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“Repeat what?” I fake a smile, then sip on my water.
“The part where I don’t own you.”
“You don’t.” My voice isn’t as confident as usual, probably due to the tension that, unfortunately, didn’t leave with Vance.
“I see.” The simmering anger in those two words seeps beneath my skin like a shot of poison.
“For the record,” Creigh starts with a smug tone. “I introduced myself as her brother-in-law and gave that tool a hard time on your behalf.”
Eli clinks his glass of water with his brother’s. I’d snort under different circumstances, but right now, it feels as if I’m being suffocated with his invisible hands.
Instead of ordering food like a normal human being, Eli is content with digging a hole in the top of my head as I narrowly avoid choking on every bite of sashimi.
Anni tries to lighten the mood, but she ends up only conversing with Creigh. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to, and my dear husband seems to have woken up today and chosen the silent treatment.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m fuming.
Both at the unbearable silence and the fact that I’m letting it affect me.
Who cares about Eli’s opinion of me? He doesn’t like me, never did and never will, as he so blatantly put it. Our marriage is merely a business transaction that plays in both our favors.
I cannot and will not read anything into his caveman behavior, for its sole purpose is to drive away any prospect of my happiness.
He’s still the same infuriating Tin Man with not an ounce of emotion inside his metal exterior.
I excuse myself to the ladies’ room just to escape the ridiculously charged atmosphere. If someone lights a match, the entire place will catch fire.
Once I’m in the loo, surrounded by bamboo-decorated doors, sakura flowers hanging from the ceiling, and gold-colored sinks, I dump my bag on the marble counter and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
For a moment, it feels as if I’m back to two years ago, or more like a week or so since that’s the last thing I remember.
Drunk, high, aimless, and utterly hopeless.
The last two are still there, but in a way, I’m thankful for the disappearance of my less glamorous habits. I don’t even crave alcohol much, and even when I do, Eli loves to make a whole theatrical drama out of it.
There’s not a drop of alcohol in the house. I know because I snooped around, and guess what? The wine cellar that comes with our type of house? It’s full of buckets of candy floss instead of alcohol bottles.
Not that I’m complaining.
I wonder how the hell I got clean.
And I know I got clean, because the last couple of months I can remember—from two years ago—I suffered from a massive headache if I didn’t consume alcohol every three hours. I mixed it with my coffee and smoothies and consumed approximately a barrel a night.
The blow was easier since I wasn’t an addict and only indulged whenever I was offered. Alcohol was a different story.
To go from consuming a ton to nothing must’ve been hard. Cecy and Ari said Eli signed me up for this program, but they were vague.
Problem is, it’s impossible to imagine myself willingly getting locked up for anything.
Not with how creeped out I am about mental institutes and being labeled a madwoman.
How did Eli manage to get me from a raging alcoholic to this state? It must’ve not been too easy?—
A static-like flash lights up in my head and I grab the sink for balance as the bathroom spins.
An image appears before my eyes like an old grainy film in the mirror.
I liein the dimly lit bedroom, the pink silk duvet gleaming under the soft glow of a bedside lamp. My sheer white nightgown clings to my trembling body as I pull on my wrists that are bound to the bedposts, my legs flailing and tangling in the swirling sheets. The bed is a chaotic sea of twisted fabric and rumpled pillows.
