The Silence | ✔️

10. I

"Arian?"

There was no time to shut the door and run. I considered it. Some irrational part of me considered fleeing because no matter how I spun this, I wouldn't be able to talk my way out of it.

Desmond appeared from the living room, his scowl deepened when he saw that I was stuck to the spot. The air felt thick, my stomach turned and fear seized me, shutting down whatever elation I'd held from the night that I'd spent with Aiden. He stormed towards me and gripped my forearm, pulling me inside as he slammed the door. I dropped my bag and swallowed.

"Hey I—"

"Where the hell have you been? You fucking stink of alcohol."

Deep breathing filled my lungs, but it didn't cure the need to be ill. I was so wound up that I could taste bile rising. "I was— there— she— I was with Maddie, she invited me to her place for a few wines."

"Who the fuck is Maddie?"

"Your colleagues fiancée," I answered, avoiding eye contact. "Cameron. The intern. She was my nurse while I was in hospital. We sort of became— well— friends."

He said nothing. My gaze was downcast on the floor but I saw his fists clenching at his side and my heart rate accelerated. I had no idea if he'd believe me. But I couldn't tell him that I was with Jules. He knew her too well. He could ask her if he didn't believe me. He could have spoken to her already for all I knew.

Silence and tension hung in the air for what felt like minutes. But then, he snapped.

"Bullshit," he wrapped his hand around my throat and pushed me against the wall. "You're a liar."

"No," I choked, clawing at his hands. The pressure crushed my windpipe and the feeling was horrible. Whenever I tried to inhale, I was offered no relief. "Not— lying."

He held me in place, the veins in his forehead pulsating, his pale complexion turning red as he squeezed the life out of me. I began to panic. He had done this before. He wouldn't stop until I was unconscious and it was dangerous. Being deprived of oxygen. The sheer terror of losing air sparked something within me and I lifted a knee, getting him as hard as I could between the legs.

His hold released as he crouched over and cursed. My breathing was hoarse and harsh as I let the oxygen flow through me again. I knew that if he had time to recover, I'd be beaten to a pulp. I didn't want that to happen. It was too soon. I had just recovered. I didn't want that.

I took off into the living room, my heart thudding as
I ran at full speed towards the bathroom in our bedroom. I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock. I could hear him approaching as he shouted about how he was going to kill me.

I sank to the floor in the far corner, tears streaming down my cheeks as he pounded on the door. I thought for a moment that it might come off the hinges. So I stood up and pushed the bathroom window open. The gap was small but I was confident that I could fit. When I glanced back at the door I almost collapsed with total fear. The bottom of the door was coming so far out that I could see his foot with each kick. It would give out in a matter of seconds.

I stood on the closed toilet, put a foot on the window sill and then put my other leg through the opening. I went as fast as I could, ignoring the ache as my legs and arms scraped the metal edges. The framing grazed my stomach and I could feel the pressure on my scar as I slid out. My feet reached the ledge and I pulled the window shut before I glanced around and realised how far the fire escape was. There was no chance that I could jump over to it. The best bet that I had was to drop to the next floor. It was about fifteen feet down.