Till Death Do Us Part

by M. L. Roberts

  It’s brutal, harsh, violent sex. Hate sex, but I don’t hate him. I’m just transferring the hate and the anger I’m feeling towards Michael – towards myself? – onto him, because I know he’ll take it. And as he comes, as I feel that rush explode inside me, he pushes me onto my back, presses the weight of his body against mine until he’s done. Until he’s finished. Then he flips me over onto my stomach, thrusts a hand between my legs, and he’s back inside me, his hand on the side of my throat as he fucks me, forcing my head up, his other hand touching me, helping me reach my own climax. And when it comes it hits me with a force I wasn’t ready for. My body collapses beneath him as I cry out, biting down on his fingers as they catch my mouth.

  We’re done.

  It’s over, whatever that was.

  I close my eyes, feel his fingers slide between mine, his breath warm and heavy on the back of my neck. We take a minute, to slow down, to recover. And I like that he’s still lying over me, that his body still covers mine. I like him here. Like this.

  ‘I told you I can make it all better, Ellie,’ he murmurs as his fingers squeeze mine a little tighter.

  I say nothing. I believe him.

  ‘But you need to trust me.’

  I let go of his hand, turn over and sit up, pulling the sheet between my legs up over my chest. He reaches out, pulls the sheet away from me and I try to grab it back but he tosses it to the floor. His eyes burn into mine, and I feel a cold shiver tear up my spine but I’m not fighting anymore.

  ‘Is it him you really want to hurt, Ellie? Or are you trying to hurt yourself?’

  I attempt to get up off the bed but he pulls me back, grasping my wrist tight as he moves up behind me. He pulls me back against him, his fingers still gripping my wrist while his other hand rests gently on the curve of my waist.

  ‘I want to hurt all men like him.’

  He lets go of my wrist and I reach behind me, touch his face, feel his fingers slide back between mine.

  ‘All men like my father.’

  Men who cheat.

  Men who lie.

  Men who deserve everything that’s coming to them.

  ‘You need to stop following him.’

  I gasp as his warm breath dances over my skin. ‘I’m not following him, I’m following her.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  His hand moves down, gently nudging my legs apart and I gasp quietly as he touches me.

  ‘I need to know who they are, Liam. Those people. At the hospital. I need to know who they are.’

  ‘No, Ellie, you don’t. Whoever they are, they’re nothing to you. Michael wants you out of his life, it’s time to let him have what he wants. You don’t need to know anything else. You know enough.’

  I take his hand and pull it from between my legs; I get up, walk over to the window, and I look outside at the street below. I’ve become obsessed with watching people, imagining what their lives might be like behind closed doors, because I’m almost certain that too many of us become very different people the minute we enter our own homes. Our own private space.

  ‘I want to go with you. To California.’

  I feel him come up behind me; I feel his hands on my hips, his mouth brush the back of my neck.

  ‘You were always coming with me, Ellie.’

  Was I? Maybe he’s right…

  ‘But I need to finish what I started first.’

  Before I go anywhere.

  I feel him touch me, he’s back inside me, and I continue staring out of the window as he fucks me, again.

  Staring down at people I don’t know.

  Do we ever really know ourselves?

  Know what we’re capable of?

  When pushed…?

  Chapter 13

  I’m putting Carmen in charge of all my businesses. She’s the only one I trust, the only one I feel comfortable with to keep everything running smoothly while I’m not here.

  She was slightly shocked, when I explained that Michael and I are divorcing, that I’m leaving for America with Liam, and her reaction was understandable. The situation is complicated. The truth is still something so few people know, and it has to stay that way. People know what they need to know. Nothing else is their business.

  The past few days have been filled with meetings; business meetings and visits to my lawyer. To sort out the divorce. Michael isn’t fighting, he doesn’t want this to be something that has to end badly, he just wants rid of me. He’ll get his wish. Soon. And then he’ll be free to start a new life with his very own Lolita, bring up their child knowing I’m safely out of the picture. Only, I’ll never be out of the picture, not until I’ve exposed him for what he really is. People need to see that he lied, too. That he took advantage of his position. That this, maybe, isn’t the first time he’s done that. What she told me, the night she invaded my home, I’m starting to think she may not have been the one who was lying. She was young. She was pretty. She was everything Ava is, had she just been pushed too far by my preening husband? Had he realized his mistake, with her? Is that why he’s so protective of Ava? He doesn’t want his lies to be exposed, he doesn’t want the truth to come out…

  Too bad, Michael. Too fucking bad…

  I drop my head, take a deep breath, and when I look back up I paint a smile on my face. I’m ready to greet customers, play the hostess I need to be when I’m here, at work. We have a group of students coming into the spa this afternoon, a birthday party, apparently. I know they’re students because they’re paying the discounted rate, and they’re good customers, students. They spend money in the café, buy drinks, splash out on a lot of the creams and lotions on sale in the small store here in reception.

