Page 67 of Chris

Valeria avoided going to bed, but as the house grew quiet and the sky blackened but for the moon and stars, she no longer had a choice except to go to her room. It was always easier when she went willingly rather than Jorge needing to come and find her to drag her to bed.

The bedroom was empty and dark when she made her way upstairs, but she wasn’t mad about it. At least, it gave her a few more minutes to be alone with her thoughts, and without her husband.

Everything was always easier without him.

Valeria also learned what she had to do to make her experience in bed with Jorge less traumatic and painful. As long as she seemed submissive, and unwilling to fight, even if every piece of her wished she didn’t have to be there, doing what he forced her to do, then she walked away from nights with her husband in the morning less sore, and with fewer bruises.

Sad as that was.

So, Valeria readied for her night, sick to her stomach the entire time. Undressing from her day clothes, and slipping into something more appropriate for nighttime, and moved on to set out her clothes for the next day, the minutes ticked by.

Jorge still didn’t come upstairs.

The longer she waited, the more nervous Valeria became sitting on the edge of the bed. There, she had a full view of the door, and what kind of monster might come through it.

Jorge had been in a mood all day, and that was going to translate into the man who entered the bedroom. She much preferred to be ready to deal with it right away instead of being surprised by it.

Valeria had time to consider her life during moments like these, and everything that happened until this point. All the choices she made, and the things she might have done differently so that this wasn’t where she ended up night after night.

She didn’t want to blame herself.

Easier said than done.

Sighing at the sounds of footsteps in the hallway, approaching the bedroom, Valeria glanced down at the clenched hands in her lap. Her fingernails manicured to perfection because that’s what her husband liked, but she was more concerned with the stiffness in her hands that reflected in the rest of her body.

She willed it to calm.

To relax.

It didn’t work—it never did.

The doorknob jiggled, before it turned, and the door pushed open. For the split second she took to peek up, ready to deal with yet another nightmare in her daily life … only for her to freeze on the bed at the man who slipped into the room.

It wasn’t Jorge at all.

“Chris.”