❛❛I spy with my little eye, a little lie.❜❜
Catherine Moore's courage to leave a cruel and abusive Maxwell Kelvin led her to the unforgiving streets with no roof over her head. Just when things couldn't get any worse, fate deposited her at the doors...
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I watch the clock strike ten.
I stare into my hand, pulling my sleeve to see my purple wrist. I circle it, whinging in pain. Tears fall from my eyes; I stand up and begin dinner. It is not easy. People ask, why are you still with him?
Just leave.
That's the problem.
I can't leave.
I'm powerless to help. I'm imprisoned in my flat, stuck in the tornado of a life that I have to push myself to commit to. I needed to hurry up before he gets home, dinner should already be on the table by now. I open the refrigerator and take out a couple of vegetables, setting them into a bowl before washing them in the sink.
I look into the window before me, seeing my reflection. The spatters of rain slap against the glass, before leaking down. And it is then, i got confused if it was the rain drops or the tears covering my face. My lips quiver, my neck marked with many bruises.
People say, why are you upset? Your husband is a rich, well-known man.
You are living the life all women dream off.
No. I am living a life women detest, women fear.
This spreading purple with yellow blotches is only the surface wound. The real one is within, that feeling of betrayal, that breaking of trust that is so essential to true love. For what we love, we protect, right? I cut the vegetables down into squares.
The front door is slammed shut, and there are shuffles of garments heard. The vibrations of the glass and table cause me to jump. I'm aware of his presence behind me, his nose tracing down my neck. His hands graze the hem of my dress as they move around my midriff. My eyes widen as I notice my Law books stacking up on the table in the living room.
Oh no.
Fear catches my throat, "what did you make?" He asks, opening the oven door to find it empty. I'd just gotten home from university and was starting dinner. "Why aren't there any plates on the table?" Angrily, he inquires. I ignore him because I'm frightened to say the wrong thing.
"Am I not fucking speak to you!" He grabs the back of my head and forces me to look at him, I stutter on my words. He looks around, and i needed to distract him before his eyes caught my books.
But I am too late.
He releases my neck and makes his way into the living room. I drop the knife from my hand and watch him lift the book up from the coffee table.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip, he skims through it. His eyes locking with mine, "what is this?" I could lie. I could tell him that Maria came over to study and left her books, but my name was on them. "Answer me for heaven sakes!"