  I check the bookings in front of me and see that they’re expected any time now, so I remain behind the desk, checking my phone while I wait. I haven’t heard from Liam all day, but he’s busy sorting out the move. He spends a lot of time in Skype meetings with the university over in Stanford, so it isn’t unusual for me not to hear from him. He’ll call me, when he’s free.

  The sound of loud chatter causes me to look up and I plaster that smile back on my face as a group of young women make their way over to me. Happy, carefree young women, all ready for an afternoon of pampering. The expected group of students, I’m assuming.

  There are seven of them, all of them pretty in their own unique ways. I notice that as I explain the treatments they’re booked in for, and let them know about the café and the bar and the shop here in reception. As I point out the small, glass-fronted store in the corner of the lobby, I see her, making her way over to the group here in front of my desk. Ava. Beautiful, pregnant Ava.

  She’s the last one to arrive. She’s late, as she hurriedly explains to her friends, apologizing breathlessly as she hugs them all, one by one, and I glance down at the booking again. It was made for eight. Eight are here now.

  I look back up, look right at her, I catch her eye and she smiles at me. She has no idea who I am, but that doesn’t surprise me. Michael won’t have had any photographs of me around, he won’t have given her any chance to see me, to know who I am. Has he even told her he’s married?

  ‘Excuse me … can I just ask about the massage I’ve got booked?’

  Her voice – I recognize it from the phone calls I listened to – interrupts my thoughts and I smile at her. ‘We have a specially trained pre-natal massage therapist here at the spa, she’s going to look after you this afternoon.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She returns my smile, and I can’t help but notice how much prettier she is close-up. Her hair’s shining, and so are her eyes; she really is an extremely beautiful young woman. Pregnancy suits her. ‘And the pedicure? Is that safe?’

  ‘Perfectly safe. Don’t worry, you’ll be well looked after. All of you. And if you want to make your way to the changing room through there we’ll get you all started on your individual treatments.’

  I wait until they’ve disappeared from view, their happy chatter still filtering through to recepti
on, before I breathe out properly. Before I take a second to think…

  ‘Libby! Can you come and take over on reception, please? I’ve got a few things I need to sort out before I leave this afternoon.’

  I grab my phone and head towards the massage rooms. If I’d looked at the booking more closely I would have seen that Jo, our pre-natal massage therapist, is working today. But why would I have questioned that? She’s here most days, Ava isn’t the first pregnant woman we’ve had visit the spa so, no. I wouldn’t have questioned anything. But now I know.

  I push open the door of Jo’s room, and she’s busy setting up for her next client. Ava.

  ‘I’ll finish this, Jo, if you want to grab a quick coffee before your next client comes in. She’s just getting ready now, so you’ve got a few minutes.’

  ‘Are you sure? There isn’t much left to do.’

  ‘I’m sure. Go on, grab a quick break while you can.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Take your time.’

  She closes the door behind her and I finish getting the room ready. For Ava. I line up the lotions and the wipes, fetch a pile of freshly laundered towels from the cupboard, and clean down the massage table, the smell of antiseptic filling the room.

  I light scented candles to mask the antiseptic smell, dim the lighting, make sure the air conditioning is set to the right level. The room is calm. Serene. So am I.

  It’s ready for you. Ava.

  I’m ready for you…

  There’s a light tap on the door and I swing around as it opens. I paint that smile on my face once more as she walks inside, wrapped in a thick white robe, her dark hair piled up on top of her head, her pretty face devoid of all make-up now. She looks so much younger, without the make-up.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, should I wait outside?’

  ‘No, no, come in. I was just getting everything ready for Jo – she’s going to look after you this afternoon. She won’t be a minute. Sit down.’

  I indicate a brown leather couch by the door, watch as she takes a seat, as the robe rides up her leg slightly, giving me a glimpse of her toned thigh.

  Does she wrap those legs around you, Michael, when you fuck her?

  I busy myself sorting out the pile of towels, making sure all the right sizes are there.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how far along are you?’

  She looks at me, and she smiles slightly, she seems a little shy. ‘Almost six months.’ She rests a hand on her bump, a reflex action, and I have to stop myself from letting the memories swamp me. I never really had a bump. It was too soon. Too early. I never even got the chance to feel my baby move inside me. ‘Do you have any kids?’

  An innocent question, of course, but one that cuts through me like a knife, slicing my heart in two. I shake my head. ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘Would you like any? Kids, I mean.’

  I want her to stop, to not ask me these questions, but she doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know, what I went through. How someone just like her took away any chance I had of being a mother in the cruelest, most terrifying of ways.

  I look at her, and her expression suddenly changes, she looks slightly horrified. Embarrassed, that she’s asked me something so personal.

  ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry…’

  I smile at her, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I want her to feel relaxed. I want her to talk. And if that means I have to deal with painful memories in order for her to do that, I can take it. I’m fine with that.

  ‘You’re not prying. Besides, I asked you a personal question first.’

  She smiles back. She seems okay now. Good. Because I haven’t finished yet.

  ‘Are you – sorry, I’m the one who should be apologizing for prying now.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I like talking about the baby.’

  I lean back against the massage table, slide my hands into my pockets. ‘Is the father involved?’

  She looks away, and I frown. But then she turns back and she’s still smiling. It’s just a weaker smile, that’s all.

  ‘It’s complicated. The relationship we have…’ She trails off. ‘He’s a bit older than me.’

  I feel my stomach tighten, but I can deal with this. After all, this is what I want, isn’t it? This is what I need, I need her to talk, that’s why I made sure my phone is recording this conversation.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ I ask, keeping my eyes on her, I’m waiting for her to meet my eyes again. I want to look at her, when she talks to me. When she tells me what I need to hear.

  She shakes her head. ‘No. It’s just…’ She shrugs. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Any particular reason why?’

  She leaves a brief pause before she answers me. ‘He’s a lecturer. At the university.’

  ‘The father of your baby? He’s one of your lecturers?’

  That knot in my stomach tightens even more as she nods. And there’s almost a sense of relief emanating out of her as she speaks. Just how secret is my husband’s relationship with this girl? How hard is she finding it, keeping that secret?

  ‘Do people know, that your lecturer got you pregnant?’

  ‘He said we shouldn’t tell anyone, not yet.’

  ‘But, you’re quite obviously pregnant. You can’t hide it forever.’

  Are you making her lie, too, Michael?

  ‘No, he … he hasn’t made me keep the pregnancy secret, just that he’s the father. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea, for that to be common knowledge yet.’

  Because that could ruin you, couldn’t it, professor?

  There’s a part of me that feels sorry for this girl, that she’s letting him manipulate her like this, but then I remember what she’s done. She’s carrying my husband’s child, and that isn’t right. She doesn’t deserve my sympathy.

  ‘Is he married?’

  That question just fell from my mouth, and it shocks her, I can see it on her face. There’s a panic there, like she’s just been caught out.

  You have, Ava. I caught you.

  ‘I … yes.’ She drops her head, lowers her voice as she answers, her tone almost apologetic as she admits what she is – a teenage whore who took a man she had no right to take.

  ‘Doesn’t that bother you?’

  She slowly raises her gaze, and I realize I need to pull back from this now, this isn’t supposed to be an interrogation. I’m not here to judge her, not outwardly, anyway.

  ‘Yes, it bothers me.’ She sounds almost defensive now. ‘But I fell in love. And he loves me, too.’

  How fucking perfect. How gloriously idealistic, I hope their rose-tinted utopia is all they wish it to be. But I’ve heard enough now, I’ve said enough. It’s time for me to go. To let Jo take over, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief as she walks into the room.

  ‘Anyway, it was lovely to meet you.’ I smile at my husband’s mistress. His beautiful distraction. His dirty little secret. ‘You have a lovely afternoon, and I hope everything goes well for you. And the baby.’

  I leave without looking back.

  I walk away.

  It’s almost over, I’ve accepted that now.

  It’s almost over.

  Almost…

  Chapter 14

  The house is being put up for sale, it’s what both Michael and I want. It makes sense. We’re getting divorced. I’m moving away, although, I haven’t told Michael that part yet. He doesn’t know that I’m going to California, with Liam. I’ll tell him when I’m ready. If I tell him at all.

  I’m expecting a visit from the estate agent – we need a valuation, before we can put this place on the market – but when the front doorbell rings I frown, because the appointment isn’t for another hour and a half. Surely they would call if they were going to be this early?

  I go into the hall, check the security monitor by the door. It’s Michael. I have no idea why he’s here, and I wait for a second or two before I
start to pull back the bolts; before I unlock the door.

  ‘We need to talk, Ellie.’

  Words I’ve waited a long time to hear, from him. But it’s too late, for talking. It’s too fucking late.

  I stand aside, let him walk through into the hall, but I don’t say anything.

  ‘Look, I … everything that’s happened … I don’t want this to end badly…’

  ‘I think we passed that point a while ago, Michael.’

  ‘Can we just talk, Ellie? Please?’

  I fold my arms, I laugh. I can’t help it. ‘You want to talk now, huh?’

  ‘Don’t do this. Don’t make this any worse than it already is…’

  ‘I’m going away.’

  I cut him off, and he narrows his eyes as he looks at me.

  ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to go away?’

  ‘Going where, Ellie?’

  ‘America. Stanford, to be exact. Liam’s been offered an assistant professor post at the university…’

  ‘Hang on … you’re leaving, with Liam?’

  ‘Why would I be going to California on my own?’