CHAPTER3
Violet
The moving company arrives a short while later. One of the ladies drives the truck while the other drives the new Lexus Leon has bought for me. Leon must’ve given them the spare key.
Despite my protest, they insist on unpacking my clothes. While they’re busy, I call my mom to reassure her that I’m fine, even though nothing can be further from the truth. I tell her about the dress and pretend to be excited. My mom says the fact that Leon is in such a rush to marry me is a good sign. I only agree to make her feel better. What’s the point of punishing her with the truth? She has her own load of hardships to carry.
Invading Leon’s privacy, I clear a space at his desk and unpack my pencils and paint. If I don’t sit in a proper chair at a desk, my hip and back aches after a while. I can’t draw sitting on a sofa or cross-legged on the floor.
For the rest of the day, I sketch, finding escape in the fantasy characters that grow wings and claws that allow them to climb through the porthole down the side of the ship and fly off into space. A bloody battle follows, red gore splattering the pages. The woman who never gets away is pinned to the floor on her stomach, one of the winged creatures puncturing her back with its claws and sinking his teeth into her shoulder to hold her in place as he impales her on his erection and locks the barb of his cock in her womb. It’s the darkest of my drawings to date, matching my mood.
I’ve never been lonely, but since I’ve met Leon, I’m becoming well acquainted with the sentiment. Alone in his house, I’ve never felt lonelier. If today is an indication of how the rest of my days will be, I’ll go out of my mind. I have to get out and keep busy. It’s my own fault I don’t have friends. I could never trust anyone enough to give them a chance.
A memory of Aunt Ginger invades my mind. I sat at her kitchen table, drawing while she cooked macaroni and cheese. When she looked over my shoulder at the picture, she asked me about the girl standing a distance from the group and the monkey dance they were doing. I told her about the teasing and the nicknames. Aunt Ginger told me to own my imperfections like a soldier owns his scars. She said her Billy had a hole in his throat the size of a fifty-cent coin, and he told people through that very same hole to go you-know-what themselves. She said he still had the hole as a ghost because he accepted it as a part of him and that it can only happen when you make peace with what’s broken in your body.
A smile stretches my lips. I miss Aunt Ginger. My mom covered me up in long dresses and skirts to protect me. Aunt Ginger encouraged me to wear shorts and jump over the hurdles I’d built with side tables and cushions in her lounge. She made shorts that fastened with buttons on the side because I couldn’t pull normal shorts over the pins and metal frame in my leg. My leg still bears the scars. They’re white and embossed, an ugly roadmap to where the fixator penetrated my skin. If Aunt Ginger were here, she’d tell me to wear that dress tomorrow and own my imperfect body, which is a much easier feat than owning your imperfect soul. You can’t show off your sins without shame.
A little before five, I pack away my drawings and gather my pencils. Like in many houses, a flap in the hallway ceiling gives access to the hot water tank. I find a short ladder in the garage that I use to reach the flap. Opening it a crack, I hide my drawings and money there. With my secrets secure, I wash my hands to remove the paint stains and apply a little makeup to hide the paleness of my cheeks.
Just as I grab my bag to go to work, the front door opens, and Leon walks inside. It’s his house, but as I’m used to him always working late, his presence takes me by surprise.
He gives me a quick once-over on his way to the cloak room. “Going somewhere?” he asks, removing his jacket and throwing it onto a chair.
“To work.”
He walks with long strides down the hallway. “You’re not working night shifts any longer.”
I follow him to the kitchen. “What are you talking about?”
“I want you home at night,” he says, taking a beer from the fridge.
“What about my job?” I exclaim.
“I don’t want you to work in your stepfather’s company.” He unscrews the cap and watches me as he takes a sip before adding with a wry smile, “For obvious reasons.”
The implication heats my cheeks. He doesn’t want the risk of having me near his work again.
He leans on the counter and crosses his ankles. “Anyway, you don’t need money. I have more than enough to take care of you.”
I steel my spine. “I don’t want you to pay my way.”
“That’s what husbands do.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“No?” Putting the beer aside, he straightens before walking slowly to me. “How does it work?”
It’s tempting to back away, but I stand my ground. “You’re angry with me.”
He stops close to me, invading my space. “That’s a light way of putting it.”
“I get that. I deserve that. I understand that you want to punish me, but you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to have a job.”
“I never said you couldn’t have a job.” He leans closer, putting a hand on either side of my body on the table. “Maybe now is a good time to tell me about those ambitions you mentioned.”
“Why?” I bend backward, putting distance between us. “So you can make sure I never have a job I love?”
He clicks his tongue. “You have a lot of trust issues, but seeing how we’re starting out, who can blame you?”
The warped game he’s playing has only started, and I’m already exhausted. “Are you going to hold it against me forever?”
“If you’re asking if I’ll forgive you, I’m not the kind of man who forgets.”
“I see.” I bite my lip, considering where this leaves us. “If you won’t accept my apology, there’s no point in offering it.” And as I can never tell him why I did it, there will be no excuses either.
“Believe it or not, Violet, I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
I do find that hard to believe. “This is a bad idea.”
He closes more distance, aiming for my mouth. “This is a perfect idea.”
Turning my face to the side, I say, “We’ll never work. The marriage won’t be real.”
“Oh, it’ll be real.” He grips my chin and brings my gaze back to his. “We’ll consummate this marriage tonight, even before I put a ring on your finger.” He leans closer still, whispering the words over my lips. “And you’re going to love every minute.”
Arrogant bastard.