Breaking Me

HANNAH’S POV:

The days went into weeks. And I faded with them.

I stopped counting how long I’d been in the Martinez mansion. The same walls. The same silence. The same cold shoulders. Nothing changed except for me. The only iota of excitement and change I’ve had was when we made a public appearance at one of the charity events.

I was quieter now. I didn’t bother showing up at breakfast anymore. I stayed in my assigned room, stared out the window, and sometimes forgot what day it was. But I made friends with the cook, and started learning how to bake cookies, cakes and treats.

If I was going to be here for another long month, I’d try not to do everything in my power not to go crazy. I took walks in the mansion as well, and started gardening, questioning the gardener on what exactly to do and for the past week, I had been enjoying learning about plants.

I was so grateful to them, they had no idea.

On another hand, I still hadn’t spoken to Elijah properly since the study.

He came home late every single day and I found myself sitting in the living room reading books I found in the study waiting for him every night. He was sometimes drunk. Sometimes just distant. He didn’t look at me. He would just stagger up to his room quietly holding a bottle of alcohol.

He was way too cute to be a drunkard, but what if it was because he married me he was drinking too much? But then again he was drunk on the wedding day. I thought to myself.

One night, I found a note on the kitchen counter: Don’t touch the wine in the cellar. It’s not for you.

It wasn’t signed. But I knew who wrote it.

I had only had one glass of wine one time when reading a novel and he had returned home that night not tired and walked past me as usual.

Yesterday, while baking I burned my hand, but as soon as Elijah returned I was glad he wasn’t drunk.

“Welcome back.” I smiled small, greeting and he glanced at me, for the first time in a long time.

“I baked a cake today because I have been getting myself busy and I heard chocolate cake was your favorite. I saved you some if you like.” I informed him, hoping he would have some but as soon as I was done speaking he walked off.

Well….that was embarrassing.

But I smiled from ear to ear for the first time in a long time when I woke up the next morning and was informed that Elijah had come looking for the cake and it was wrapped for him before he left.

I spent the rest of my day excited and happy.

Tonight, I laid in bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling since it was past midnight and Elijah still wasn’t back and I was tired of just laying on the couch in the living room. The moonlight crept through the window like it pitied me. I imagined what it might be like to just vanish. To walk out the door and not look back.

But I had no money. No friends. No one. Not even myself.

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. But I remember how I woke up.

The door slammed open. Hard.

I shot up in bed, heart jumping.

“Elijah?” I blinked, confused.

He stood there, clearly drunk, his collar open, hair messy, eyes unfocused and red. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me for a long moment, breathing heavily.

“I thought you weren’t coming home tonight,” I said cautiously staring at him intently,

He stepped inside staggering.

“Elijah——” I called out with my heart racing.

He was on me before I could finish calling his name.

I froze.

“Stop—wait,” I gasped, panic flooding me. “You’re drunk. Please—”

He kissed me, harsh and without warmth, pinning me against the mattress like I was a thing—just a body in the wrong bed, but one he was too intoxicated to care about.

“I’m your wife,” I whispered, trembling. “But not like this.” I pleaded.

He didn’t hear me. Or he didn’t want to.

I still went. I stopped fighting. Because even though it hurt emotionally more than physically…I realized something in that moment:

He didn’t see me. He never had. And he never would.

I wasn’t a person to him. I was just the shadow of a girl he didn’t want. A mistake. A placeholder. A punishment. I wasn’t even someone he condoned…I was nothing.

When he was done, he rolled over and passed out beside me like nothing happened.

I turned my face to the wall and stared blankly into the darkness. I got up slowly and headed to the washroom.

I didn’t plan on crying that night but when I caught a reflection of me in the mirror. I just stopped breathing for a while not literally, but in every way that mattered.

And cried for myself, the hickey on my new, the dried tears on my cheeks, the bruise on my arm.

It just killed something inside of me.

*****

Before the sun rose, I was already dressed.

I didn’t pack much. A few clothes. My ID. The little money I’d stashed away from errands and his wallet.

I walked down the marble stairs barefoot, carrying my small bag. No one was awake. The mansion was still. Quiet. Peaceful, almost if you didn’t know what kind of ghosts lived inside it.

I left the ring on the entry table. It didn’t deserve to come with me.

Then I walked out the door.

No one stopped me.

No one looked for me.

No one called my name.

And that was how I knew… really knew that I’d never been wanted here.

Not as a wife.

Not as a daughter.

Not even as a human being.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay.