awake with it.
He moved closer to my back and put his arm over me, caressing my bump.
“I love you, darling. I can’t wait to meet our daughter. She’s going to change our lives.”
While I drifted off to sleep, I wondered why his words left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Chapter 3
The shrill sound of Daniel’s alarm woke us both. He stirred beside me before he reached over to switch it off. I started to get up, but he turned back and put his arm around me, nuzzling his face into my neck. My shoulder pulsed.
“Mmm, five more minutes.”
I smiled. “Okay, but we both know you don’t like to be late.”
Daniel tensed, and his arm cut deep into my belly. I yelped at the debilitating cramp as it shot through my stomach.
“
Don’t tell me what I like,” he sniped at me, face so close to my ear I could feel the heat and almost taste the venom laced through his words.
His arm remained clamped over my stomach. My little girl didn’t like it because I could feel her. She writhed around inside me, kicked and squirmed.
“Daniel, I’m sorry. Please let me go… the baby.”
“Oh, the baby will be fine, you daft cow. You’re too paranoid, that’s your problem. Don’t take me for a dick, Elora.”
“I-I’m sorry… I never… .”
Launching himself out of bed, he stomped towards the en-suite. “You’re pathetic.”
Two words, but the hurt and shame ran deep. I am pathetic. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, nor the ammunition to throw more accusations my way. Instead, I got up and shuffled toward the guest bathroom when I heard Daniel switch our shower on.
*
An hour later we were both ready to go, having uttered no more than a few words to one another. I did my best to avoid him and his increasingly fickle temperament all morning. I began to dread this holiday.
I made us a few snacks, but Daniel wanted to stop at a service station along the way to pick up some other little nibbles. I didn’t have a problem with that, not that I’d have voiced it anyway, but I wanted to grab a few magazines to read. The five-hour journey would be quite uncomfortable for me; I needed something to occupy my mind.
We packed Daniel’s black Audi A7 with our suitcases and other odds and ends he deemed necessary, climbed in, and set off. Adjusting my seat, I grabbed my travel pillow to support my neck. I cast Daniel an inconspicuous glance to see his rigid expression, jaw tense, concentration fixed on the road in front of him.
An hour or so into the drive, we pulled into a service station to stretch our legs. Once inside, Daniel headed for the café, while I went to relieve my bladder before I made my way into the shop to get a few sweets and reading material for the journey.
I waited in the short line to pay and caught Daniel stalking towards me, steaming drink in hand.
“What you getting?” he asked me in a bland tone.
I smiled and held up my purchases—two bags of sweets and four magazines.
His face dropped, and my stomach along with it.
“What the hell do you want those for? Sweets aren’t good for you, and is my company not enough? Do I bore you?”
He may have hissed his words at me—audible only to those in close proximity—but my face ignited all the same. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole—those close to me tried hard to look anywhere else, and I felt nauseous. Opening my mouth to say something, the words caught in my dry throat.
“Put all of those back. Now. You don’t need them.” Grabbing my arm he yanked me out of the queue before he turned to address the strangers in it, “Sorry for the inconvenience she’s caused.”
No one said a word; they just stared, dumbstruck, at the spectacle before them. Humiliated, I burst into tears. Daniel grabbed the goods from my hands and threw them on the nearest shelf before he strong-armed me back to the car, binning his cup on the way.
I climbed in seconds before Daniel, who slammed his door with force.
“What the hell did you think you were doing in there? Now those people think I’m a spiteful bastard. Why did you make me do that?”
Sniffling, I stammered, “I-I… they’re strangers… w-we don’t—”
“Oh, stop snivelling, you whiny brat. I can’t believe you did that to me. You’re a selfish bitch at the best of times. Clean yourself up, you look a mess.”
Humiliation surged through me while I reached for the glove compartment for tissues.
“Shit. No, Elora—”
The compartment door opened and a strange-looking knife bounced off my foot, handle first, and fell to the floor.
A gasp caught in my throat. My stomach turned and my face went cold. Why did Daniel have a knife in his car? About eight inches long, it didn’t look like an ordinary knife; tied to the cork-like shaft, varying coloured feathers splayed out, metal rungs adorned the centre. Etchings were carved into the sharp-looking ivory blade—like runes.
I jumped when Daniel snatched hold of it, shoved it down the side of his seat, and slammed the glove box closed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, rifling through my things?” Chest heaving with each erratic breath, his face reddened.
“I-I was looking for a tissue.” My tears stopped from the shock settling in, but my body still trembled. “What—”
“None of your fucking business.”
“But—”
“Well, there’s no point in going away now, look at you. What a complete waste, you’ve cost me again.” He slammed the palms of his hands on the steering wheel, let out a frustrated growl and turned on the ignition. “Always the fucking martyr. I’m not taking you anywhere with you acting like the victim; we’re going home.”
Hot tears resumed their trail down my cheeks and I wiped them away with shaky hands.
Wrenching the car into gear, we screeched away from the service station as the tires left a smoky trail behind us.
The journey home stretched out. Nervous and scared, I swallowed down bile several times, my mouth dry, but I didn’t dare move even to grab a drink of water. I barely took a decent breath in case the sound annoyed him somehow.
I attempted to go over the past twenty-four hours. Daniel’s returning violence scared me—I dealt with it in the past, but for it to come back full circle, after so many months of hoping… and now the knife!? Any excuses I could make for his behaviour, or had made, dissipated the more I thought about it. And the more I thought about it, the sicker I felt.
Daniel made some calls to cancel our reservations. For every single one he blamed me. The car-Bluetooth set meant I heard every word of the two-way conversations; every giggled apology from the beguiled women, every comment about how much deposit he’d lose from the empathetic men, every bitter remark about how he’d be sure I understood just how much I’d cost him.
I tried to fathom how I ever thought this behaviour could be deemed normal. The only time I could recall being truly ecstatic was finding out about my pregnancy, not that Daniel even bothered turning up to my doctor’s to support me for the first visit, or any of the scans since.
I would be left alone a lot; in the house while he worked, all by myself when he went out for drinks, alone when he celebrated going into business for himself, God forbid I wanted to do something. Shopping happened when he became available, or I did it online under his watchful eye. If I wanted to visit my dad, he would have to tag along. Spending time with Alice—the only friend left who refused to let his possessive behaviour drive her away—proved near impossible. Anger and resentment began to stir. Because of him.
He came into my life, made me feel isolated, ashamed, and worthless. Pig-headed, selfish, controlling arsehole, always finding a way to blame me. He chose to stay with me, even though he berated and belittled me every single day. Who else would be his obedient little lapdog, listen to his obnoxious whining while he threw his weight around? Until now, only me. Too weak for my own good. Well, no more.
My bravado wavered when we turned onto our street. My little moment of self-realisation did wonders for my state of mind, but did I really have it in me to call him out? He had a knife in his car, for crying out loud. I turned to look at him; his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure, chest heaving with each heavy breath he took. His jaw pulsated, nostrils flared.
Daniel put the car into park on our drive and nigh-on catapulted himself from the vehicle. Absolute fear rooted me to the spot while Daniel threw the front door open and chucked our suitcases into the hallway with a strength born of rage. Still I didn’t move. He wrenched the passenger-side door damn near off its hinges.
“Get out! Now!”
With leaden fingers I unbuckled my seat belt and scrambled from the car into the house like a frighten
ed little puppy, tail between its legs.
Straight-backed on the brown, upholstered sofa in our cream-papered lounge, I dug my hands into my lap, eyes trained on a spot somewhere on the light carpet.
The front door slammed shut, and Daniel stalked through the hallway to stand under the arch connecting it to the lounge. I looked up.
His shoulders moved up and down at an alarming rate. A result of him heaving all the luggage into the house, or seething with pure hatred and fury? I didn’t feel it necessary to ask.
With his lips set firm, I stared at him wide-eyed. “Daniel… why do you have a knife in your car?”
“Why not? What the hell would you know, anyway?” He remained still, his jaw pulsed. “It’s a collector’s item.”
“You collect knives?”
“Yes.”
“But why do you keep one in your car?”
He shrugged and raised a brow.
“Stop acting so relaxed, Daniel. You have a knife in your car that you obviously didn’t want me to see. If it had been something as immaterial as you’re making it out to be, then you wouldn’t have cancelled our holiday.”
My heart skipped a beat—I didn’t clam up, I stood my ground… until he flew over to me. Leaning my back against the arm of the sofa, I cowered when Daniel shoved his face in mine.
“You don’t know anything about me, you ignorant bitch.” His face a contorted mask of ferocity—his bulging eyes gave him a demented look.
“W-w-what do you mean?” My voice quaked beyond control.
Pulling back, he laughed in my face, a blood-churning sound. Fresh waves of nausea swirled in my stomach. This change in Daniel petrified me.
Without another word he stormed to his office and slammed the door open against the wall, the vibrations caused the frames dotted along the walls to rattle. I considered—before he charged back in—bolting for the front door, but he’d get to me before I managed to shuffle far enough toward it, and I feared his reaction.
“Get up,” he barked through clenched teeth, his lips curled up.
Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1) Page 3
